30 Poems in 30 Days

30 Poems in 30 Days
NaPoWriMo
A Project for National Poetry Writing Month

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Setting an Intention

Another year, another NaPoWriMo.  Last year I only made it to Day 22. I am curious to see where the practice will take me this year.  I want to say I will write 30 poems in 30 days.  But of course, predictions carry less weight than presence.  And so, what I can say today is that I am present, and hoping to be that way every day, every moment of every day of every year I have left to wander this wacked out planet.

Over the past few years, NaPoWriMo has taught me something about humility.  To post drafts of poems in a very public setting is just foolhardy, yes? I mean it seems arrogant too, but really, it's mostly just foolishness. And yet, something about filling the screen each day and then clicking on "publish" creates, well, (gosh I don't want to use the word "accountability" here), I don't know what exactly. An articulation of a commitment?

I've written in April through all kinds of sludge...illness, relationship difficulties, job searches...last year those things all sank me toward the end, and they could very well again (well, not the job search part, I hope).  But at least, mostly, I hope I get some credit for trying.

I know what Yoda say's y'all..."There is no try, only do."  But then isn't trying its own kind of doing?

Monday, April 28, 2014

Day 22 Nursery Rhyme

Edwina & Patsy

Sweetie, who cares about these deadlines or the time?
Right. Cheers, darling!
Here's to vodka tonic with a twist of lime.

Day 21 New York School

Here's a Frank O'Hara imitation, set in Nashville instead of NYC.

The Homeless Paper


One time just going along
down the aisle at the Turnip Truck
by the good-for-you crackers, thinking
how even melted gruyere wouldn’t make them
taste good, thinking how I need to buy a copy
of The Contributor on the way out and did I have
a dollar, and there he was, someone handsome
an actor on a TV show they make here in town
and he’s in my way when I reach for the bad-for-you
crackers and he sees what I’m trying to do and
reaches them down for me, says these are really
good and I’m not so impressed by celebrity or beauty
that I can’t speak, but I just nod, say uhhuh, take
the crackers from his long, handsome fingers
and wonder if I have a dollar or if I need to remember
to ask for change.


Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Day 20 Voice of a Relative

John Mincarelli

His spoke in whiskers.
He spoke brandy at night and
quarters hot from his pockets
to our palms in the afternoon.
His voice was a tractor, an ancient barn
folding in on itself, old hay, a crust.

Day 19 Seashell Names

Incised Moon

Always on the cusp of it.
I'll give you a sand dollar
for your bottled message.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Day 18 Ruba'i

no pining
no whining
in this heart
on which we're dining

Day 17 Sensory

Once, the beard mattered. Its salty scent.
The silver bits catching light.
The tips of my fingers warming
in its depth.