National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 28 - Poems Based on a Color

Day 28, and our prompt is to write a poem based on a color.  I've actually done that, since I wrote two poems the day we were supposed to write one that began and ended with the same word. I wrote about the color green that day. However, I didn't think it was fair to use it again for this prompt, so I have written about a different color today. Here's my totally light-hearted look at 

YELLOW

Yellow sun, yellow moon,
Yellow ribbon on yellow balloon;

Yellow crayons for coloring,
Yellow bird that chirps and sings.

Yellow duckies, yellow chicks,
Yellow grapefruit freshly picked;

Yellow squash ripe on the vine,
Yellow daffodils -- all mine.

Yellow hair, with cheeks so pink,
Yellow lemonade to drink;

Yellow butter drips and drops

From tender yellow corn-on-cob;

Yellow cheese - aroma strong,
Yellow beer to go along.

Yellow curtains, crisp and bright,
Yellow anti-bug porch light; 

But yellow has its ugly side:
Yellow fever; could have died; 

Yellow-bellied, yellow streak,
Yellow-livered, backbone weak.

And sometimes yellow can't be seen:
It hides in blue and turns to green.

~

You can still visit the site and find links to the bloggers who participated. http://www.napowrimo.net/

A Mouse Is A Mouse -- Or Is It?

Is it mouses, or is it mice?
I've asked this question more than twice.
As I sit before my monitor,
I'm quite sure I am just not sure.

When two computers I must use,
All the appendages come in two's.
I shuffle keyboards, arrange them nice, 
But then I must hook up the ... mice?

My only other choice is "mouses."
My sensitive nature that arouses.
For an English teacher I'll always be,
And "mouses" chafes and nettles me.

Surely "mice" should be allowed,
But then I start to laugh out loud.
Confound that name! How did it start?
Bill English and Doug Engelbart!

It's all their fault; they must admit.
And foolish names are such a hit.
And dictionaries help not at all;
They make it an individual's call.

So back again to where I was,
More frustrated now because
As I struggled to name the counterfeit,
Its namesake from my sandwich bit.

~~~

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 6 - Valediction to a Passing Love

Day 6 of the National Poetry Writing Month challenge involves a prompt to write a valediction -- to anyone or anything. I guess some people might think I should take this particular subject more seriously, but, for some reason, these challenges just seem to bring out the whimsy in me, so .....

Valediction to a Passing Love  

I have not loved you well,
Nor have I loved you long.
So it is with no strong regret
I sing this parting song.

Your passage through my life
Has barely touched my soul,
So mourning will not weigh me down.
In fact, I feel quite whole.

Adieu, my love, adieu.
I bid you fond goodbye.
But at your grave, for memory's sake,
A few tears I will cry.

~

Photo by Susan Buck Ms: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=8210&picture=casket-over-plot&large=1

It's not too late to join the fun. I actually posted this on Day 12. Just too busy to keep up with every day, but I'm really enjoying trying as many as possible.  Visit this link for instructions: http://www.napowrimo.net/

Day 4 of the NaPoWriMo challenge offers a very unusual prompt.  Here it is in the words right from the NaPoWriMo site, in  host Maureen Thorson's words:  "Recently, I read an article about the Scottish science fiction writer Iain M. Banks. His books often have spaceships in them. And those spaceships have extremely odd, poetic names. Like:

Prosthetic Conscience
Irregular Apocalypse
Unfortunate Conflict of Interest
Gunboat Diplomat
Very Little Gravitas Indeed
A Series of Unlikely Explanations

So your challenge for today is to write a poem with a title drawn from one of these spaceship names."

Now, the list of spaceship names on the site is much longer, but I stopped with "A Series of Unlikely Explanations" because it is the one that inspired a poem for me. Since the title is borrowed from a science fiction writer, I kept the science fiction theme as well.

You'll find the poem below, and if you want to take part in these fun challenges for National Poetry Writing Month, just visit this site:
http://www.napowrimo.net/

A SERIES OF UNLIKELY EXPLANATIONS 

"Johnny," said his teacher, "where's your homework?"
"Uh ..." the child replied, "well, it's like this."
Then calling on his great imagination,
John recited his excuses like a list.

 "I saved my book report until the last day
Because I wanted it to be so fresh;
I wanted to review again my story,
And type it so it wouldn't be a mess.

"But when I went to print it out on paper,
The printer said that it was out of ink.
So Dad said he would go to Wal-Mart for some,
And that he would be back in just two blinks.

"I waited and I waited with my printer,
And as the hours ticked by, I fell asleep,
But did not wake until the sun disturbed me,
So quickly from my chair then I did leap.

"I went in search of Dad, but found him nowhere.
My mom said he had called to say goodbye.
He'd seen a spaceship land not far from Wal-Mart,
And with those spacemen he'd agreed to fly.

"He said it was a chance for rare adventure,
And he was sure that you would understand,
And promised that when he returns with more ink,
My book report will be a story grand! 

"I know you tell us life's a great adventure;
Of opportunities to be aware,
So I was sure you'd want to wait 'til next week,
To have my book report to read and share."

~

National Poetry Month 30-Day Writing Challenge -- Day 2

The NaPoWriMo challenge for Day 2 is to write "a poem that tells a lie."  So here goes:

The Tale of the Pretty Kitty

Mary Lou was very pretty,
And she had a pretty kitty.
It was black with one white stripe,
And of its smell her folks did gripe. 

But Mary Lou just loved her pet,
So it was with such great regret
That she agreed to have him fixed,
And have his smell completely nixed.

But during surgery, kitty died,
And Mary Lou, she cried and cried.
But every night in spirit form
Her kitty did come back to home. 

Poor Mom and Dad could not explain,
The smell that came each night again,
But Mary was content to know
Her white-striped pet still loved her so.

~

Join the challenge to write 30 poems in 30 days. It's not too late to start.visit this link:  http://www.napowrimo.net/

photo courtesy wikipedia: http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Striped_skunk.jpg

A Vessel of Sterling

While browsing antique shops, I made a great find!
Unearthed a rare treasure. Never saw one in kind.

An elegant bowl, with a handle and lid;

Beneath so much tarnish, it's true beauty hid.

Though black with the ages, I hugged it to me;

I paid the man gladly and danced home with glee.

Polished and rubbed to a radiant glow,

On party buffet my prize purchase would show.

It gleamed and it glowed, holding punch the next day,

When - horror of horrors - I heard a guest say:

“Heaven help us! Is this the best silver you've got?

I'll not drink my punch from an old chamber pot!”

~ ~ ~

Tall Guy

I know a guy who's very tall,

Stands six feet, seven inches.

He finds his height a great delight,

An asset in the clinches.

He's very smart, and that's a help.

It compensates the strain

Of all the time it takes for blood

To move from heart to brain.

In public he stands proud and straight;

He literally has a ball,

When people lean waaaay back and say,

“My goodness, you are tall!”

Height has its setbacks, though. Take clothes:

They must be special bought.
And going in and out of doors,

He must take special thought.

And then there's dating; it's a trial:

He's anxious, Heaven knows,

To hold his partner cheek to cheek,

Not middle chest to nose.

But, still, he sees his height as Heaven's

Gift – a special gene.

Believes all men wish to be tall,

And with envy they are green.

So happily he struts about,

Looking for the perfect mate.

His only foe the hometown priest,

Who stands at six foot, eight.

© 2012 Sandra Conner

A Poem of 4 Vowels

(I originally wrote this poem for one of my WordPress blogs in response to a writing challenge. WordPress challenged us to write a post (either prose or poetry) using only 25 of the letters of the English alphabet. They then upped the challenge by suggesting that if we were brave, the letter we left out would be a vowel. So this little poem was my response.)

A Poem of 4 Vowels

Sometimes I write too long.
Sometimes I write too short.
Sometimes I write to make a point.
Sometimes I write for sport.

Now WordPress challenged me
To write a post that's strange.
Cannot be done the easy way.
I have to make a change.

They say only twenty-five
Of letters are allowed.
And if I'm brave they then insist
That I leave off a vowel! 

So in this little poem,
One vowel I'll avoid.
I hope it won't be sorely missed,
And my good name destroyed. 

Let's see, what can I choose?
There's only five to start.
Oh, my, this is a challenge real.
WordPress, please have a heart! 

Okay, I've made my choice.
So happy I can be.
The vowel I've chosen to ignore
Lives between 'T' and 'V'.

~ ~ ~

Ignoring The Call

Middle age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I have too much of childhood left,
So much that I don't know.

Why, I still love to color
And to play with paper dolls.
I still delight in bubble pipes
And bouncing rubber balls.

Ah, middle age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I still feel like a coed,
Full of life from head to toe.

Yes, middle age is calling me,
But my decision's made.
I'm just too young at heart to go.
Middle age'll have to wait!

© 2012 Sandra Conner

Bored

a poem by Sandra Conner

I am bored ... so bored.
I need something else to do.
Wrack my brain ... the pain.
What will help? Don't have a clue.

Talk on phone ... endless drone.
Do my nails until they gleam.
Clean desk drawer ... fun chore:
Found lost candy and hand cream.

Still I'm bored ... so bored.
Without something else to try,
I'll have no choice ... guilty voice:
Must start my real work by and by.

What's For Dinner?

a poem by Sandra Conner

To borrow an old "country" expression, I can say for sure that "it's coming on to my favorite time of year": Autumn in all it's radiant blue, gold, and russet glory, Thanksgiving just around the corner, and Christmas just far enough away to be able to spread out and savor every little moment of planning for the joys ahead. Now, being a writer, I have to express all that enjoyment in some literary way. However, there's SO MUCH enjoyment that, even though last week I wrote a Thanksgiving poem, I find that this week I have suddenly created another. I was sure you'd want to enjoy it with me.

WHAT'S FOR DINNER?

I spot him there, behind the barn,
A full-plumed, regal bird.
He looks up, straight into my eyes.
I speak no single word.

It's happened thus, in passing years --
At least for two or three:
Each mid-November I've set my mind;
He's been there to greet me.

Now, lifting his head in challenge strong,
He gobbles loud and long.
I lower my gun and heave a sigh:
To kill him would be wrong!

So, wrestling with my double mind,
I trek home to my wife
To explain why once again this year
Ham will greet the carving knife.

The Writer Writes

by Sandra Conner

I think I'll write a poem …
Type, type, type …
Words, words, words …

'Twill have to be a story ...
Type, type, type ...
Words, words, words ...

No … I guess a novel …
Type, type, type …
Words, words, words …

A saga will be better …
Type, type, type …

Words, words, words …

A trilogy is called for …
Type, type, type …
Words, words, words …

My editor now reads it …
Delete, delete, delete …
Delete, delete, delete …

I have a two-line stanza.

© Sandra Conner

Love On The Line

 I read about the "phone poem" challenge on "The Music In It" -- Adele Kenny's poetry blog -- and I decided to see what I could come up with.  As soon as I started thinking about the subject, I remembered reading the true story of a WWII sailor who had intended travelling to the midwest (while home on leave) to meet his girlfriend and propose marriage before he went back to duty.  A blizzard kept him from making it across the country, but through the kind ministrations of a romantic telephone operator (remember when we had real operators instead of computers?), he was able to convey his proposal and receive an answer.  This poem is based on that unique love story.

LOVE ON THE LINE

By Sandra Conner

I read about a Navy guy;
'Twas during World War II;
He felt that he was so in love
But one thing he could do.

He was on leave, New England way,
And running out of time,
Snowed in, he could not meet his love.
His only hope - a dime.

So in the pay-phone booth, he dialed
The zero. Faith was high.
He told his soulful story to
The operator, Vi.

He gave the name of his dear love,
St. Louis, her address,
And Vi said, “There's no promises,
But I will try my best.”

So hanging on the line out east
The sailor deeply sighed,
And waited with a pounding heart
Till he heard back from Vi.

“I have your party, sir,” she said,
Three minutes' worth of time,
“Three minutes!” cried the sailor,
“That isn't enough time!”

His darling's voice broke through the wire,
Her voice so light and thrilled,
“What great surprise, you're calling now.
I heard you're snowed in, Bill.”

“Yes, dear, and now I can't get there
Before my leave is through,
But there is something vital that
I have to say to you.

“You know I've loved you for a while;
And I have to know for sure --
But Vi broke in just then to say,
“We've lost connection, sir.”

“Oh, no!” he cried. “You've got to help!
I'm ready to propose!
I couldn't go back overseas
Unless I'm sure she knows!”

“I'll try again,” Vi said, but then
Back on the line, so sad,
“I just can't make connection, sir;
The weather is so bad.

“But I can hear your party, sir,
And it seems she can hear me.
If you'd want me to relay your words,
I'd do so happily.”

He heaved a sigh, wiped tear from eye,
And drew deep breath somehow.
“All right,” he said. “It'll have to do;
I need her answer now.”

Please say, “I'm so in love with you
That before I go to sea,

I'm asking you to be my wife;
Please say you'll marry me.”

So Vi relayed the message sweet;

He waited in a stew
'Till Vi came back online and said,

“She'd love to marry you!”

Now many years have come and gone,
The couple made their home,
And in every room the pride of place
Goes to the telephone.

© 2012 by Sandra Conner

I Am A Raindrop
by Sandra Conner


I am a raindrop.
I'm looking for a place to plop.
I'm falling quickly and cannot stop.

I don't know where I'd like to be,
But I def'nitely don't want to land in the sea.

You see, if I were to land in the sea,
It would be so anti-climactic for me.

I would lose my personal identity;
Even I would no longer recognize me.

No, I must find someplace solid instead.
Perhaps on a daisy in a flower bed.

Or a plant so parched it's almost dead,
Or the page of a book that's being read.

I must decide as fast as I can.
I'm falling quickly toward some folks on the sand.

So many are out there just getting a tan.
Hello there, little bald-headed man.

His head sure was tempting, but then a breeze blew
And drove me off course; what am I to do?

Oh, I see it! I see it! My target's in view!
Get ready! Get ready! I'm landing on you!
Plop!

© 2011 Sandra Conner