Comments on: napowrimo #9: your mission

By: laurashannon

laurashannon — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 14:56:44 +0000

I get behind with my posting on the weekends. Here it is: http://thebooklife.wordpress.com/2010/04/12/4-9/.

By: kagerrr

kagerrr — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 22:24:43 +0000

Sorry I couldn’t post this the same day; I was at my parents’ home with no internet! Enjoy: http://kagerrr.tumblr.com/post/514098213/april9thpoem

By: Esther Poyer

Esther Poyer — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 13:01:01 +0000

playing catch up!

http://estherpoyer.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/on-truth-day-9-muse/

By: Mallery

Mallery — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 09:00:57 +0000

I used this prompt for my day 11 poem, which you can read here: Santa Claus (I'm cross-posting this to Day 11's comments as well.)

By: dreamtrekker

dreamtrekker — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 03:41:04 +0000

Late..but here is my post!
http://verbality.wordpress.com/2010/04/10/sushi-sweet-sushi/

By: Yousei Hime

Yousei Hime — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 02:24:09 +0000

http://tasmith1122.wordpress.com/2010/04/10/rwp-napowrimopoetic-asides-day-9/

By: Robert

Robert — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 00:13:27 +0000

Killer.

By: Tria

Tria — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 22:14:40 +0000

I posted late, but here goes:
http://triatriatria.wordpress.com/2010/04/09/that-night/

By: seashelllz

seashelllz — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 17:29:30 +0000

http://seashelllz.livejournal.com/114427.html

By: Maya

Maya — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 17:21:25 +0000

I tried using the prompt…I don’t think anyone wants to see how horrible my draft turned out although I did use parts of the prompt in my final piece: I explored the word ‘flap’ a little bit deeper, and I incorporated a sound that makes me happy (wind).

I wrote my poem by hand late last night and didn’t get a chance to post it, so I posted it this morning under yesterday’s date. http://www.mayaganesan.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-9.html

By: robertwynne

robertwynne — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 16:50:27 +0000

Potential

I am a flap of cloud, fluttering
from octopus to marionette, from
atmospheric tome open at the first page

to chimney composed of nothing
but water masquerading as smoke.
I am a pumice jug, harboring

an ancient recipe of barley and hops
in my thick, porous surface. I am
a winter rug, fringe bruised dark

by the snow-covered boots
of tired skiers limping toward chairs.
I am the sad tang of olives

pickling a startled tongue, strings
strumming their impressions
into fingerprints, the song of a campfire

longing for marshmallows. I am
Olympic torch, broken walker, lever
unmoving against stubborn arms.

I am homemade jam, empty pail
lowered deep into a well, the wattle
of every turkey which distracts

from sharp talons. I am a massage
after a marathon, treasure map
stowed beneath a mattress, smooth stone

saved because of childhood memory.
Hold me up to the light. I glow
like silverfish strung on a line of hunger.

Desire has no other name. I will burden
even the smallest spaces in you
with the knowledge of my existence.

By: Kat

Kat — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 16:19:29 +0000

I thought this was really challenging but I’m trying to keep to the prompt as a personal challenge!!

The bruise on my limp arm
from who knows what or how
the unexpected tangy taste
stronger than lemon juice
or a sour gummy worm combined
startled us
expecting the feeling of a smooth silky texture
upon our palate
not a suspicious talon just retrieved
from the pail
wanting to torch it all
then throw it into the campfire
but alas
that would be acknowledging defeat
god forbid
not as if he has a walker
he’s still under retirement age
but the need to prove himself as
a provider
is never ending
and who suffers
me
so I concentrate on the whistle of the wind
like the sound it makes if you put your ear near the
fireplace as it escapes through the chimney
knowing like all things
this will eventually end
he strums the line connected to the lever
massaging his catch like a gentle lover
stows it away in a glass jug for further review.
Fishing is one excursion, we will not be doing together in the future.