2022 NaPoWriMo – Day 3 (Glosa)

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is: Write a poem that glosses, or explains, or in some way responds to another poem. 

I twist your words, folding them into the palm of my hand,

to hold as hope, to superimpose,

onto my own heart.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows.

My life splits into two, one I imagine with you,

seeping into everything I do like blood,

Second, is the truth.

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud).

There is nothing growing here,

but the comfort of my own lies,

and all I try to deny,

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life.

There is no peace,

just the buzzing of what I’d,

say to you if I could,

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide.

2022 NaPoWriMo – Day 2 (Obscure Words)

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is: Write your own prose poem that is a story about the body. write a poem based on a word featured in a tweet from Haggard Hawks, an account devoted to obscure and interesting English words. 

Daily, I trudged through the deep snow,

Tired, from the simplest of tasks,

Doing, whatever you asked,

Surviving, the greatest of blows.

I forgot what life looked like in the light.

Still, even in the dark,

I waited for life to bloom.

I weathered your cold heart,

even as it froze my own.

I thought, soon, soon,

life would rise with what I’d sown.

Comforted, by thoughts of spring,

of time working it’s magic on me,

I wanted, I waited expectedly.


with it’s failed expectations,

it’s lingering affectations.

I listen for a chirp in the distance,

as proof there is indeed life beyond this.

2022 NaPoWriMo – Day 1 (Prose Poetry)

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is: Write your own prose poem that is a story about the body. 

You animate your body awkwardly, like you are using the wrong muscles for the wrong movements. I watch you untangle yourself from your desk, lumbering limbs you loosen out, angled arms you arrange around—unwrinkling yourself up. I want to readjust you like my trainer does my own body: “Pull back the shoulders, straighten the back, use the core,” she repeats like a mantra. You lean to the left when you walk. It’s quirky, or maybe an injury. I want to nudge you to the right, hold you in place. One day, we are finally formally introduced. “Nice to meet you,” you say with the biggest grin that’s ever been. I feel everything escape my body. All that is left is a desire to see you smile again, to be the one that makes you smile. I jerk my hand forward awkwardly, almost punching you in the gut. “Nice to meet you too.”