Day 2: NapoWrimo 2014 – Mistletoe Straight Through the Heart

Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo.net:

“There are many good poems based on myths. Lots of these use Greek or Roman myths. Consider Tennyson’s Ulysees or this more modern example by A.E. Stallings. But today I challenge you to write a poem based on a non-Greco-Roman myth. You could write a poem inspired by Norse mythology, or perhaps by one of these creatures from Japanese legend. Every time and place and culture has its myths and legends, so there’s plenty to choose from. Happy writing!”

 

Mistletoe Straight Through the Heart

From Marsh Halls, our Asgard Queen
kept her secret of future seen.
Fjorgynn’s maiden, beloved one,
wife and mother – she loved her son.

From Hlidskjalf’s seat, she saw it all
except what caused dear Baldr’s fall.
A woman’s face had drawn her in
learning secrets to pierce the skin.

For Loki’s tricks, she did not know.
He found her out – the mistletoe.
With Hoor’s help, the arrow flew.
Frigga’s son, is who it slew.

As fires burned hot, she made a deal
to gain him back, she did appeal.
All things weeped, she gained her white
while Hel returned him, to her sight.

In darkness see her up above,
Odin’s wife whose name means love.
Orion’s belt and venus both,
remind us of her, and her oath.

 

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Day 1: NaPoWriMo 2014 – My Chagrin

Day1 Prompt: Today, I’d like you to go to Reb Livingston’s Bibliomancy Oracle. Clear your mind, push the button, and then write a poem based on the quotation that the oracle provides.

My results:

Excise any wasteful habits. You know what that means.
No more open tabs at the bar. No more cash advances.
You must cultivate a taste for comparison shopping.

My Chagrin

Just for looks,
not the brain,
or the heart,
and not plain.

Pretty smiles,
silky hair,
bluest eyes,
skin that’s fair.

Aimed at me,
I’ll persist.
Broken will -
can’t resist.

Diamond ring
for her hand.
Later on,
wedding band.

When she asked
she got all,
lest she pout -
starts the fall.

All is spent,
overdrawn.
Though I tried,
money gone.

First the fights.
When they start,
“love” will fail.
Falls apart.

Oh I wish
looked within
for my gem.
What chagrin.

 

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NaPoWrimo: Get Set

I’ve decided to participate in National Poetry Writing Month again, this year. I started with yesterday’s “Get Set” challenge:

The prompt for all you early birds is an ekphrastic poem – a poem inspired by or about a work of art. There’s no rules on the form for an ekphrastic poem, so you could write a sonnet or a haiku or free verse. Some well-known ekphrastic poems include Rilke’s Archaic Torso of Apollo and Keats’ Ode on a Grecian Urn. But ekphrastic poetry is alive and well today, too, as your efforts today will reflect.

 

For Her Pride

For her pride she ventures out;
Guardian strong, with poise and grace.
Success will come. There is no doubt,
for her pride.

Enshrined by others from this place
and by those you’ll find throughout
the world. They’re hers – she will embrace.

In snow and storm she looks about
for those with whom she shares a trace
of spirit. She stands, we shout -
for her pride.

 

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Tropical Chill

“‘Tis too hot to hoot.
Sit, instead and smile.
prop up your foot
and stay awhile.”

Of this I approved,
for I wanted to chat.
So I sat and removed
my Tahiti hat.

—-
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Leaving Atlanta

Leather boots and horse clod hooves
trample lives of southern charm,
without remorse or recompense.
Instead, they just bring hell.

Rivers flow from tearful eyes
while cousins scorch the land.
The past is gone and future black,
as our world is catching fire.

Flaming tendrils of broken hearts
stretch long for unfound hope,
through acrid smoke and burning dust
as memories become gray ash.

Sherman’s men, all clad in blue,
leave down Decatur Road.
As humbled souls, we’ll start to heal
from his march down to the sea.

—-
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An Eagle, New

Hear ye, Hear ye, don’t you know,
you’ve been invited, to the show.

Our Boy Scout, true, who worked so long,
will be presented, to the throng.

We’ll gather yonder and celebrate.
If you’re not there, it will devastate.

So bring your friends and meet at three,
he earned his Eagle, for all to see.

—-
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Loveless Drought

Once fertile soil is cause to pout,
devoid of fruit, despite my toil -
withering leaves in loveless drought.

Does your heart reap in other soil?
I’ll worm out truth, cast away doubt.

—-
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Posted in Favorites, Poetry, Trifecta | 9 Comments