by the Read Write Poem Staff
Read Write Poem member Angie Werren invites us to write about the choice we didn’t make:
Everyday we make choices. Some are small: English breakfast or Lipton? the highway or back roads? Some are more significant: convertible or mini-van? farmhouse or condo?
Some choices lead us straight into the life we’re living, but for this poem, think about one of the things in your life you didn’t choose.
Be concrete. Pick an object — something tangible* — and write your poem directly to it, as if you were writing it a personal letter. Explain why you didn’t choose it. What could things have been like if you had? Talk about what your life has become without it. See where the “confession” takes you.
*As an alternative, dig a little deeper and write your poem to a person you left behind.
Reminders for everyone
Read the Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Challenge Kickoff post for details on how the challenge works — and how you can engage with Read Write Poem this month, no matter what your personal writing challenge is for the month of April.
Please read this page to find out how Read Write Poem’s prompt posts work. Remember that work linked from any post this month is shared in precisely that spirit: sharing, as opposed to critiquing. If you haven’t done so already, please read all the pages under About in the navigation bar.
So you want regret — hmmm…
…rob
rob kistner replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 2:10 am
Here is my NaPoWriMo #11 – the path I didn’t take: Play Ball!
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 2:52 am
Rob, Of your two poems, I think I prefer the haiku – its virtue lying in succinctness. The longer poem, while evocative and interesting, is the tiniest bit clichéd. But then I look at when it was posted, it becomes an astonishing tour de force. I don’t know what time zone you are in compared to Western European time, but you are always the speediest to post, by far. How do you do it?
rob kistner replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 3:12 am
I write constantly Vivienne. I’ve so much work in different states of draft that I simply find one with subject matter that will fit, and steer it toward the prompt and into final draft.
The longer poem is the one that was most personal and heartfelt, and made me cry while writing it. Those are all honest stream-of-consciousness memories of years of deeply meaningful and magical things I shared with my adoptive father – my only island of love, in an extremely dysfunctional and abusive home life.
Yes, that first poem made me cry writing it. Perhaps it is too personal to translate to others who did not share an intimate baseball relationship, during the 1950’s and 60’s with the father figure in their life.
The emotion was real and raw and built as I wrote “Spring Recall’ – nothing cliché in the writing experience.
rob kistner replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 3:19 am
I am in the Pacific Coast timezone of the USA (magnificently gorgeous Portland Oregon}, so I see the prompt post two hours before it its midnight here where I live in the Cascade Mountain foothills — and I go to work. Please refer to my previous reply and you will see what I do in those two hours.
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 3:32 am
Thank you for your explanations, Rob. NOW I understand! It’s difficult for a European to imagine baseball as other than “an American sport” – but you’ve made me see that it is a fundamental of life, particularly for you.
I didn’t mean to sound critical, because I greatly admire your work and your work ethic!
I log on at around 9am in France, so if I read the map correctly, you are at midnightish, and among the first to read the prompt, which explains a lot. But even so, you are incredibly quick off the mark, as it generally takes me a while to get my head round the prompt and find an idea!
rob kistner replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 12:32 pm
Thank you for your kind words Vivienne!
Baseball in my era, especially growing up in Cincinnati Ohio in the 50’s/60’s/70’s with the Big Red Machine, was like what soccer (football) is probably like for many European lads. It was a right of passage, a deep seeded bond with one’s father, the camaraderie with your friends, and the focal point of a man’s life — from youth to the grave.
Not Now, Not Ever
Here’s my Day 11 poem – off prompt this time
The Idea of Trees
http://sadiespoems.blogspot.com/2010/04/dear-acting.html
Here’s my take on the prompt: LIFESTYLE
Day 11
Dear Career as a Memorable Poet
http://jdmackenzie.blogspot.com/2010/04/dear-career-as-memorable-poet.html
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 3:01 am
WoW! Go for it.
Jaelle replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 5:21 am
I agree!
A rushed job for this one.
“The Right Moves”
http://rallentanda.blogspot.com
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 2:58 am
When I read the prompt, none of these things came to mind. Then I read your poem – you could have been writing about my long-gone youth! Bravo.
I dug deeper…this is to John…the one I left behind … however it seemed at the time as though he left me
http://ingeborgsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-april-11th-didnt-choose.html
A second poem for day 11: Vicarious…
nice prompt! need to sleep on this one!
This works:
http://firmlyrooted.blogspot.com/2010/04/osi-ode-to-imsomnia.html
serendipity
http://crankymango.blogspot.com/2010/04/writers-week.html
http://poemsotherwise.blogspot.com/2010/04/vicarious-dream.html
pamela sayers replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 2:25 pm
Jeeves this is pretty!
What might have been triggered by one night in Addis Abeba.
Needs work, but here it is:
Education, wasted on the young.
At sixteen I’d had enough of rules and books,
school uniform and no money.
Dad was relieved, I would cost him less
if I went to work. So I did.
The Headmaster was mad as fire
but I was adamant.
Non, je ne regrette rien.
Always able to pay my way
by my own efforts. Not rich,
but okay.
Non, je ne regrette rien.
Retirement comes, and what’s to do?
Study, that’s what:
Learn French, learn to quilt,
write stories and memoirs; poetry, too.
And gain a BA at seventy-two.
Non, je ne regrette rien.
Jaelle replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 5:31 am
Non, je ne regrette rien.
I was thinking of that song when I saw the prompt and wrote my poem, too
Also “the path less trodden”. I like the way you gave your choices a positive turn. BA at 72? Wow, I hope you don’t take that the wrong way, but you rock, lady!!!
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 7:51 am
Thank you Jaelle
Ah, but I only rock metaphorically! I just like to fill my life positively, but that’s getting physically very difficult… My graduation ceremony in June is going to be an endurance trial!
and Robin: you’ve understood the title perfectly. It really was my choice – it had been expected I would stay on at school and some form of higher education, but I saw the fun my older sister was having and decided to grab me some of it.
Robin replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 6:23 am
Sounds like the first choice wasn’t really yours, but wow, the last choices were, and they’re awesome! I’m sure everything you’ve done now you can appreciate much more than if you had done them then…(hence your perfect title).
rallentanda replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 7:46 am
Mary Wesley wrote the Camomile Lawn when she was 72.So it’s never too late..least that’s what I keep telling myself.Her books were racey too.. plenty of arsenic without the old lace!
It was easy to write to this topic but not entirely easy to follow the thoughts of “what if”. I am not made that way. So the poem describes why
What if
———-
What if I had children, all grown and in college now?
What if I had married in white?
What if I stayed and put up with his antics?
What if I’d admit he was right?
What if I had died in childbirth then?
What if I had lived and divorced him?
What if I had stayed?
What if I had not been the woman I am?
What if I was not bound by oath?
What if indeed?
But I am the woman I’ve chosen to be.
I’ve taken the oath to be free.
The choices we make are the way we are seen
And they make me what I want to be.
—–
Comments and constructive critique as always welcome
Johannes Beilharz replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 5:17 am
The “hands on” approach to what if
. Whatever we do, whatever we omit to do, we make the choices indeed.
pamela sayers replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 2:35 pm
Good you like who you are!
Mark Lysgaard replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 4:44 pm
Well said, Jaelle. I like the rhythm in this and the fact you didn’t use the “What if” at the end makes the poem stronger. Well done!
~Mark
No regrets!! All of Me
Jaelle replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 5:35 am
Ooooh, I love that one. With the title and all the different options in there it gives quite an insight to your personality. Great poem!
Joanne Johns replied:
April 12th, 2010 at 2:35 am
Thanks Jaelle!
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 8:10 am
Boy, you really hung on to your choices! That’s wonderful. And I love shape poems.
Joanne Johns replied:
April 12th, 2010 at 2:36 am
Thanks Vivienne
This game of missed chance obviously does something for me … here’s a second what/if speculation: 3 conditional lines for Liz
Such amazing, big ideas from everyone so far. I ended up writing about something much more trivial – a little paper chain that I threw away when I was hardly old enough to remember anything, that for some reason I’ve never forgotten.
http://www.shicho.net/words/?p=1020
Interesting prompt Angie!
writing love
Bag Lady
We wanted answers from the bag lady,
didn’t we? We had to know what she chose
and what hadn’t chose her. She held our lives
in two paths folded round the corners of her eyes,
glided past us with a trolley, bright as scissors,
a silver helm cut through the thin fabric of day.
We wanted her to stop, talk us our future mistakes.
We saw feathers embedded in the skin of her feet,
toughened and grown to over the notion of flight.
She didn’t seem to see us, looked up at he sun
as if it was a loaded gun, its rays of the light a knife
paring a layer from the epidermis of the afternoon.
We wanted to sit her down in an easy chair,
ply her with soup and ask if it was easy to be no one.
Her trolley a steel rib cage pushed in front of her, sailed past, the cans within rattling, full and empty
as the Marie Celeste. We wondered what parts of her life she’d recycled, and which she’d never trade.
If she’d just say something we’d listen, we thought,
at a safe distance, cover our noses with our hands.
But the bag lady did not come readily,ignored the money in our green palms, would have to be tied
to the chaise with the ribbons she’d worn as a girl.
We’d show her dolls and flashcards to reminds of her of her sex. Her gaze co ordinated only by cloud gave nothing away.
So we watched her make a hole in the middle of the park as she passed, her whole life behind her
our fears followed their trail like thin bridesmaids.
Then she was gone, to compete with crows
gargling the morning, a tin foil hat guarding her
from the looks of her inquisitors.The Mickey Mouse
toy strapped to the prow of the trolley became small,
we stood for a minute just looking at the tracks.
Janet replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 7:20 am
metal and madness
wrapping a soul
great poem angel
cheers
janet
angel replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 10:26 am
thanks janet
i thought i was going to write about the fact i don’t have a handbag- then ended up doing this 
Here’s my missive.
http://melrosemusings.blogspot.com/2010/04/letter-to-sheffield-napowrimo-day-11.html
Uma Gowrishankar replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 7:29 pm
Liked the no nonsense tone of your poem, true at 19 we play safe and only when we get older we wee bit gamble.
Thanks for the prompt. Not much on choice, alternatives, philosophy and chance today …but that was cool
I have posted today’s poem from yesterday’s prompt/ http://thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 7:56 am
… brilliant. If that was all true, God help the human race! My fave line: The last I saw of him, he was crying into his laager.
Sometimes it’s the littlest things: http://alienfireworks.blogspot.com/2010/04/concert.html
Home.
Back to Fredda & the urban commune (1969) at Scrambled, Not Fried
Marija Sanderling replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 8:45 am
I like your sense of time and place here, and it was bittersweet.
One not for me, but for my auld Da. The prompt made me think of his plight before any of my own:
Whisky in the Shower, Head Down
Wow–this poem got written surprisingly quickly (I guess this is a ripe topic), so it probably needs quite a bit of work. But, here’s to a quick write….
http://rrosenchang.blogspot.com
Johannes Beilharz replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 8:04 am
Some of what gets written quickly happens to be truly authentic – this is the feeling I get from your poem. Here’s to it!
Uma Gowrishankar replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 1:07 pm
Good, love this. Some memories don’t just erase.
The classic battle: courage vs. comfort.
http://www.redbubble.com/people/nebsy/writing/4982238-napowrimo-11
barbara_y replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 1:24 pm
That final bit caps it. Prim, coy, sly.
pamela sayers replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 3:08 pm
Neebsy,
Good one!
Ah, the journey …http://herwordsbloomed.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11-thing-you-didnt-choose.html
Didn’t post properly. I’ll try again.
http://herwordsbloomed.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11-thing-you-didnt-choose.html
I viewed this topic with some friends round midnight, and decided to take a more comical route. As soon as I graduated from High School I was told that I was borderline Diabetic, basically meaning that I don’t have diabetes but I can get it if I don’t watch my diet and start exercising again. So, the thing I did not choose was the Doughnut. No matter how good they taste, they leave you with a terrible feeling afterwards.
Dear Doughnut:
http://systematicweasel.blogspot.com/2010/04/dear-doughnut-4-11-2010-poem-day.html
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 8:34 am
Brilliant, and hilarious. I love poems that take a poke at adversity!
weasel replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 9:23 am
Thank you!
angie werren replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 9:03 am
haha — terrific!
you hit this prompt right on the … ummmm … doughnut!
weasel replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 9:25 am
Thanks! I haven’t had a doughnut in a long time, glad you liked the poem!
Poem #11. “Bones.”
Dwelling on the things I didn’t choose does nothing for me. That way of thinking only leads to regret and guilt. I am the person I am today because of the choices I made. I celebrate those choices rather than challenge them or denigrate them.
“Bones” is posted at: http://troysworktable.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11.html
The Bed
I spied you at my regular auction
I’d been looking for you
For more than a year.
Shimmering birds-eye maple
Your lines simple, head solid
No need for fancy finials
Your grain made you distinctive
A stand-out from all the rest
So why, you ask, did I not bid your acquaintance?
I’m sorry to say you came with baggage
Your entire family was thrown in for the deal
I didn’t need a dresser, you see
Or a bureau, or even a small vanity
There wasn’t enough room for everyone
And I didn’t have the heart to break you up
And take you away from the rest
You all fit so well together.
Instead, a dealer won you for a price
Well below your value
I hope you were treated right
In his New York shop
And wherever you are now
I hope you are cherished
As would have
If you were mine.
The prompt prompts to something slightly different than the prompt:
http://poemblaze.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/napowrimo-11/
Today’s poems are on Facebook including an extra prompt.
You’ll also find it here:
http://dash30dash.ning.com/profiles/blogs/napowrimo-day-11-2010-0
Happy writing…
Intriguing prompt, definitely one I will revisit later; however, I like to keep my weekends simple and continue a tradition I started several Sundays ago, Sunday haiku.
Chanda replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 9:51 am
neat tradition!
Good morning! A birdie poem for your edification. Read or listen to “Spring Robins”
http://jasoncrane.org/2010/04/11/poem-spring-robins/
All the best,
Jason Crane
jasoncrane.org
thejazzsession.com
It’s a wee bit of a poem. The thing I wanted to write about got the better of me:
http://poetry.disorderedcosmos.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11a-the-ends/
here’s mine — http://another2doors.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/dear-mesa/
My attempt: http://rhiannonproblematising.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/napowrimo-11-dear-bicycle/
My number 11: Dirty Unchosens
http://richelledodaro.blogspot.com
Made me think of repetitive (poor) choices, and a Buddhist parable, about a lazy bird
http://novaheart.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/poem-41110-nests-kankucho-bird/
Here is my NaPoWriMo #11: A Life She Didn’t Choose. My life has been relatively pain free compared to most others. This is the story in poetry of a woman I met from the Philippines who came to the US via Guam’s North Marianis Islands. This was certainly a life she did not choose and wouldn’t wish this on anybody. This poem is called The Petri Dish.
http://babblingoninbabylon.com/blog
If the link doesn’t take you directly to the post, please click on the Blog tab and that should do it.
Thanks,
~Mark
Thanks for the prompt Angie, here’s mine: NUMBER SIX
so many poets still going! i love it!
http://caroleesherwood.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/napowrimo-11/
This wasn’t hard, since I often think about the “path not chosen” – this particular one is a house not bought: http://www.cathymcguire.com/poetry.htm
Robin replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 12:45 pm
Well done! I never would have thought to pick a house for this topic, but you did this so well. I love how you gave the house life.
Marie replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 4:42 pm
Another great one. I like it!
Not crazy about my own title, but here it is… Kinsey Five
Thanks Angie – http://cardiganmiser.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/to-the-splits/
Bag of Want
http://tinacelio.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/bag-of-want/
Evelyn N. Alfred replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 1:28 pm
Nice poem Tina.
Here is NaPoWriMo # 11 ‘The Sweet Taste Of Loss’ – http://umaathreya.blogsome.com/2010/04/11/the-sweet-taste-of-loss/
Robin replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 12:51 pm
I couldn’t get my comment to post on your blog, but wanted you to know I enjoyed this. I thought it was very clever to write about this from the perspective of a mother sharing it with her son. I also liked the second stanza a lot; we do sometimes wear loss like a badge, though I hadn’t really realized that before.
How does it feel to run free?
http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474978166221
Very interesting prompt Angie. Not to sure where this came from maybe it was the bit of Merlot I drank with my friends last night. Ugh!
http://flaubert-poetrywithme.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-bookcase-napowrimo-11.html
To the Vintage Lawn Chair Tossed Out
I imagine by now you are coated in rust
in the company of broken stereos,
spooky dolls and rotting mattresses
I don’t like to think about that
I was on a tear, you know,
looking for ways to lighten my load
You fell into my line of sight that day
and all I could see was your peeling green paint
and the work it would take to restore you
I couldn’t see your worth
couldn’t be bothered with sentiment or doubt
Moving makes one a bit crazy
Now I know: Old does not always equal junk
Some things are worth the effort
Had I consulted my heart I would have kept you
And could gaze on your graceful shape
from the kitchen window, washing dishes
You waiting, open and empty as a good Buddhist
We could have shared summer afternoons
sipping iced tea and reading
Next to the rosemary and its halo of bees
I just discovered this site; I need a daily practice, so I’m jumping in on the daily prompts. I’m tentative about the virtual community/conversation; this is my first participation in such. Here is my #11. I don’t blog.
What made you do those things?
The thing you didn’t do
was behold her ribbon
loosening from her hair
floating down down
comforter toppling
a movement from the Source
back unto itself in
pitch perfect attunement.
What you did do
was have/take sex.
The thing you didn’t do
was climb the tree limb
bending down down
leaf crown dipping
a wave from the sap
out towards itself in
sweeping love gestures.
What you did do
was pave grass.
Left Behind
Sorry I ditched you L.A.
it really wasn’t my fault
I mean when you grow up in a place
that has so much smog you can’t see
the mountains 3 miles away
and your throat hurts
after playing outside all day
then as an adult
your diamond lane experiments
and pre Prop 13 rent raising
media magnified dangers
had me finished
done with you and on to
greener pastures literally
Seattle called us
and we responded
with a truckload of our belongings
and our kids in tow
and what was not to love about Seattle
except 18 years of grey skies and
dreams of sunshine and hot nights
So here I am again
back to beaches and hot nights
and L.A., thanks so much
for cleaning up your smog
and waiting patiently
for me
Take your pick:
If I Had Known
Have you ever heard of a loon poem? I hadn’t either until yesterday. I tried it out for today’s prompt: http://goo.gl/fb/IzCD7
Am I the only one who’s been having difficulty naming these prompt poems?
vivienne Blake replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 3:20 pm
You have touched a chord in me, and that’s the sign of a terrific poem!
Marie replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 4:49 pm
Funny and current. Good one! (I could not post on your blog for some reason)
hosking replied:
April 11th, 2010 at 5:37 pm
The style worked well for today’s prompt. Where did you hear about the loon form? I googled
it and only found poems written about loons.
Well – as I went about Sunday I mulled this prompt. Finally got down to it this evening. Difficult – soul searching.
http://synecdochicstuff.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11.html
I’m not much of a shopper, so I don’t recall many hard choices. Opting not to upgrade my analog TV was the closest I could get…
Bystander to a Bricking
Hungry Heart Ache
Angeliad of Surazeus
2010 04 11
http://open.salon.com/blog/surazeus/2010/04/11/hungry_heart_ache
http://stores.lulu.com/angeliad
Tina drops jeans jacket on a bush
then sits on wood fence by dirt road
and stares at forest wall of tall trees
that shimmer in gold morning heat.
What makes my hungry heart ache
like hot coals torn by an iron rake.
Tufts of grass and flowers and wheat
line dirt road around wood fence post
and blow in restless but bored wind
that makes her blouse flutter wings.
What makes my hungry heart ache
as I stumble in dance of give and take.
Life has no meaning for god is dead
because I cannot believe in a silly lie
so let my mother pray day and night
for I create my own truth from light.
What makes my hungry heart ache
longing to eat milk and chocolate cake.
Staring in shadows behind old trees
she sees witch Rhianne of Buvinda
in long cape of silk in blue and green
whose eyes flow tears into black pool.
What makes my hungry heart ache
in memory of a mother burned at stake.
Robin hood appears far down dirt road
kicking up dust from motorcycle wheels
then stops beside her with engine roar
wearing helmet with an eagle that soars.
What makes my hungry heart ache
longing for bad boys who love to take.
Robin checks out cute girl on a fence
long legs and curves in tight jeans
so he grins and cracks open can of beer
but she sees in burning eyes blind fear.
What makes my hungry heart ache
that may be eased swimming in a lake.
Come dance with me angel of desire
for you set my hungry heart on fire
but she laughs and wiggles her hips
feeling flash of lightning strike sweet.
What makes my hungry heart ache
stealing apples for a hot pie to bake.
Preachers are rapists and perverts
and teachers are liars and deceivers
and politicians are greedy clowns
but you are honest about being bad.
What makes my hungry heart ache
wearing masks our blind fears make.
Tina rides behind Robin Hood on bike
as he races along highway of wind
laughing as they zoom past a cop
who spills coffee startled from a nap.
What makes my hungry heart ache
pounding in wild joy speed may wake.
Floating forever on hot beams of light
Tina watches silver truck loom huge
as it lurches in front of them from a lot
then she soars among angelic clouds.
What makes my hungry heart ache
trying to find truth in all that is fake.
If I had Moved to California
That summer I was 19 and my father remarried and
Sold our house and moved in with her and her mother
And I dropped out of college and was staying with my
Girlfriend and her family and looking for a place to stay—
And my aunt and uncle who had moved to San Bernadino
With a bunch of the Kentucky relatives said I could stay
With them –
Who would I have been?
I’d never been further west than Michigan
But dreamed of becoming a California Girl.
The kind that hung out on beaches, not in a
Desert town like San Bernadino…
Probably I would have worked in a library
Like I did in Cleveland and when I was in college
Maybe I would have finished college. Who would
I have married? Would I have ended up on the coast?
I always said I had to live near water. And I loved
The changing seasons. That was what I wrote my
Poetry about. Would I have finished the novel I
Was writing about the War Between the States?
(Wonder whatever happened to that!)
What if I hadn’t been sitting at the bar in the VFW
In Euclid, OH when Florence’s boyfriend hadn’t
Walked in with the man I later married? And moved
To Marblehead OH and had six children and worked
In the county seat library and got my BFA driving
Back and forth to Bowling Green?
There is a quote from Sor Juana Ines de La Cruz that
I like to tell my children “Everywhere I go, I take
Myself with me.” So if I had taken myself to San
Bernadino, I would still be the same old me? Maybe
A famous writer? Maybe a dreary 9 to 5 job with a
One room apartment and no family but a big pile of
Rejected MS’s?” But here I am and there’s still a lot
Of rejected poems, short stories, parts of novels lying around.
I am enjoying reading everyone’s new entries each day – I’m dreading the return to work tomorrow! Special thanks to everyone who has stopped by and left a piece of you with me through this journey – I will treasure those also! Today’s poem, NO REGRETS, can be found at http://bridgeanna.blogspot.com
Blessings on your day!
(The sun is beautiful today in Portland, Oregon!)
Megabyte is my monster. Read about his unexpected choice of manners when disposing of his tasty victims!
If you dare…follow the trail to ‘Megabyte’ at http://www.gregoconnell.com =)
along the waterfront
“A Poem to You”
http://healingforthehealthy.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11-thing-you-didnt-choose.html
This one is about a childhood friend I unintentionally lost touch with when we grew up: “Mary Beth” at http://1965footprints.blogspot.com
I posted earlier – but now I don’t see it. Posting again.
http://synecdochicstuff.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11.html
Pig Pen
Back in time from camping, and a poem from the prompt:
http://just-somestuff.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11-decaffeinated-over-you.html
Here’s what I came up with: http://disorder1313.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/tranliteration-of-catullus-viii/
Eleven days in and I’m still here! YAY!
http://mylineofwords.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-11-choice-i-didnt-make.html
The Bar: http://thekitchenbitchponders.blogspot.com/2010/04/national-poetry-writing-month-day.html
Interesting prompt, Angie!