Week 1

Day one

It has begun

The green summer leaves have fallen

Into decaying heaps of gold and brown

At the base of the old oak tree.

The shorts and tee shirts of summer are gone

Long replaced by the imprisonment of hats scarves and woolen mittens

Soon the skeletal arms of the tree will receive a new white coat

The snow falls softly at first its

Its intricate crystalline designs intrigue the watcher

“No two are ever the same” they say.

How do they know?

Did they count each and every snow flake?

Catch them and compare

On the tip of my tongue I catch the first flake of winter.

It melts instantly in my warm mouth.

It has begun the earth hibernates

The miracle of death and rebirth unfolds once again.


Day two


“I don’t understand or agree with the rules” the teenager says

“What is wrong with the rules?”

How can I make her understand mom and child think simultaneously?

“Would you look at it from my point of view?”

Mom steps back room fades as she is warped back in time. She remembers when she was on the other side of the kitchen.

She stands hands on hip bell bottoms, tee shirts and a leather fringe bag on her hip

Her hair was a short afro and her man was at the curb waiting in his conversion van

The car horn beeps impatiently. “Hurry up!” he screams out the open window.

“It’s just a concert mom.”

“I don’t know these people.”

“They are just some kids from school.”

“I’ve heard about these concerts all the drugs and sex.”

“I don’t smoke pot mom! I’m just listening to the music.”

“You are so old fashion you need to get with the sixties mom. Nobody has rules anymore.”

“So mom can I go?”

“Who is going to the concert?”

“Just some friends from school mom”

A car horn sound in the driveway. “Beep, beep” it toots.

Mom looks out the window a mini cooper sits at the curb

She looks at her daughter dress in the latest fashion skinny jeans and a hoodie and sigh

“Ok but be back by 10” she gives in.

“10?” the teen screams in protest.

Mom puts on the stern face. “You want to stay at home?”

“Good bye mom.” The teen kisses her mom on the cheek and bounces out the door.

At least it’s not a conversion van the mom thinks to herself shakes her head watching her baby grow up.

She yells up the stairs “Honey remember that conversion van you use to have?”


I am weighing my options

Get out of bed

or press snooze

If I get out of bed I will be cold

If I stay in bed I will be late

I don’t have to work per se

I have to get to my computer and type, type away

The month is November and the challenge is on

I can’t write fabulous poetry in bed

That for sure

I must venture out of my warm comfy bed

Cold feet hit the floor

Oh I’d rather be dead.

I so hate being cold

But falling behind is much sadder

I guess I go sit in my computer chair

My ass getting fatter

For the next thirty day

Nanowimo has my time

And the poem a day challenge is worth it every dime

I feel so much better making time to create

A new novel and a poetry chapbook awaits

In a mere thirty days I’ll be toasting champagne

then preparing for a new project

my family calls me insane.

To my fellow writers

I can feel your pain

The world await patiently

For the words we create

So get out of bed and get typing

Grab your coffee and go.

The presses are humming and rearing to show

The world what you made for them

So likity split

Get those keyboards clacking

Those words out you spit.

Fame and fortune are but for a few

Yet you may inspire a young writer by what you do.

I may never make money

Not even a dollar

But if I don’t write

The muse he will holler

So I’m out of my bed in my warm slippers and robe

To incite and inspire and take poetry higher.

To create a new poem

fulfill my life’s desire.

Day 4 Maybe next time you will listen

If I done told you once I’ve told you a thousand time

God don’t like ugly

I told you beauty is only skin deep

I told you true beauty comes from the inside

I’ve told you to stop acting ugly

Maybe next time you will listen

I told you that a hard head make a soft behind

I told you that we reap what we sow

I told you God don’t like ugly

Don’t act like you don’t know

We are all given a conscious

To determine what is right and wrong

The ten commandments make it simple

Don’t act like you don’t know

I told you to treat others the way you want to be treated

And that family is all that you’ve got

I told you to make good decisions

You didn’t listens so in jail you now rot

I told you education is the key

To getting what you want

You had to be impatient

Robbing Peter to pay Paul

Your stupid friends let you take the fall

The tears down you cheeks now glisten

Darling child maybe next time you will listen.

Day 5 Growth
They will always be your babies

You held them inside your womb for forty excruciating week

You wondered who they would look like, talk like, be like

The reality is beyond you imagination

These creatures steal your heart the first time that you hear their heartbeat

Rapid and strong inside your womb

And you think

I made that.

Through the aches and pains of skin stretching

Bones shifting and backs aching

the pain of an alien poking you in the liver

You wait

For the creature to arrive

In pain or joyfully under anesthesia

they enter the world all bloodied from battle

 and are plopped down

 warm and slippery looking like they are covered with cottage cheese

And they open their mouth to scream and you are in love.

The years pass in a blur

From kindergarten to drivers training

And you wonder what happen to my baby

Then you smile and remember

They will always be your babies

Even when they have babies of their own

And only then will they understand.

Day six

Inside the blue walls of the nursery

There is a battle raging

The rambunctious toddler is tucked into bed

Amid kisses and tickles

Bedtime stories and giggles

He laughs he kicks he spins around

Just for the joy of being tucked

Under the fluffy green blanky again

“Come on little man,” I sigh

“It’s beddie-bye time

I’m going to tuck, tuck, and tuck you in

Just one more time”

Soon my son is fast asleep

The covers heaped in a pile again

at his chubby little feet.


Day 7 Poem about a plant

Dinner time

You plant

Water, sunlight, fertile soil

You wait

Water sunlight fertile soil

You weed

Water sunlight fertile soil

You sow

Water sunlight fertile soil

You reap

You wash

You chop

You cook

Let’s eat!


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