NaPoWriMo Day 23: Echoes of the Abandoned Library

Prompt: Write a poem of your own that has multiple numbered sections. Attempt to have each section be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view. Set the poem in a specific place that you used to spend a lot of time in, but don’t spend time in anymore.

1: Lost Pages

In the Reticence Library, a sanctuary of books,
Where pages whispered with knowledge's looks,
I wandered, lost in the words' embrace,
In a haven of wisdom, a sacred place.

2: Dusty Shelves

But now, the shelves are dusty and bare,
The silence echoes, a poignant affair,
The books once cherished, now forgotten,
Gather dust, their stories begotten.

3: Echoes of Youth

I hear the echoes of my youthful mind,
As I roamed the aisles, curious and kind,
Immersed in stories, in worlds unknown,
The library, my refuge, a place to own.

4: Vanished Librarian

The librarian, with a smile so warm,
Guiding me through each literary norm,
Now a memory, a faint recollection,
Of a time when books were my connection.

5: Treasured Memories

Oh, how I miss those hours spent in awe,
Flipping pages, without a flaw,
The smell of old paper, the touch of ink,
A treasure trove of stories, a gateway to think.

6: Empty Chairs

The chairs and tables, where I used to sit,
Lost in words, bit by bit,
Now lie empty, a nostalgic sight,
A reminder of a time so bright.

7: Legacy of the Library

The library, once my second home,
Now stands abandoned, a memory to roam,
But the lessons learned, the stories told,
Still linger, as my mind unfolds.

8: Guiding Light

The knowledge gained, the dreams inspired,
In that library, where my heart aspired,
A legacy left, a beacon of light,
Guiding me, even in the darkest night.

9: Farewell

So, I bid farewell to that cherished place,
With gratitude, love, and a solemn grace,
For the memories made, the lessons learned,
In that abandoned library, forever yearned.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 22: "A Thought went up my mind today —"

Prompt: Find an Emily Dickinson poem – preferably one you’ve never previously read – and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it! I have chosen A Thought went up my mind today —.

A Thought went up my mind today –
That I have had before –
But did not finish – some way back –
I could not fix the Year –

Nor where it went – nor why it came
The second time to me –
Nor definitely, what it was –
Have I the Art to say –

But somewhere – in my Soul – I know –
I’ve met the Thing before –
It just reminded me – ‘twas all –
And came my way no more –

c. 1863

Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995

Big Block of Prose

A Thought went up my mind today That I have had before But did not finish some way back I could not fix the Year Nor where it went nor why it came The second time to me Nor definitely, what it was Have I the Art to say But somewhere in my Soul, I know I've met the Thing before It just reminded me 'twas all And came my way no more.

Rebroken Lines:

A Thought went up my mind today
That I have had before
But did not finish - some way back
I could not fix the Year -
Nor where it went - nor why it came
The second time to me
Nor definitely, what it was
Have I the Art to say -
But somewhere in my Soul, I know
I've met the Thing before
It just reminded me - 'twas all
And came my way no more.

New Poem:
A thought went up my mind today
That I have had before
But did not finish - some way back
I could not fix the year
Nor where it went - nor why it came
The second time to me
Nor definitely, what it was
Have I the art to say

But somewhere in my soul, I know
I've met the thing before
It just reminded me - 'twas all
And came my way no more

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 21: Anxiety

Prompt: Choose an abstract noun from the list below, and then use that as the title for a poem that contains very short lines, and at least one invented word.

You could never
scare me
with predictions
or prophecies

Of looming darkness
that lurks beyond
in the unknown
deep in the shadowy pond

For I, the goddess of misery
and goddess of anxiety
hold fear by neck, my pet
in a dance so tight
that whispers echo
through the endless night

My blindness
is my own curse
oh so bitter

As worries wrap
around my wrists
like a stubborn creeper
that's hard to unwind

My silence
is my biggest scream
oh so desperate

A plea for solace
in a world so loud
where thoughts collide
and intrusivity enshroud

Sitting here
in my cot
a lonely Goddess
with no worshippers
but victims

Longing for respite
from the endless weight
of my anxious blessings
that never abate

A temple
so unholy
due to its emptiness

Where once was light
now shadows coup
in this temple of worry
anxiety's legion

For, I am
the begger and the giver
both, in this religion
that has wired us

A paradoxical deity
with conflicting creed
bestowing fears and doubts
yet seeking solace in need

For, in this realm of anxiosity
I am both
the tormentor and the solacifier
a divine enigma,
a goddess of worries,
a hopefier's stigma,
a goddess of contradictions
forever shrouded in mysterious fearfur

I continue to
dance with my pet, fear
piercing the deep darkness
whispering wails in the nights
a goddess called Oizys,
misery's own
who cleaves to anxiety,
on her rightful throne.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 19: Little Girl and Big Hands

Prompt: Cast your mind back to your own childhood and write a poem about something that scared you – or was used to scare you – and which still haunts you (if only a little bit) today.

As I cast my mind back to my childhood days,
I recall a fear that left me in a daze.
The monster that taunted me in the dark of night,
With grazing hands and grotesque bites.

Under my bedcovers, he would silently lurk,
With sharp pointy teeth and a growling smirk.
I'd freeze under my covers and silently pray,
Hoping he wouldn't break me and carry me away.

My parents would tell me it was all in my head,
That monsters weren't real and I should go back to bed.
But the bed is were the monster waited for me to touch,
And every creak and groan made me jump and clutch.

Now, as an adult, I have deluded they weren't real,
But the fear of the night still makes me feel,
Like a child once again, with a vivid consternation,
Hoping that the monster won't bring me damnation.

So, even now, I keep a light on at night,
Just to keep those hands at bay and in sight.
For the fear may be small, but it still lingers on,
From those childhood nights when the monster had won.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 18: April Slips Away

Prompt: Write an abecedarian poem – a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet.

April slips away, I weep in the night,
Bereft of hope, consumed by fright,
Crushed by sorrow, drowning in tears,
Despair engulfs, magnifies my fears,
Every day is a burden to bear,
Futile efforts, leading to despair,
Grief and pain, my constant companions,
Heart heavy with anguish, no respite to find,
In the darkness, I wander, lost and blind,
Just a broken soul, trying to mend,
Kept afloat by memories, unable to pretend,
Lingering ache, an unending ache,
My shattered heart, no longer opaque,
Numbness settles, a hollow void,
Overwhelmed by sorrow, I am destroyed,
Painful reminders, haunting my mind,
Questions unanswered, solace hard to find,
Regret seeps in, a venom,
Xeric thoughts, I try to override,
Yearning for peace, a calm to reside,
Zero solace found, nowhere to confide.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 14: How Heavy Is the Little Stone

Prompt: Write a parody or satire based on a famous poem. I choose Emily Dickinson's "How Happy Is the Little Stone".

How heavy is the little stone
That sits upon my chest alone,
That crushes me with all its might,
And makes it hard to breathe at night.

It weighs me down with every step,
And fills my heart with deep regret,
For all the things that I have done,
And all the battles I have shun.

Oh little stone, you hold me fast,
And make me feel like I won't last,
But still I carry you around,
And hope that one day you'll be unbound.

For though you weigh me down so much,
You also keep me in touch,
With all the pain that I have known,
And all the seeds of growth that's sown.

So though I wish that you would go,
And let me breathe and let me grow,
I know that you're a part of me,
And that's how it's supposed to be.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 13: God Joke or Dad Joke

Prompt: Write a poem that follows the beats of a classic joke. Emphasize the interplay between the form of the poem – such as the line breaks – and the punchline.

 

A child asks
Is God real?

The mother replies
Well, it's ideal

She further asks
Is God perfect?

The mother smirks
Not quite, I suspect

The child cries
Is God right?

The mother sighs
It's quite the oversight

She shockingly demands
Will God appear before me?

The mother tries to understand
"Maybe on Zoom, let's see"

She gets sad and thinks
Will God ever speak to me?

They hear a voice

The child asks
Is it God?

The voice says,
"Nah, it's a bird"

"It is your Dad!"
The mother says

The child squeals
"That's not so bad!"

- Oizys.

Sorry
I am
Not So
Good At
Happiness
Or Funny.
Can I
Interest You
With Some
Bad Poems?
Some Cheese?

NaPoWriMo Day 12: My Dear Poem

Prompt: Write a poem that addresses itself or some aspect of its self (i.e., “Dear Poem,” or “what are my quatrains up to?”; “Couplet, come with me . . .”)

My dear poem,

What is it that you seek,
As you flow from my chest and leak,
Onto the keyword with wild speed,
To bring forth emotions and make me bleed.

My dear poem,

What is your purpose here,
To bring chaos, to awaken fear,
To challenge, to make one think,
Or simply to push the limits of the brink.

My dear poem,

You pry pain and loss,
Of shattered dreams and the cost,
You scream voice of the forgotten,
The ones who left me to be rotten.

My dear poem,

What do you hope to convey,
A message, a warning, or a way,
To stir the soul and heart of all,
Or simply to make the reader appall.

My dear poem,

Who do you speak to,
The young, the old, the wise, the new,
To all who seek to understand,
Or those who are just damned.

My dear poem,

How do you come to life,
From the depths of my mind so rife,
With secrets and stories to tell,
Or just a feeling I cannot quell.

My dear poem,

I am blursed at your raw power,
For breaking my castles in the air,
In a world that abhors ugliness,
You unfurl my misery and darkness.

My dear poem,

You are not very kind,
But you translate my mind,
In a world that silences me as meek,
You let me riot and keep.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 11: Smell of Escapism

Prompt: Write a poem that takes as its starting point something overheard that made you laugh, or something someone told you once that struck you as funny.

You smell like you want to be alone.

Your eyes, so distant and unknown.

Your essence, lost in search of character.

But your heart, oh how it glimmers.

With hope, to find a foreign home.

Where dreams can roam and freely roam.

And, living will become a norm.

With joy and peace, and love reborn.

To create and poet and yarn.

A life fulfilled, a soul re-born.

Laying in your dingy cot, you dream.

Of a life that's more than it may seem.

With a fear in the back of your mind.

That this hope may be just a bind.

And, you will forever remain stuck.

Trapped in a cycle, out of luck.

Always smelling like flying away, but.

Bound to the earth, come what may.

And, suffocated in this smell of escapism.

You long for freedom, a sense of prism.

But, deep down it is just a flimsy dream.

And reality is much harder it seems.

It hits like a giant truck.

The weight of life, that runs amuck.

You slap away smell of being alone, because.

You realize that in this world, you are not on your own.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 10: Melody of Legacy

Prompt: Write a sea shanty.

Quietly we sailed across the sea,
A band of sailors, strong and free,
Our ship was small, our spirits too,
But now we're lost, with naught to do.

Our shanty's soft, a mournful sound,
For we are lost, and can't be found,
Our ship is small, our crew is few,
And now we bid our last adieu.

We sailed the seas with hearts of fire,
Our will to live, our one desire,
But now the winds have turned on us,
And left us stranded, without a fuss.

Our shanty's soft, a mournful sound,
For we are lost, and can't be found,
Our ship is small, our crew is few,
And now we bid our last adieu.

We fought for freedom, we fought with pride,
But now we're lost, and can't abide,
The thought of never seeing home,
Our hearts are heavy, we're all alone.

Our shanty's soft, a mournful sound,
For we are lost, and can't be found,
Our ship is small, our crew is few,
And now we bid our last adieu.

So here we are, a subtle end,
A band of yatch, lost friends,
Our legacy will live on though,
In the hearts of those who know.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 9: Odennet to Oizys

Prompt: Write a sonnet.

Oizys, goddess of misery and woe,
Whose shadow darkens every troubled mind,
With every step we take, your presence grows,
And every pain and sorrow we must find.

You whisper doubts and fears into our ears,
And make our hearts heavy with despair,
You fill our eyes with tears, our souls with fears,
And make us feel as if life is unfair.

Yet, in your melancholic embrace,
There is a truth that we cannot ignore,
That joy and sorrow, in life's endless race,
Are both necessary to our very core.

So though we dread your touch and your embrace,
We know that you are a part of the human race.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 8: Aurora's Analogy

Prompt: “Twenty Little Poetry Projects”
 

A heart of stone, she said, was all she had
Yet she claimed it beat like a hummingbird's wing

The hummingbird heart, a paradox that lives
Fluttering with love, despite the weight of stone

The scent of burnt sugar filled the air
While she tasted the sound of a symphony

The symphony's notes, a feast for the tounge
And the scent of burnt sugar, a feast for the skin

The touch of ash against her skin
Felt like a whisper in her attic

The whisper of yarn, a touch so light
It lingers on the nose like a memory of love

Colors tasted like placebos
And the name "Aurora" smelled like mist of iridescent bubbles

Pills of color, an illusory of love
And Aurora's name, a scent of stardust and soot

Kaleidoscopic beetles whirled in her stomach
As she gulped the happiness of her laughter

The laughter's melody, a nocebo of joy
And the beetles, a jubilee of love

The brittle softness of her love was the seed of her pomegranate
A sudden thought took hold and sprouted wings in her belly

The rose's thorn, a symbol of redemption
And the sudden thought, a challenge to get grip on

As she spoke Láadan, a language unknown
"The planets align, the path is dark
But the future is on the make"

Láadan's words, a language of unsung
And the future, a discovery of the unknown

The flickering candle was sanguine
But darkness chewed the wick

The candle's light, a symbol of hope's fire
And the darkness, a reminder of god's gluttony for fire

And as the night sauntered into the chalet
The moon shone as a mirror of her own heart
Whispering secrets to the stillness of the night

Until she finally let go of her own fight
And the stone shattered into a million stars

The heart of stone, a symbol of love's edge
And the shattered stars, a hope of love's transmigration

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 7: The Hooded Tapestry

Prompt: By NaPoWriMo, write a poem that plays with the idea of a list. Try to write a such a non-list, but a couple of other ideas would be to create a list of ingredients, or a list of entries in an index. Another way into this prompt might be a list of instructions.

The Hooded Tapestry

Girlhood

Womanhood

Ancestresshood

Godhood

Personhood

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 6: Seller of Muse

Prompt: Today’s prompt is also from NaPoWriMo. Take a look around Poetry International for a poem in a language you don’t know. Now, read the poem to yourself, thinking about the sound and shape of the words, and the degree to which they remind you of words in your own language. Use those correspondences as the basis for a new poem.

I chose the poem “Poem Without an End” by Yehuda Amichai. It is one of my favourites and I hold it close to my heart. As I had mentioned in the triolet post, I rarely have a sense of sound and rhythm. So, I have tried my best here (and maybe, miserably failed) to encapsulate my emotions and thoughts of the chosen poem in my own crafted poem.

Barefoot muse and passion
Bait, fate or reflect,
any?
Bitterly?
Or, lively?
Or, bitterly and lively?
Muse!
Echo harmonious
Beats of mystics
Betoken
any?
Bitterly?
Or, lively?
Or, bitterly and lively?
Muse!

- Oizys.

For reference, following is Hebrew transliteration of Yehuda Amichai's poem, Poem Without an End that I used for sounds:

Betoch muz'aon chadash, beit knesset yashan.
Betoch beit haknesset
Ani.
Betochi
Libi.
Betoch libi
Muzaeon.
Betoch hamuzaeon
Beit knesset,
Betochan
Ani,
Betochi
Libi.
Betoch libi
Muzaeon.

P.S. - I really like the choice the words in my poem and it gives a very poetic feel. So, one day, I might enlarge and polish my poem to give it more structure and concrete.

NaPoWriMo Day 5: Grief's Unexpected Guest

Prompt: Juxtaposition by NaPoWriMo

In a quiet range, suffused accompanying tears,
A gathering assembled to announce their last goodbyes,
For dignitary dear had abandoned this existence,
And the air was weighty accompanying upsetting sighs.

The range was understood, except for a whimper or two,
As lamenters rewarded their conclusive devoirs,
The air was difficult, the character controlled,
As the experience about bureaucracy appeared to indicate.

The unhappiness in their hearts,
But therefore a sound destitute through the silence,
A guffaw, limited and clean,
A snicker, so filled of disobedience.

The lamenters retired surprise,
Wondering what take care of cause specific levity,
But therefore they proverb a parent accompanying her teenager,
A teeny baby, so new to this soil.

It was the baby's first snicker,
A sound that caused a laugh,
A sound that illuminated the weighty attitude,
And fashioned the lamenters ignore their while.

For on account of importance, they evoked,
That growth continues, even following in position or time obliteration,
That skilled is still pleasure expected raise,
Even when we draw our definitive break.

So allow the baby's amusement ring,
And fill the range accompanying clean delight,
For because importance, they earned,
That love can overcome even the the most evil midnight.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 4: Trying A Triolet

Prompt: Triolet format by NaPoWriMo. So, for years, I would never call myself a poet (I still don't sometimes!) because I was never able to write poetry in structure, rhythm or rhyming words. I would try hard but I succeeded. Sometimes, the form would be right but the poem would not make sense or vice versa.

So, for this prompt, I tried to write two triolet about trying to write a triolet. Please tell me, even if the poem is ish, the form and rhythm is correct.

Triolet 1:

I sat down with pen and paper in hand,
My mind set on trying a triolet.
I wrote the first line, my heart did expand,
I sat down with pen and paper in hand.

I searched for rhymes that were grand,
My creativity I couldn't forget.
I sat down with pen and paper in hand,
My mind set on trying a triolet.

Triolet 2:

Trying a Triolet, a form to explore,
Eight simple lines, but so much in store,
First, fourth, and seventh, the same as before,
Trying a Triolet, a form to explore.

Rhyming and repeating, what could be more,
A structure to follow, a challenge to adore,
Trying a Triolet, a form to explore,
Eight simple lines, but so much in store.

NaPoWriMo Day 3: "Despair" is an fantasy with scales

Prompt: Find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite. For example, you might turn “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” to “I won’t contrast you with a winter’s night.” From: NaPoWriMo

“Hope” is the thing with feathers
By Emily Dickinson

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me."

Despair is an fantasy with scales
That shelters in the mind,
And silences the world with harshness,
And just stops all,

And bitterest in the stillness is heard;
And indolent must be the serene
That could never daunt the vulture
That turned so many blue.

I've never heard it in the sunny land,
And on the ordinary lake;
Yet, always, in the beginning,
It plucked a fistful of me.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 2: Surreal Mother Nature

Prompt: Fog, River, Ghost, Longing, Song.

What is fog?

The dreadful veil draped around the nature,

What is river?

The story of birth by the earth,

What is ghost?

The lingering whisper of the storm,

What is longing?

The bittersweet ache of beautiful destruction,

What is song?

The symphony of babbling brook.

What is fog?

The ghostly form,

What is river?

The melody song in its own flow,

What is ghost?

The lingering longing of love,

What is longing?

The song of sadness,

What is song?

The ache of melancholic fog.

- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 1: Latibulating

Prompt: Latibulate

Today was my college farewell, I did not go and sat on my desk to write my poem.

Today is my college farewell.
I did not go, rather sat down at my desk to write a poem.
To write a poem about goodbyes,
Rather than saying them.

So many feelings I try to articulate,
While I latibulate from the world.
I hide from the fire of closures,
To keep my frozen heart safe.

In this veil of shelter,
I rummage through box of memories.
All I find is regrets and fears,
Maybe, a smile or two of my friends,
Underneath heaps of shame and stabs.

So, I take this moment of solitude,
And, watch the crowd from afar.
I watch them twirl and dance,
While I twist my soul,
To squeeze out some ink for this poem.

My mind makes me think,
This is best way to seal the deal,
To close a box of regrets and resentments,
By regreting about not being able to say last bye.

- Oizys.