Zeus should have
No one likes
bones and fat,
Red with rage toward the titan,
the thunder god
like uncomprehending children,
for receiving fire.
is just a metaphor;
not for women, but for childish mankind
toying with the elemental force.
© 2014 Anne Campagnet-Reed
(For the final poem in my NaPoWriMo–National Poetry Writing Month–commitment, I decided to try my hand at the new Gogyoshi form: five lines, no meter or rhyme, concise imagery. In the above series, four Gogyoshi are arranged to tell a story, but each one can be read and understood as a separate unit.)
Honor unchecked is pride,
And Pride unchecked is deadly.
I love to author poetry,
a pastime I adore;
When NaPoWriMo rolled around,
I wanted to write more:
I gladly took the challenge
to write a poem a day
for thirty days, quotidian’ly
until the month of May.
This challenge seemed quite simple;
this challenge seemed like fun,
but round about April 15th,
I felt under the gun.
You see, I am an English teacher,
teaching all day long;
helping my students think and write,
making their grammar strong;
And then at night, I slave away
preparing lesson plans,
and reading essays, poems, and work
(between my pots and pans).
So having a commitment
to blog a daily poem
has sometimes been exhausting
when arriving late at home.
But nonetheless, I’ve persevered
and often been inspired
to write haikus, sestinas, sonnets,
even when quite tired.
Now the best part is approaching:
With three days left to go,
I see that I’ve done pretty well,
and have some work to show.
They say, “All’s Well That Ends Well,”
so while writing poems was fun,
I’m glad that NaPoWriMo’s ending;
Time to go and get some sun!
Writers, watch your feet:
don’t fall into
Put a Kleenex to your nose to cover your
After the rain when we sink into
Sometimes your brain just feels…
Like cruisin’ down the street and you see
and remember the story you almost
We are all like Google glass
sitting here on our ass
looking out from behind,
wondering what we can find
[how can you claim to know a person’s mind?]
we read novels to relate:
is it choice or is it fate?
how do they feel and can we feel, too?
and there but for the grace of god,
or good for him or her (applaud);
[we feel, removed, the turning of the screw.]
Yahoo! We suck the “news” with straws
and suicide-sprinkled chocolate mint
and worst-dressed on the blood-red carpet.
The fallout happened long ago …
[…do we really care where the plane crash-landed?]
Ever evict dunes ultimately in stirrups? It’s a ziggy pornography.
A tailspin latte, Meg’s muzzle, silky sand, varying yoyos star, falling a jolt “s”–
Nose ram, Mega smeared, “Ohmigod!”
Two vices fold a glen as Elle snaps sugar a right toss a’ bun, Yes.
(If this poem seems a little strange, here’s a good reason: It was inspired by a poem in Hungarian. Out of desperation, I heeded a poetry prompt on Napowrimo.net: Take a poem in a foreign language and re-write in English the way you think the words should sound. And voilà.)
No poem ever came
All poems that compel
are compelled—from within.
I am ashamed, and do confess regret
To have forgotten, well into this night,
A solemn date no writer should forget
Commemorating one who brought great light
Equal’ to beggars, gentlemen, and kings,
Reminding us through soul-resounding verse
That we are all parts human in all things,
Succumbing to fate’s folly, and her curse.
Four hundred fifty spans did Phoebus make
’Cross silver-spangled heavens with his cart
Since first this humble poet did partake
of earthly riches, and make rich his art.
Elizabethan bard of tears and mirth:
Be merry on your rever’d day of birth!
The hardest thing
about writing a poem
is giving yourself permission
to write it.