Genesis

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Day Nineteen

 

Rock Heart.jpg

 

It’s odd
and
I don’t know for certain
yet,
deep inside
there is a kernel of recollection
of my beginning

a breath, a gentle
wisp, and I
came into being,
no more important
than rock or star,
dandelion or dewdrop

and

I wonder
if I catch how true
rock and star and dewdrop
tender their design

while

I dissolve
my gossamer filaments tied
to the quickening exhalation of genesis

 

 

Author’s Note:

Today’s prompt from NaNoWriMo/NaPoWriMo:

“And now for our daily prompt (optional, as always!). Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a creation myth. It doesn’t have to be an existing creation myth, or even recount how all of creation came to be. It could be, for example, your own take on the creation of ball-point pens, or the discovery of knitting. Your myth can be as big or small as you would like, as serious or silly as you make it.”

 

Root

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Day Two

 

 

root

Gently it unfolds.
Just before dawn
a sweet call
announces your
return, your nest
in preparation.

Reassured, I mark
his parade. Four small
wheels turning under
aluminum scaffold
bent and formed to catch
his unsteady slant.

Another winter passed and
he remains fundamental
to spring’s element.

From tip of bud
it is not extrinsic
ingredients we fashion
into seasons, but
from root below,
those we do not see.

It is finesse of ancients
who came before to teach
us how to assemble.
Their wisdom of time.
Their refinement
into patience. Their
passion to endure.

This our recipe of
transfiguration.

 

Author’s Note:

Day Two prompt from NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“And last but not least, here is our prompt (as always, optional). Today, I’d like you to write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe! It can be a recipe for something real, like your grandmother’s lemon chiffon cake, or for something imaginary, like a love potion or a spell.”

Moving Day

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Day One

 

Movers heft a couch
one way, then the nextday2.jpg
to make it fit,
a place to sit
when one
is done.

Rain sustains
and softens dry
earth left
too often
under winter’s sun
as drops bless
each one while
they move
from truck to door,
and back again
once more.

On moving day
new beginnings
meet, again and again,
little neat
soldiers shown
marching off to
unknown precincts.

A new drawer to
fill with old, and still
the movers make
their way under
bold gray billows, to
and fro.

We start afresh,
a month, a home,
thresholds to cross at
each ingress.

Eyes wide
open, at least we
imagine, and
through we go
to sow new
seeds with
unblemished
inhaled breath
in accordance
with every
immutable
death.

Author’s Note:

From NaPoWriMo:

“Today’s interview is with Kay Ryan, whose spare, tightly-rhymed work makes each poem a small, witty, philosophical puzzle. You can find more background on Ryan’s life and work here, and read one of her poems here.

And finally, our (optional) prompt. In honor of today’s interviewee, I’d like to challenge you to write a Kay-Ryan-esque poem: short, tight lines, rhymes interwoven throughout, maybe an animal or two, and, if you can manage to stuff it in, a sharp little philosophical conclusion.”