Creativity and Mr. Hardcastle

It’s been almost two weeks since National Poetry Month ended during which I posted quite a bit, but I haven’t posted since.  But I have been writing,  painting, and crocheting.  Pretty soon,  I will post photos of my latest painting (finished today,  but no good photo yet and it’s still at the studio) and of the blanket I’m almost done crocheting (tonight or tomorrow,  I hope).  Several writing pieces  are also in the works.  Some are good; others need work. But I’m keeping at it. I hope you are too! 

In the meantime,  here’s a picture of my Lionel Hardcastle doing what he does best,  being cute. 

PAD 8: Sundown

This is a make-up for Saturday’s missed poem on the prompt of panic.




Night creeps in

Stealing the light little by little

Til all that is left are weak beams

From more than 25 trillion miles away

From a sphere that may already be gone,

And the panic slips in beside it,

Changing you into someone else,

Someone you can neither recognize

Nor control as we wait for sunrise and

Your return.

PAD 6: Rainy Days

Today’s prompt is to write a sound poem. While walking through the park,  I was struck by the atmosphere after the storm and composed a poem that would obliquely qualify, but I’ve decided to write another that suits the prompt a little better.

Rainy Days

The deep rumble of thunder

Like a giant cat

Expressing his affection

For staying home on rainy days

With a cozy blanket,  a cup of tea, and a good book

While his mini me purrs contentedly on my lap.

PAD 5: Elemental

I missed yesterday because I was both busy and stumped. The prompt was to write an element poem, as in the periodic table. It’s been a long, long while since I’ve studied the periodic table. (Did I ever really study it, come to think?) So, granting myself a day’s grace, I pondered and googled after finally deciding to treat the table like a zodiac. What does the element with the number of the month of your birth say about you?


March babies gravitate to threes,
But lithium is a conundrum.
The least dense of the solid elements,
It speaks of your substance
And perception,

But it is also highly reactive and flammable
Which portends a negative reception
Of this poem,
But since it usually occurs in compounds,
Perhaps you will stick with me yet.

Though lithium itself verges on instability,
It balances others’ anxiety
Just as you bring a calming presence with you.

But your bright lustre shines
Whether or not you are broken,
Nor does it corrode quickly,  and so essentially

You rise above your element.

PAD 4: Two-fer Tuesday, A Beginning and/or Ending Poem

Today being Tuesday, we are offered two prompts, but as I’ve noted in the past, these are really three: either, or, both. Today’s choices are a beginning poem, an ending poem, or a beginning and ending poem. I started thinking about an interesting metaphor or simile for beginning the day, and I came up with unwrapping a deck of cards. From there, I had fun describing a day from dawn to dusk in card terms and adages. Enjoy!

The Game of Life


Dawn breaks.

You blink your eyes,

Removing the film from the night before,

Like the crinkly unwrapping of cellophane

Off a new deck of cards–

Crisp and clean and orderly,

Ready to play the game.

Let the day begin,

Feed the kitty,

Shuffle the deck and see

What cards fate has dealt you today.

And off you go,

Playing your hand

Again and again

Scoring points, bidding high,

Some winners, some losers

As noon approaches, then afternoon,

Til night falls

And you flip the deck in the air,

Discarding the jokers of the day,

Still searching for your king,

But now you don’t care,

Let the cards fall where they may,

You’ve done your best,

Retire the deck.

Start fresh tomorrow.

Staircase of Love


Today’s prompt is “______ to Love.”  I could tell you what inspired it, but I think today, I’ll let the poem speak for itself.

Staircase to Love

As I climb the stairs, heading up to our room,

I’m huffing and puffing;

I wish I had taken the elevator.

But I know, that this is better, healthier.

My heart races, and my quads burn.

Sometimes I think, “This is no fun.”

But in the end, I am better because of it.

My heart is healthy and full

When I reach our space and

Rest with you.

PAD 2: Not Today

Today’s prompt is to write a “not today” poem,  and though I’ve been pondering the topic all day,  I almost went to bed with my poem bring written not today. It seems to me the more we tell ourselves “not today,” the more likely that thing is bound to happen today.

Not Today

You tell yourself,

“I will not worry.”

You tell yourself,

“He is fine.”

You tell yourself,

“He’s old enough to know what to do.”

You tell yourself,

“He’ll make the right decision.”

Yet, you still sit

Waiting, worrying, wondering

For that call. And,

It seems your ability to

Let go of the anxiety is nil.

Try as you might,  it

Will not happen,

Not today

PAD 1: She Majored in Music

It’s that time of year again, folks–National Poetry Month! As in previous year, Writer’s Digest sponsors the Poem-A-Day (PAD) challenge on it’s “Poetic Asides” blog. I’ll do my best to keep up. At the very least, I’m starting on time! I read the prompt this morning and ruminated all day, and then when I finally went into my “office” to write, I came across a spam-ish email from a former student which sparked some lovely memories of teaching the young woman how to play the flute during after school sessions. Since today’s prompt is to write a reminiscing poem, this random email struck just the right chord.

She Majored in Music


A clear, soft tone

Of a silver flute.

Crisp and clean.

We’d meet after school

And practice and learn.

Sweet music almost as melodious

As her laughter.

Her joy was contagious,

Even after a long day,

Especially then.

I think that I, the teacher,

Learned more from her

Than she ever did from me.

She’s like a lily,

So clean and defined,

That knows what it is, and

Is proud of it.

The flowers stand tall;

The scent is unmistakable.

The purity and goodness

It symbolizes.

She shared with me:

Her joy, her music, and her faith.

Simple and profound

And topped with a hat.


Minor Derailment 

Again I submitted a poem for a literary journal that publishes one poem every Sunday that responds to something from the week’s news. (And again,  my poem was not chosen.) Perhaps because I wrote in response to a small, local story of a minor train derailment by Amtrak on Friday in Penn Station NY, the news does not have a wide enough net. Perhaps there were too many other entries that surpassed mine.  Perhaps this is not that good.  But the idea lodged itself in my head. It must come out. The news kept saying how no one was hurt, but I started thinking about the butterfly effect and how there is more than one way to be hurt.
Minor Derailment 
It was a minor derailment

At slow speed.

No one was hurt.

And yet,

And yet,

Trains were cancelled,

Delayed, and crowded.

So the Mom rushing home early

From a business trip to DC

Misses her daughter’s basketball game.

But no one was hurt.

And the Dad who promised

He’d be there,

For sure this time,

For his son’s school play,

(He has the lead)

Won’t make it in time.

But no one was hurt.

And the sweetheart with a ring

But a dead phone battery

Is over an hour late for their reservation

And she’s gone home, crying.

But no one was hurt.

The pushing and shoving on

The overcrowded trains,

Everyone wanting to get home,

No one wanting to give an inch,

Anger, frustration,

And who knows what else,

Especially later as some commuters

Have over-enjoyed happy hour 

To kill the time

Lessening their inhibitions

And loosening their tongues.

But no one was hurt.

The broken dates,

The missed appointments,

The misunderstandings,

The fatigue,

The tempers flaring.

One train slips off the track

At minimal speeds

Not even completely out of the station

And sideswipes another.

The grinding of metal!

The jostling and jarring!

And, thank God!

No one on board is injured.

But that does not mean

No one was hurt.