I started counting ambulances

because when you live near a hospital,
the sirens muffle all the birdsongs.
I want to believe at least one of them
carries a woman in labor,
bringing a new hope into the world,
even though most women I know
took a bus or a cab to the nearest hospital
to have their babies, some of them even drove.

NaPoWriMo Day 14

Things that make you feel nostalgic

(after Sei Shōnagon)

Swings. Following paper boats on streams.
Chasing crickets. Playing hide-and-seek.
Drawing watches on your wrist with a pen.
Pulling off ladybugs’ wings so they stay.
Halley’s comet. Pineapple coconut cake.
Time spent with grandparents. Writing letters.

NaPoWrimo Day 13 poem, for a prompt share by Amy Kay

Instructions on how to forget

Lie in the backyard
late afternoon on
a sunny spring day
and watch the clouds go.

Napowrimo day 12 poem, for a prompt share by Amy Kay

Toys on the planet Earth

(After Naomi Shihab Nye)

When it is safe again to
leave the house, I want to hear
the names of all your paper dolls
and see your bedroom
in the new address.
We will make up silly songs,
dance around the house,
reread favorite books and
make new imaginary friends.
We will sit in the yard and
drink pretend tea, dig a little,
dream a lot - will you
teach me your secret recipe
for mud cake then?

NaPoWriMo day 11

I am no longer shaken by the mention of your name

It took me more than four years

because I could not follow the

schedule. Some days you wake 

up late and miss the bus, you 

forget to take your pills, you 

don't pack any lunch, you get 

home so late you skip shower 

and evening prayers, but yes, 

Aldous Huxley was right: all

you need is sixty-two thousand

four hundred repetitions to turn 

a lie into a truth.

How little we know

the litany of sweltering days

to sit out in the yard 

under the shade of the avocado tree

drink freshly squeezed lemonade

wait for the neighboring insects to

cry out the terms of rain.

now we go through soultry,

nameless seasons unaware of 

closure, we search the sky for

clouds only a few of us can name.

nothing would make us happier

than the song of cicadas.

NaPoWriMo Day 9 - prompt by Christina Thatcher

The old man who cried wolf

(after Pablo Neruda)

And does the father who 
lives in your dreams
die again when you're awake?
My dad has already made up his mind.
He leaves this world little by little
taking a small sip of unconsciousness
two or three times a week
so we don't discover his plan
to go without a goodbye.

Today's poem is based on a prompt offered on Instagram by poet Amy Kay. The idea was to use a question as first line and then answer it in the rest of the poem. I have used a question asked by Pablo Neruda in his 'Book of Questions", which I was introduced to a long time ago by a dearest friend. 

I built myself a little triumph

I said 'enough'.
the letters
clinged to my tongue
furiously tight
and I held on
to those two syllables
loving them
for an entire minute,
before releasing them
gently and walking away,
no breadcrumbs to
bring me back.

NaPoWriMo Day 7 - prompt by Christina Thatcher

To move on tracks of boundless generosity

Growing up

my father honored 

every house we lived in

by planting a vegetable garden.

We had twelve addresses,

we wanted to grow friendships

not cherry tomatoes, we were

such silly kids, my sisters and I.

Orphaned by the age of five,

it would take my old man thirty years

to trust a plot of land 

and put down roots.

The Poetry Society - NaPoWriMo Day 5 prompt

Out of reach and fading

It's been nearly fifteen years now
Portugal stole you away
and installed you by the shore,
lighthouse number fifty-four
pulling drunk sailors off reefs.
I, who have poorly learned to swim,
who have seen the sea only once,
who still struggle to find my North,
may never again lay eyes on you.

(a Tanaga poem)

You die again, in a dream.
I wake up to fresh pancakes
and undisturbed cirrus clouds.
I won’t bring you back this time.

Cuyahoga Library asked of poets to try the Fillipino Tanaga poetry form today, consisting of four lines of seven syllables in each line. Originally, the rhyme was the same for every line (aaaa), modern rhymes range from dual rhyme forms (aabb, abab, abba) to freestyle forms. Tanagas do not have titles traditionally.

The great unknown

I have wasted so many wishes that
shooting stars stopped looking for me.
Then I stopped waiting for them.

I care a lot less now about
the trouble outside my window,

I sit in the living room with
my thoughts and emotions.
So many reasons to be grateful.

PAD Challenge day 4 prompt asked of poets to write a 'wish poem'. 

Text(ure)

Careful what you write out.
Each word carries weight.
Not all words make it poems.
Many are subject to confusion.
Some are material to altercation.
Only a few of them make amends.


Today's prompt comes from Christina Thatcher's list. She asked poets to write a poem which included a telephone or another piece of technology. My inspiration was the smartphone and the exchanges we have over Whatsapp especially.

How I stopped writing

We visited the Red Shift once together,

do you remember?

Do you remember faltering into the darkness,

groping uneasily along walls, the sound of 

the red liquid running down the floating sink drain 

growing louder, as we moved closer?  

Cuyahoga Library, which shares some of my favorite NaPoWriMo writing prompts every year, asked  poets to write a poem that is an apology to your muse, explaining why you aren't there writing oftener, better, more clearly, passionately, universally, and/or eternally. This is it. The Red Shift is an installation created by Cildo Meireles at the Inhotim Museum.

Flow

Every day is a good day.
you open your eyes,
you step into a new world,
never the old you.

PAD Challenge - day 1 prompt

Grounded

this is how we slowly forget.
things, people, days -
they move around us.

we need to be somewhere.

we walk past them,

always looking the opposite way.

we take pride in busyness.
we mistake it for purpose.

too busy to acknowledge
one another's presence.

too busy to request
one another's stay.