Melon Perspectives- NaPoWriMo Day 24

I remember the days

of cantaloupe disdain

the subtly orange flesh

hidden within rough rind

the challenge of cutting

is the knife sharp enough?

the hazards of a roll

or a slippery skip

melon balls seemed pretentious

an artform designed

for luncheon hosting ladies

with excessive time, anxious

and crystal bowls galore

silver melon balling scoop

while rough hewn wedges

are cookout relegated

I cannot quite place the moment

the initial acknowledgement

of gustatory potential

in the subtly sweet

juicy crunch

while avoiding the

chin drip

napkin at the ready

the flavor evades

easy categorization

less a sensational standout

than a comforting backdrop

a hint of summer soothing

without ice cream guilt


to multiple pairings

to imagine you

as a cantaloupe

littlest melon

is incongruous

 having grabbed my attention

riveted all my senses

in definitively

uncantaloupian fashion


Coconut – An Index Poem- NaPoWriMo Day 27

palm tree of the genus Cocos; ubiquitous

in tropical locales; name origin –

Portuguese, for head or skull; domesticated

in Southeast Asian Islands – Neolithic;

icon of vacation decadence – sipping chilled froth

in a shell, pineapple bedecked; oil-

for frying with a hint of sweetness;

milk, used in curries or as dairy

substitute; will you be a foodie

like your uncles?; water – for hydration

and natural source of electrolytes;

in soaps and cosmetics, for softest skin;

in sunscreen and now I smell like

the beach; reminiscent of a ghost

or witch, in folklore; falling from

trees – cartoon reference;  oh, the

stories we will tell;  silly

rambunctiousness (slang); how soon

will you drive mommy and daddy

coconuts?; using one’s head (expression);

I am certain you will use yours; flaked, blended

in caramel frosting for German chocolate

cake – deliciousness!;  perfect for

little fingers to swipe while baker’s

head is turned; size comparison

for the 31st gestational week;

and I picture all the ways we

will coconut together

Dandelions of Hope – NaPoWriMo Day 27

In response to today’s prompt:  “Today, begin by reading Bernadette Mayer’s poem “The Lobelias of Fear.” Now write your own poem titled “The ________ of ________,” where the first blank is a very particular kind of plant or animal, and the second blank is an abstract noun. The poem should contain at least one simile that plays on double meanings or otherwise doesn’t quite make “sense,” and describe things or beings from very different times or places as co-existing in the same space.”

spring plays peekaboo among

the thunderbolts and downpours

while winter lurks in the dank

shadows on redbuds’ northward sides.

the redbud lends its purple purpose,

beyond common vernal vernacular,

in musing upon the inexplicable

lingering of fuzzy socks despite

overblown tulips. the killdeer

are nesting – or so I believe, never

yet finding their nests. their cry

conjures all my longings, lost

or achingly ever-present.  a shadow

casts a pall as its owner – vulture

or dementor – glides surreptitiously

silent above.  ah, but there is hope,

despite the chill digits twining

about heart’s cockles. golden

dandelion heads nod and gesture,

like court jesters and innocent

babes, in their dance beckoning

the sun. we revert to childlike bliss,

plucking butter -predictive blossoms

to present in joyful abandon;

warmth harbingers –

these dandelions of hope

A Broccoli Crowns – An Abecedarian Poem

as you round the corner of third

base and head for home, a

check of your advancement

defines your current status –

ever a source of considerable

fanfare and fanciful botanical

gyrations. this week – 30 – a

head of broccoli is the chosen

identifier, as we squint and

judge a leafy Cruciferae with

kindly infant features.  weekly

likenings challenge metaphorical

machinations, ever searching for

nuanced depictions – oblique or

overjoyed – with which to celebrate

precise progressions.  egad!

quickness of wit is ever

required to raise the crop –

sequenced soliloquies –

testaments tantamount to

undying adoration hurled into a

vortex, floating crystalline droplets,

whirling words  – perhaps of wisdom – no

xerox copies here.  all awaiting

you, dearest boy, our baby


Dear Poem – NaPoWriMo Day 12

are you up to the challenge, my friend?

prepared the status quo to upend?

will the lilt in your lines

echo the signs of the times

or suspended disbelief recommend?

will you rise to the occasion, my verse?

of current chaos converse?

may your words twinkle light

fireflies in gloaming (twilight)

or treacherous mindfields traverse?

do you have raucous rhymes at the ready?

balance on lyrical tightrope unsteady?

can you parry and thrust

at life’s permutations unjust

or syntax flip as befits a sage Jedi?

will your stanzas have spines of steel?

form mantras for lofty ideal?

leave hungry readers agape

as reality they escape

or as political protest appeal?

gather round, my dearest friends – words

flutter through thoughts as frollicking birds

weave exquisite tapestried yarns

while cranky geese hiss afore barns

and for battle the epic thus girds

Cauliflower Caliph- NaPoWriMo Day 8

cauliflower is king of the hill

reigning in repose months before he crowns

his eyes, still silent, pierce souls

in anticipation

of the baby blues

grasping heartstrings

with delicate fingers.

his future is redolent

of lilacs in spring –

rich intoxicant bouquet

hums a soothing lullaby


to the most finicky palate.

Unky Unk will dote upon him

with practiced nonchalance

at every venture

to “The D.”

he will learn he is not cosmos’ center

as that is no recipe for raising

a responsible citizen of the world

  • said world sorely in such need  –

and salt the earth with convictions

that causes are to be taken up

this celebrated cauliflower

stands to change the world

with each milk-sweet smile

littlest liebchen

the adored angel of awakening

on the heels of the summer solstice

earth pauses, past its zenith

to observe the giving forth

he tilts the world on its axis

this tender liebchen

while Memaw gushes

sing-song baby talk.

they will bond

with the softest fierceness

unspoken and unconditional.

the beginning is cataclysmic

unhinging the careful balance

of familial construction

with predictable miraculousness

the blankets she crocheted

wrap him with all the love

in the universe –

cover him with wisdom

thread his nights with brightly colored promise

schlaf gut mein liebchen

baby cauliflower

blanketed in lilac

Listing – NaPoWriMo Day 7


I list my rights

inalienable, fundamental, human

I list to the right

starboard -leaning in the gale

I list my lefts

logical, liberal inclinations

I list to the left

port- partial overcorrection

I list my gifts

compassionate passion force

I list gifting

among missions to reinforce

I list my flaws

strengths’ pretzeled inversions

I list – and pause –

reverse course on thought perversions

The Alley- NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 5

there were wisps of balm

floating on their frosted breath

hung suspended from the watchful moon.

the crunch of their footfalls on the frozen gravel

stage whispered under observant Orion

tolled the echoes of their ending.

the squirrels had been winter gathering

prepared, industrious, for imminent dearth

I can see the bushy tailed shadows

dodging our hot- breathed strides

as we dash a spontaneous 50

giggling in our gasping hilarity

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 3 (late entry)

Response to the poem by Christina Rossetti

In an Artist’s Studio

One face looks out from all his canvases,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:
We found her hidden just behind those screens,
That mirror gave back all her loveliness.
A queen in opal or in ruby dress,
A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens,
A saint, an angel — every canvas means
The same one meaning, neither more or less.
He feeds upon her face by day and night,
And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,
Fair as the moon and joyful as the light:
Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;
Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;
Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.

Converted to

Into the Void

many tails intrude upon her absence

the multitudes crawl or creep or lumber

we see them leaping without encumber

the void steals from them their very essence.

a slug gleams in cornered luminescence

a luminary ere clouds outnumber

a ghost, a demon – abandoned umber

scatter empty into obsolescence.

her valiant escape to peace is haunted

hordes shadow her upon their ev’ry whim

dark as sun and sorrowful they wanted;

such joy with grasping, and with glory brim;

as they are, or were when hate was daunted

so as they are, as she subdues the dim.