Poetry Challenge #3

The Prompt: Write about the sound of: a radio changing channels, a dog howling, a football or baseball game, your parents talking in another room

The radio changes from baseball to football,
As the dog howls to be let inside.
The team is losing steam,
As the parents discuss the night’s dinner.
Susie runs to let the dog in,
As she hears the announcer yell… “GOALLLLL!”
The dog goes crazy with excitement,
And the parents rush into the room with glee.
What a change in scenery!


Challenge #2

The Prompt: Write about the smell of: burning food, melting snow, the ocean, your grandparents’ home, the inside of a bus, pavement after the rain

A Winter Tale

Getting on the bus,
He left the land of warm oceans,
And the sweet smell of gentle rain on the pavement,
Taking the road to the cold north.
Glad to get away from the smell of the restaurant,
That always burnt food below his apartment,
Jake was happy to go to his grandparents’ home.
The inside of the bus smelled musty,
Was rusty, and reminded him of an old shoe.
He disembarked…
Seeing the sight of melting snow,
His smiling grandmother and grandfather,
And warm hugs.


Poetry Challenge: Day 1

I’m challenging myself to follow some interesting prompts and write some different types of poems.  Hopefully, I will be able to write every other day.

Today’s prompt: Write about the taste of: an egg, an orange, medicine, cinnamon

Here it goes…

Sick Day

Susan felt sick in her gut,
Had she eaten a nasty bad egg or what?
She could not keep down fluid,
Let alone solid food …horrid.
The taste of cinnamon,
Would be worse than bitter medicine.
Even a humble orange,
Would be too much to manage.
She was nauseous and dizzy,
And could not see.
How she wished she was well,
But when? She could not tell.
For now she must rest,
And she knew that was best.


Sound: The Forest

Amidst the forest’s buzz, chirp, and creak,
I chuckle to myself as I hear the warble and squeak,
Of birds that rustle and whirr,
And small things that mew and moan, and thud, and purr.
Sometimes a tinkle or jingle fills the air,
As creatures rustle, murmur, swish and rumble everywhere.
Sometimes you here the undertone,
Of a hiss, whimper, mumble, moan or groan.
Sometimes there is a growl or snarl,
Which make me walk fast for a while.
The giggle, fizz and bubble and groan,
Of the river nearby makes me hum,
A tune,
About nature’s croon.
Then at times the creatures’ sounds fade entirely away,
And I’m left with the whisper of the trees as they sway.
Come to the woods..out of the blur,
And let your heart stir.


Guest Poet: Luis Cernuda

El viento y el alma

Con tal vehemencia el viento
viene del mar, que sus sones
elementales contagian450_1000
el silencio de la noche.

Solo en tu cama le escuchas
insistente en los cristales
tocar, llorando y llamando
como perdido sin nadie.

Mas no es él quien en desvelo
te tiene, sino otra fuerza
de que tu cuerpo es hoy cárcel,
fue viento libre, y recuerda.

– Luis Cernuda



Here are some thoughts that came out, responding to a painting by Akiane Kramarik, called “The First.” At first, I thought it would come out as a traditional poem, but it turns out it’s more of a free verse poem/story… Hope you enjoy.

Touch- A response to “The First” by Akiane Kramarik

Cor felt alive as a blush rose to his bristly cheek,
His mind turning ever towards his blushing wife.
His mind returned to the path,
Thanks to the bumpy road, and wet mud bath,
Caused by his horse.
He felt the horse’s coarse mane,
And electricity shocked his system,
As he remembered her caress.

Chilly and cold as the morning was,
He was warmed by thoughts of her love,
As the idea of returning to her,
Spurred him on down the damp, dull road.
Creepy vines obscured the path,
And he hacked away at them with wrath.
What could keep him away from his love?
Could the crisp autumn air,
Or the dull, damp, creepy path?

The horse’s hooves were deadened,
By moss …
Which reminded him of a cuddly,
Downy, light blanket…
Feverishly he rode on,
As he forgot the dreary path,
And muddy grime.
His firm grip on the reins,
Never wavered.

A flabby, fumbling, flushed innkeeper,
On the flatlands by a flowing stream,
Called to him by a window,
While his furry German Shephard barked,
And begged him to stay in a fluffy, fuzzy, bed.
But he was not persuaded…
How he longed to fondle his love,
Even if just with his eyes…
He felt furious,
That anyone would try to stop him.

The gooey, grainy, gritty soil,
Made the going difficult,
So he jumped from his horse,
And grabbed the greasy bridle.
His boots were gummy with mud,
As he encouraged the hairy beast.
Handling the beast with care
He navigated through the muddiest part,
While his hard, athletic body,
Felt more exhaustion coming on.
He stamped the ground with his foot,
“ Garn! I will not be able to see her tonight!”

The humid rain continued,
But could not quench the hot fire within him,
Though the biting flies made him itch,
Thinking his skin a delicious delight.

The horse jumped,
As it saw the lifeless form of a rider,
And another horse,
By the side of the road.
Controlling the horse,
He recognized by lamplight,
That it was his old comrade, Rambo.
A lump rose in his throat,
As he saluted and buried his friend,
In the cold earth.

He would tell the family later…

Massaging his hands in the cold,
He turned his horses head,
And moistened his lips.
His heart felt a numb with grief,
But he knew his mission….
To return to his love.

His sword glistened in the rain,
As he looked for the traitors,
Who killed his friend.
The only thing he saw,
Were the oily remains of a fish,
And their encampment fire pit.
He patted his horse,
And continued on.

The ground was rough,
As he was coming in close,
To the end.
The scratchy, prickly, sharp shrubs,
Rubbed against him,
As the horse galloped on the spongy,
Springy and squishy ground.
Thorns and flowers pecked, pricked, and tickled,
His strong legs,
Leaving at times, powdery pollen,
As he pressed onward.

Petting his horse,
He encouraged, slapped and pushed him on,
And pinched him with his spurs.

Pulling uphill,
They finally reached the stables.
Rubbing his sweaty, wet horse down,
He shivered and shuddered with cold,
As sweat and mud stung his eyes.

Shoving the door to the house closed,
His silk-clad maidservant,
Called loudly:
“My lady!
My lady!
Cor has returned from the war!”

Cor removed his slimy, stiff, boots,
And ran barefoot,
Along the smooth passage,
Towards the soft, determined, footsteps,
Of his beautiful wife.

They embraced… suddenly.
Stroking his beard
She did not care that he was sweaty,
And exhausted.
He drew her closer,
For a passionate kiss.
Suddenly, he felt the temperature shift,
As he felt the texture of her hair,
Through his hard, weatherbeaten hands.
“Finally…” she breathed.

His breathing became quickened,
As her vocal chords vibrated his name…
He felt the warmth of her gaze,
And her body,
As they grew entwined in the wooly blankets.

Morning light hit the skies,
As Aravis awakened to her husbands’ caress.
She flushed and laughed.
What a thought!
A clean person like her,
With a dirty, rugged lover,
Who had not bothered to bathe?
“Let’s bathe, my love.”
His eyes laughed.


Love has a fragrance…
Some say it smells like lavendar,
And others say it’s like Jasmine,
Murraya paniculata,
Jonquil ,
‘Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow’ (Brunfelsia latifolia)
Butterfly Bush,
Chinese star jasmine,
Madagascar jasmine,
Sweet pea,
Sweet Alyssum,
four O clock flower
chocolate cosmos
Lilly of the valley…

To me,
Your fragrance is..
Intoxicating like..
A gardenia.
Your fragrant personality fills the room,
And I am blown away.
You care deeply about me,
And I am yours.