She told me to write a sestina.
I looked at her with my eyes wide open
“a sestina?” I asked.
“Surely you mean Siesta,” I told her.
She growled from her umbilicus,
and the growl went all the way up to her eyes.
‘Child’, she said; “you cannot be in this class
if you cannot write sestina!” she proclaimed
So, I went to the front of the class, and taking a chalk,
I wrote on the board,

I like to make lemonade when I am given lemons!! ©


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A Quatern.

I was awakened by din early this morn
I yawned and looked at the clock
the neighbor kept blowing the horn
my daughter entered the room in her new frock

I braided her thick hair
I was awakened by din early this morn
She wanted her new shoes to wear
Looking at her, I knew she had grown

when I said ‘no’, she looked so forlorn
She didn’t know the thick fog was icy and slick
I was awakened by din early this morn
she brushed my hugs, and that made me sick. ©


{{This was not easy for me. I am sure it doesn’t meet the rules of a Quatern Poem. But this is all I have.}}

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Slavery and Freedom (NPM #8)

Slavery and Freedom

White skin, standing tall on a frame
of pride, attitude and bias.

Black and brown skin, head bent
but spine straight, eyes steady and pious.

One, a salve, the other a the master
holding up the status of the better race

words, harsh and with twist of tongue
insults thrown in the face.

Aches of ages gone by come to roost, until
the bell tolls and lets the bent heads

Look up, smile at Benevolence
and the heart murmurs, “free at last!” ©


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NPM #7, A Poem incorporating broken automotive part, basket ball and a favorite beverage!

Here is my offering.

I own a car, a jalopy of sorts
It stores all my books
and some spare parts
of the said jalopy
it chugs along the road,
announcing its arrival
with its worn muffler.

Last night I drove this same car
along a park and watched
men scrambling after a basketball
in the florescent light of the concrete court
sweat shimmering on their skin;

A one on one game, good-natured
middle aged men showing flashy moves–
and I sat in the car drinking
Ice cold water from my Yeti
and watched the elegant
pirouettes of these men,
pretending to be young boys.©


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(NPM #6 write a poem about Hands)

This old patient, his long fingers

artistic, he must have held them tip to tip

his two fingers forming a steeple.

I see scars and ingrained stains

on the wrinkled skin of his hands

Suggesting amateur carpentry

Perhaps from childhood.

Today these hands flutter

like a butterfly with clipped wings

unable to unbutton the shirt with ease

these hands look like empty shells

about to crumble at the slightest touch.

Ironic and almost humiliating

the strength he once had

he thinks he can still own,

his pretexts of resistance

to allow me to help him climb up

on to the examining table.©


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The Night ( NPM day 5)

The Night ©

The night whispers-                        
your smile conjures
a million desires!
The caressing whisper,
like a thunderous clap
wakes me
with dreams in my eyes.

Mystic music
‘Whirling Derveshes’
eyes closed-
such trance;
fingers traveling up from the torso
to the heart…
right hand turns to the sky,
and the left to the Earth—

Turning and swaying
like birds in flight
still in trance!

This is love;
to fly to a secret place in the sky,
causing a hundred gossamer shrouds
to fall each moment
trying to let go of life—

Finally taking a step without feet,
this is love!©

This is not a Constanza. Have been too busy to sit and count the syllables. Therefore I am posting anything that comes to mind.


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April 4th of NPM

(Include the following words in the poem: Equal, umbrella, tidy and weight)

Regardless of the weight of known and unknown cares
I tell myself to stand tall and finish the chores
How can the twins be identical or equal in etiquette
when one twirls the open umbrella in the mud,
and the other, with clean and tidy getup,
pushes herself away and tries to delegate!©


The freshness of spring fills my garden.
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BONFIRE ( A Dizain)

I didn’t know what a Dizain is. Honestly. I just weave my words in and out of the old brain and write some gibberish and pass them off like a poem. I had to look this one up. Val, are you going to make my life difficult for me at this time in my life?? 🙂 🙂 Here is a feeble attempt, after reading a couple of poems by others.

Bonfire  NPM #3

We talked the night out by the dying fire
embers flying about like small insects
we let our thoughts consume our passions.
Who else was there that night by the fireside?
I don’t remember, because I didn’t care!

I memorized your laughter and your eyes
as keepsakes in the labyrinth of my soul
leaning into the rhythm of your heart beats
trying to find my own destination.


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Lost Love. (NPM #2)

Lost Love.©

Do I feature in your dreams?
Do you find me crowding your thoughts?
Can you sleep at night,
When I ache with my loneliness ?

Your face in my eyes,
Questioning my sacrifice,
Letting you go away from me….

Your needs, your wants, you acquired;

My madness, my desires and my aches,
My companions now!

Who won?

Who lost?

I am just a vagabond, living with your heart beats in my chest
wandering on old roads.


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A Love Poem (Scavenger Hunt,NPM1)

This is my humble offering on the first day of April., the National Poetry Month. Val has talked about two “simple rules” about the link and where it should go. Sorry, too old to understant that lingo.
Hope you like this. It’s been a while since love! heh!

The Winning Love

The four chambers of my heart
have spread their sails out
to the idle winds, and ask
that they be transported to
the nebulous island of ANYWHERE!

Men cry that they have loved
and they have lost.
I found my love at the edge
of a desert this late in life, and I say~

 I have loved, and I have won!
My life has found its music and songs-
and the wind-laden chambers of my hear
filled with ethereal nectars, revel in
the beauty of EVERYWHERE– and my life,

oh so rich with the love it has won!


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