Tag: NaPoWriMo

#NaPoWriMo #19

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power three: Photo Credit Tremaine L. Loadholt

digging in the crates

went album hunting
on my 42nd, filled
with excitement to
dive into hundreds of
crates with artists’ smiles
or avant garde masterpieces
marking up the covers.

I hunted for The Isley Brothers,
Hall & Oates, and Moonchild,
but found the Commodores and
Leonard Cohen, instead.
my time was not wasted
as I increased my collection
by three more good
finds for under thirty dollars.

I paid my fee, shared my
store credit with the college-aged
woman standing behind the
plexiglassed station, and loaded
up my new babies in
my motivated arms.

I fell in love with music
all over again when the needle
licked the first record of
choice. I spent hours
replaying the feelings and
emotions building a tower
in my heart.

I’ll go again next weekend.

NaPoWriMo #17

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42

Caison, my little Munchkin Man.

42 is here, and I spent
the day before my new
age watching the glow
of a toddler shine before
my very eyes.

he has a way of removing
my heartache and pulling
the sunshine into
my frame–what a gift
a few words can be,
especially when everything
inside tells you nothing
will change . . .

but you know, truly know
that the perfect smile
from a loved one so dear
can bloom in your spirit,
and give you relief.

joy comes in the mourning.
grief isn’t forever.
life is meant to be lived,
and the child knows this,
lives this, and understands this.

NaPoWriMo #16

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agony

I’ve written a book of poems
no one can read right now
without crying or feeling
like their heart will raise itself
up out of their chest, and walk
away willingly.

it helped me–to flesh out those
poems–to lend them to the air
around me, and grieve . . .
truly grieve as each day passes.

it’s in phases.
sad to acceptance to mourning
to celebrating the life she
lived and being grateful to
share the same blood with a
human being so God-damned
special.

I know the agony my family
feels as they struggle through
each poem.
I know the pain that creeps in,
sits at attention, and waits
to be acknowledged.

I know all of this because I
wrote the words that causes
the pain that helps me heal.

NaPoWriMo #15

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The Last Poem (Revised)

“this is the last poem
I will write for you.”
and as the words leave my mouth
I know I am lying, that
when it comes to you, truth
is hard.

I tell myself one thing
I do another.
I could have been a painter,
spreading the colors of you
onto the fibers of the canvas
while you blend in perfectly.

Every flaw you point out
as insufferable and odd have
become my favorites:
your hair, your nose, and the
way your bottom lip quivers
when you try to explain something
difficult.

I see no wrong in you.
I believe this is why
we will not make it,
why we could not,
and I believe you hate me
for being blind to your
view of you.

I say again, “this is the last poem
I will write for you”
and you smile, tilt your face
to the sky, and pull my hand
to your heart.
You purse your lips together
and utter a revelation,
“that’s a lie and you know it.”

And you’re right.

NaPoWriMo #14

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everyday fears

I am not of
importance to her–I know this–I
I feel this.
I’m just a blip on an endless
radar of exploration.
I am not a priority.
I am not a priority.

eventually, I’ll have to
find the courage to pursue
someone–anyone who
knows my worth–who appreciates
my existence.

I deserve it.
don’t we all?