The Lonely Sofa

broken sofa

Photo by Mike Clark


It’s cold.
The lonely sofa wallows in its brokenness,
Yearning for the laughing children
Who used to bounce and play with him.
Cast out from the cozy warmth
Of the family home,
He still waits for company –
Someone to stop by for a chat,
Someone to share in a good book or cup of coffee.
His only company now
The occasional passing train
Who is always too busy to chat.


Today’s offering for NaPoWriMo was inspired by the photograph taken by my friend Mike Clark. 





Image by Circe Denyer at Public Domain Pictures


The red-handed bandit
Sweeps circular arcs
Across the landscapes of our lives
Ticking away the most precious of our resources.

We sit in our
Boring classes,
Meaningless meetings,
Unfulfilling jobs
In disproportionate spans
To family vacations
Or solo adventures
Because someone said we should.

Only when we blink and notice
Our babies have become teenagers
Or adults with children of their own
And the reflection in the mirror
Has white hair and wrinkles
Do we realize the extent of our loss.

We cannot stop this thief,
But we can make sure that we understand
The value of what we are giving away.

Inspired by the prompt from the NaPoWriMo website. It called for providing concrete details for an abstract concept.

Stop the Madness


Image by Hasty Words at Public Domain Pictures


Make it rain
Make it stop
Stop the presses
Stop the fighting
Fighting “the Man”
Fighting the pain
Pain of war
Pain of hate
Hate our differences
Hate our enemies
Enemies of peace
Enemies of the state
State of the union
State of the world
World religions
World without end
End of the world
End of the beginning
Beginning again
Beginning to see
See the possibilities
See the light
Light of the world
Light in their eyes
Eyes without a face
Eyes wide shut
Shut the front door
Shut up and dance
Dance for your life
Dance to the music
Music of the night
Music of the spheres
Spheres of influence
Spheres of power
Power to the people
Power to choose
Choose your destiny
Choose joy
Joy to the world
Joy of painting
Painting the town
Painting with a twist
Twist of fate
Twist and shout
Shout it out
Shout of madness
Madness for money
Madness to the method


Inspiration for today’s Blitz poem came from both the NaPoWriMo prompt (a list poem) and the Writer’s Digest prompt (a “stop” poem). 

Ode to My Mom

Mom in her Garden

Photo by Amy McGrath


Full-time job, home cooked meals, clean house
The needs of her children, her husband, her mother, her grandsons
Always tended to before her own.
She is the caretaker.

Holiday traditions and family gatherings
Result in copious quantities of her home cooked food
With guaranteed leftovers for everyone to take home.
She is the hostess.

Curator of family photographs and artworks,
Meticulous researcher of ancestors
And related historical records,
She is the genealogist.

She tends to her flower beds like she tends her family –
Watering and weeding regularly,
Transplanting and rooting new growth.
She is the gardener.

At five feet and not quite an inch tall
With short cropped red hair and an attitude to match,
Even in her retirement,
She is a force to be reckoned with.


Today, I used the prompt from Writer’s Digest for day 2 of National Poetry Writing Month. The challenge was to create a portrait poem.

Secret Shame


Image by Sam Bourland at Public Domain Pictures


Dragging the soft warm biscuit
Through the puddle of
Thick brown country gravy,
Salivating like Pavlov’s dog,
Anticipating the last bite of
Rich comfort food on my tongue.
Mashed potatoes long gone
From the everyday stoneware plate,
Still I want more.

On silent tiptoe, I sneak
Into the quiet kitchen
To acquire the plastic dish and metal spoon,
Hurrying downstairs to the upright freezer
And loading the dish to overflowing with ice cream.
I shut myself in the tiny bathroom
And close my eyes in worshipful prayer
To the creamy, chewy Heavenly Hash gods.
Still I want more.

Sinful secret snacks served with scoops of shame
Too much is never enough to fill the void,
To soothe the pain, to satisfy the need.
And still I want more.


I’m following the prompts (or trying to, anyway) from the National Poetry Writing Month website.




Paint smooshed around on a gelatin surface –
Inner child demands use of all the colors –
Ignoring color harmony, choosing hues just because…
The only rule to embrace the “what if”.

Texture tools scrape, draw, push the color to new places.
Inner child squeals with glee at all the choices.
Plain paper pressed onto the sticky surface –
Praise for the pull that provides a perfect print!


This was written as a response to the November 20 prompt at Poets on the Page. Join us there for weekly prompts throughout the year!