Today, I couldn’t decide between two possibilities for my theme. So I decided to give you both versions. You can decide if you like one better than the other.
Cinquain # 25: Smooch Smooch; Smack Smack
(Version A)
Kisses
Make life sweeter.
Best from lips of lovers.
But if they are not around, try
Hershey’s.
♥ ♥ ♥
(Version B)
Hershey’s
Candy kisses:
Tiny morsels of love
Wrapped in shiny silver with a
Pull string.
♥ ♥ ♥
Host of this challenge: NaPoWriMo.net.
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In honor of “Earth Day” Sanaa, the hostess of “Prompt Nights” has asked us to share a poem about one of the specific elements (wind, water, fire, or earth). And since I missed last week, I’ll share two poems this week to make up for it: one focusing on rain; the other on wind.
Also, I know I’m going against the tide in my offerings today. I can’t seem to muster a poem that bewails the supposition that man is destroying this planet. I just do not believe that’s true, so don’t expect poetry from me that goes there. Instead, whimsy is my bent today, so I’m offering a light-hearted look at the short, but significant life of a raindrop and the longer and more powerful life of the wind.
I AM A RAINDROP
I am a raindrop.
And I’m looking for place to plop.
I’m falling quickly and cannot stop.
I don’t know where I’d like to be,
But I definitely don’t want to land in the sea.
You see, if I were to land in the sea,
It would be so anti-climactic for me;
I would lose my personal identity,
Even I would no longer recognize me.
No, I must find some place solid instead.
Perhaps on a daisy in a flower bed,
Or a plant so parched it’s almost dead,
Or the page of a book that’s being read.
I must decide as fast as I can,
I’m falling quickly toward some folks on the sand.
So many are out there just getting a tan.
Hello, there, little bald-headed man!
His head sure was tempting, but then a breeze blew,
And drove me off course; what am I to do?
Oh, I see it! I see it! My target’s in view!
Get ready; get ready; I’m landing on you!
Plop!
*
I AM WIND
I blow where I will, and no one can still
My movement.
I rustle the trees and gust where I please
Each moment.
I sweep ‘cross the plains and often drive rain
In torrents.
Raging through canyons, I roar with abandon
And torment.
But sometimes I play; come April or May,
I’m a teaser.
On soft summer nights enrobed in moon’s light,
I’m a pleaser.
I’m gentle and warm, and sweethearts I charm
Into romance.
Then on to the fall, with crisp breeze I call
Leaves to dance.
I carry the scents: burning leaves, bonfires spent
Ripened fruit.
But I bring colder days, frigid nights on the way;
Find those boots.
For I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and the tempts will be tough;
I’ll bring snow.
Though the drifts may be bad, children’s hearts will be glad:
School’s a “no.”
Through the rafters I’ll sing, and my bite – it will sting,
For a while.
But in no time at all, I will bring springtime’s thaw;
Gardens smile.
I lift birds on the wing, and the song that I sing –
It brings rest.
I am wind, and I’m thrilled that I cannot be stilled;
I am blessed.
*
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Writing Poetry Month is getting close to the end, but there’s still time to have fun with us. Visit NaPoWriMo.net.
Cinquain # 20: ‘Dear John’ Letter
My dear,
I must confess
That I have not been true
To you in love; I have cheated,
With Frank.
~~~
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I know. This one’s a little on the side of the ridiculous. But what can I say? The picture inspired me.
Cinquain # 18: Sorry, Mr. Dickens
Charles wrote
A Tale of Two
Cities. I don’t like it.
I like The Tale of Two Tails
Instead.
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Check out NaPoWriMo.net.
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Cinquain # 14: Friend or Foe?
Dentist:
I went today.
Is he my friend or foe?
He fixed my tooth but STRAINED my nerves.
Not sure.
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Check out the poetry challenge at NaPoWriMo.net.
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Cinquain # 7: Am I Here???
“To be,
Or not to be.”
I’ve borrowed this fine quote
‘Cause I have no fresh ideas
Today.
To be
Is to exist.
Then not to be must mean
The opposite: to not exist.
Sounds right.
But if
I don’t exist,
Would someone be aware?
And would anyone care that I’m
Not me???
*
This week the ‘Prompt Nights’ challenge offers us the choice of writing either poetry or prose, with a theme that tips its hat to April Fools’ Day. So to celebrate this day of fun and frivolity, I decided to “focus” on a bit of frivolous prose.
FOCUS:
A One-Act Play
Place: A city street
Time: April Fools’ Day
Conversation:
Friend: “Wow! Did you see that?”
Sandra: “I’ll say. I’m salivating even as we speak.
Friend: Oooooh, me too. Makes me feel hungry all over.
Sandra: I know what you mean. That box of chocolates must have held at least 10 pounds.”
Friend: “The girl who gets that will be over the moon.”
Sandra: “Mmmmm. That much chocolate candy would definitely make me one very happy lady.”
Friend: “Huh? – Wait – What?”
Sandra: “What do you mean, what?”
Friend: “What do you mean? I’m talking about that drop-dead gorgeous hunk who just passed us carrying the box of chocolates, you dope.”
Sandra: “Oh, was there somebody carrying the chocolates?”
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“So tell me, did you kill her?”
“You doubt my innocence?”
“I’ve known you for a long time,
And certain things make sense.”
“Like what? You judge me harshly.”
“No, I just understand:
She caused you grief and sorrow,
And you’re a hurting man.”
“But, still, to think I’d kill her —
That seems a drastic act.
I could not stand much more, but
Other ways can deal with that.”
“But other ways are not sure,
Could leave you open wide
For further persecution
If she came back to your side.
“Besides, I saw the blood stains,
And they your secrets tell.
And then I found the knife that
You thought you’d hidd’n so well.”
“I see … Well, that quite grieves me
Because you’ve been my friend;
Alas, I have no other choice:
So your life, too, must end.”
“A second murder? No way;
Your guilt soon all would guess.”
“Not once they read your own note
In which you will confess.”
“You cannot make me do it.
I’ll never write the note.”
“No need. I’ll type it neatly
Once I have slit your throat.”
The moral of this story
Quite easily could be
That one who learns dire secrets
Should maintain secrecy.
(Not my usual poetry, but sometimes you just need to get out of the box.)
~
en.wikipedia.org; public domain; original artist Jean Metzinger
Miss Cordelia Underwood loved hats.
She loved them big and wide, with floppy brim.
She loved them with firm crowns and beaver trim.
She loved straw hats piled high with plastic fruit,
And to the townsfolk, those were just a hoot.
Miss Cordelia Underwood loved hats.
She wore them proudly, something like a crown.
Her favorites had flower gardens hanging round.
The taller, all the better — and as for wide —
In church no one could sit right by her side.
But Miss Cordelia Underwood loved hats.
Each brand new style and fashion caught her eye.
And nothing was too strange for her to try.
So when she saw one with propeller top,
She hurried off to Sue, the milliner’s shop.
Poor Miss Cordelia Underwood loved hats.
And that’s so sad because this story ends
With tears and sorrow for her many friends:
She donned propeller hat one windy day,
And in a heavy gust, was blown away.
~~~
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Jelly beans are such a happy fruit.
What? You say they are mere candy, not real food?
Why, I beg to differ, sir.
Their nutrition strain is pure:
Refined sugar granulated,
Artificial color sated,
And at this time of the year, so fresh and good.
You can pick them fresh right off the shelf;
In any store, you reach right out and help yourself.
Like the grapes right off the vine,
Clustered tight with their own kind,
Plump and juicy, sweet and tasty;
To discard them don’t be hasty;
Munching them in times of stress aids mental health.
~~~
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The Happy Wordcrafter 