So, here are some of my NaPo poems. Will be back to enter more asap. Enjoy!

April 1

Late Snow

A snow quilted field;
drops of sunshine pushing through;
a cold welcoming.



April 2

Masks

We rabbits hollow out our homes
beneath hardscrabble, tuck our tails
and hide from that persistent fox
named Ethos, and his mate Memory.

We hope our hunters will lose our scent
in the fog and shifting wind;
yet we scowl when woken
by the birdsong dawn,
loathe to leave the warm den
of our sequestered conscience.

We face the facade of another day;
another existence where masks are donned
and we pretend;
our only goal to blend
into the dried up grass.


April 3

Drunk on Psychedelic Junk

Paint me a masterpiece;
a deep purple eclectic mess
smoldering with raw harmony
yet cool as green latex
here in my nude, blue metaphor.

Come smoke wild passion with me
and feel the color of paint. Investigate
its balance and slick slide over stretched rag.
Create surreal rhythms and imagine all
that is absurd; take a leap off the edge.

Dream-see; stroke your canvas
drug-empty but brain-wired;
turn what’s inside out;
get drunk on psychedelic junk,
roll naked in its funk.



April 4


Night Music

Listen to the rain
as it spits and splats
and slowly drips down the drain.

The wind chimes in
with its whistle and hiss
soon after the shower ends;

and after the wind
has tucked itself in,
the crickets begin to croon.

They chatter and chirp
as they search for a mate
by the light of a lolly pop moon.


April 5

Guinevere Had Green Eyes

Did Guinevere fret
as she contemplated that doomed liaison,
distracted by the cool, seductive simmer of silk
against her porcelain skin, fanning it to a pink flush,
the thought of his touch an ached for taboo;
or swoon when she imagined his errant hands
poaching the king’s eggs from the royal coop?

Did her actions true, dead-on
and carried out swift as an arrow’s flight,
knowing full well how the apple would fall;
or did she sway through long days
and longer nights of banished thoughts
only to find resistance futile?

She envied Arthur his conquests, his freedom
to come as he wished, his bedded brides.
Didn’t she deserve to have her own indulgence,
just this once?

She must have thought it a small price to exact
for all those nights spent naked with the moon
her only admirer.

Just this one, small indiscretion and her quickening
lust would be quickly quenched
like a small flame between thumb and forefinger.

Just once, she thought, for the memory
to warm her thighs when December winds
seeped through the castle walls
and rattled the stained glass panes.