National Poetry Writing Month Challenge - Day 3 - Sea Shanty

The prompt for Day 3:  Write a "sea chanty" or "sea shanty," depending on which historical spelling and definition you choose to favor.  Anyway, we are to write a poem with rhyme and a rhythm that can be used to keep a steady pace at physical work -- and it should be connected with the sea as well. Here's my attempt:

'THE ANCHOR'S AWAY, AND I HAVE TO GO' 

chorus

Heave! - Ho! Heave! - Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow;
The anchor's away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

verse 1
I had shore leave, but now 'tis done,
And I must sale at rise of sun,
To join the fight two weeks begun;
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

chorus
Heave! - Ho! Heave! - Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow.
The anchor's away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

verse 2
I kissed my love and wished her well;
Said, "I must make my way to hell;
To win this war my soul I'd sell!"
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

chorus
Heave! - Ho! Heave! - Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow;
The anchor's away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

~

Hurry over to the NaPoWriMo site and get involved:
http://www.napowrimo.net/

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

National Poetry Month - 2013 -- 30-Day Writing Challenge -- Day 1

I'm taking part in the National Poetry Month 30-day writing challenge -- better known in the blogging community as "NaPoWriMo - 2013." For any of you who are not familiar with NaPoWriMo, it is simply a challenge to write one poem a day for the 30 days of April. Maureen Thurson, from Washington, D. C.,  is the originator of the blogsite that hosts the challenge, and you can visit that site to get all the particulars at this link: http://www.napowrimo.net/.

Each day, Maureen gives poets a particular prompt to spur them on, but the prompts are just suggestions. Poets can feel free to write any kind of poem they like, without considering the prompt at all if they prefer.

Day 1 prompted us to write a poem with the same first line as an already famous poem, so I chose "She walks in beauty like the night," by Lord Byron.  Here's my poem:

She Walks In Beauty??? 

She walks in 'beauty,' like the night,
But morning hours she feels a fright.
She cannot seem to get it right
'Til she's worked hours in mirror's light.

Each day she wakes with cheerful sun,
Then looks in mirror and feels undone.
How can she venture forth for fun
'Til make-up's on that weighs a ton?

She struggles to impress the crowd
And hold her head up high and proud,
To make sure she is not a dowd,
But 'neath the load her heart is bowed.

 Because she feels she must comply
With this world's rampant beauty lies:
"Wear this on lips and that on eyes,
And starve that waist, those hips and thighs. 

"Walk tall on heels that are quite frail,
And don't forget those fingernails.
Stuck on with glue that cannot fail,
All fear of fungus kept curtailed. 

"Now bleach those teeth until they shine –
Until your smile the sun would blind.
Don't button top; wear loose neckline,
So lots of cleavage you can find."

And on she goes at each day's light,
So stressed and strained to do it 'right' --
To find acceptance in world's sight,
For deep inside there is a fright.

She fears and doesn't have a clue,
That deep inside a beauty true
Awaits its chance to make debut,
If she'd but to herself be true.

~

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 Cardinal Sits With Me

A Cardinal sits with me at end of day.
It is a bleak, unhappy time,
And I have lost my way.

He seems content to stay a while and rest,
And my front porch is cool with shade,
Sun moving to the west.

On other days I've seen him flit and fly
And labor quite industriously
For food that caught his eye.

And then he'd pick at wings and clean and preen,
Then dart away and back again,
Quite nervous did he seem.

He'd change his stance and cock head constantly,
Not holding still a moment long;
He agitated me.

But, suddenly, this eve he's come to sit.
As if he knows my sorrowful plight --
That I am in this pit.

And now and then he sings aloud his song.
But when he stops to rest a while,
For much more do I long.

I'm sure his day is done; he should head home,
But here he sits beside my chair,
Just so I'm not alone.

His beauty, I have finally come to see,
Is unsurpassed: his ruby hue,
Wings black-edged perfectly.

In truth he is a masterpiece of life:
Each part of him a sculptor's dream,
Down to his beady eye.

A good half hour he's stayed and felt at home.
And looks right at me now and then,
To say, "You're not alone."

I sigh and realize I am content.
I close my eyes; begin to smile.
This is what Jesus meant.

He urged us to behold the birds of air,
And take a lesson from each one
About His love and care.

"Yes, Jesus, I'm at peace in You at last.
This little bird you sent to me
Has fulfilled his task.

So take care of him, Lord and keep him strong,
And send him out to other souls
Who need to hear his song."

Then opening my eyes, I seek my friend.
But he has flown while I have prayed --
His mission at an end.
~

["Look at the birds of the air! They don't worry about what to eat -- they don't need to sow or reap or store up food -- for your heavenly Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are." Matt. 6:26 TLB).]

"Not one sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't worry! You are more valuable to Him than many sparrows." (Matt. 10:30-31, TLB).]

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

Anticipation

Coming and going,
To-ing and fro-ing,
Thoughts in a dither,
Stomach aquiver ...

Scurrying, worrying,
Phoning, conversing,
Weighing last doubts,
Last chance to bow out ...

Checking all pockets,
Fastening lockets,
Rosebuds and bouquets,
Fragrant, sublime haze ...

Guest in their places,
Smiles on the faces,
Music on swelling tide,
"Here Comes The Bride."

© 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.

Ah, Thanksgiving, How I Love You!

I absolutely refuse to celebrate Halloween, but I love Thanksgiving dearly.  Almost every Thanksgiving in my life has wonderful, love-filled memories, and I always start celebrating the holiday early.  So I'm beginning extra-early this year with this brand new poem.  I realize that this holiday tends to be primarily an American holiday, but many people around the world do take time during the harvest season to celebrate and be grateful for the year's bounty, so I hope it gives all of you a lift and a bit of extra joy for this time of year.

AH, THANKSGIVING, HOW I LOVE YOU!

a poem by Sandra Conner

Ah, Thanksgiving, how I love you!
Golden, crowning jewel of Fall.
Beacon of warmth and camaraderie,
Sending glad invitation to all:

"Gather to worship; gather to visit;
Gather to focus on all that's worthwhile;
Feast from tables resplendent with harvest;
Feast on the love in a touch and a smile."

All the year's labors weigh heavy upon us;
All the world's problems seem bigger by far.
But out from that wearisome struggle you call us,
And laying it down, we run to where you are.

And whether in cottages, mansions, or churches,
Community buildings or tables in parks,
We gather with gratitude full -- overflowing;
To the Giver of blessings lift voices and hearts.

Then we return to life's pattern awaiting.
Filled up with joy, we set off on our way,
Warmer and richer and kinder in spirit
For pausing to celebrate Thanksgiving Day. 

I hope each of you can celebrate this Thanksgiving Day with someone you love.

Photo courtesy of The Graphics Fairy: http://graphicsfairy.blogspot.com/