Skip to content

Nightingale – NaPoWriMo Continues

April 26, 2015

This is in response to the Twitter poetry challenge #haikuwordgame. The prompts are “patience” and “dusk.” I am behind a day for National Poetry Writing Month, so I wrote two haiku :-)

I hope you enjoy the musical “extra” below the poetry!

Wikimedia - Public Domain

Wikimedia – Public Domain

patience turns to sadness
nightingale sings for his love
in the grim dusk
at dusk he puffs his chest
he sings of his prowess
impatient for love


The Road Forsaken – NaPoWriMo Day 24

April 24, 2015

Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge is to take a favorite poem from the past and rewrite it in a humorous or satirical way. Here’s my contribution. My apologies to Robert Frost!

Photo Copyright: Loupe Project -

Photo Copyright: Loupe Project –

Two roads diverged in the New England wood
My nav system must not be any good
I looked at the screen, so long I stood
The guy behind me honked as hard as he could
Made me jump out of my skin, and go!

Soon I wished I’d taken the road over there,
It having more than just one narrow lane
Plus it’s well paved and lighted fair
This one looks like a road for Paul Revere
It rides like a bridle path centuries old!

I passed a quaint store–may stop another day.
Yet knowing how much I am hating this drive,
I doubt I will ever come back this way
Unless this is the wrong friggin’ road
Which may well turn out to be the case.

I shall be telling this with a huge glass of wine
At my sister’s house, many hours hence
After scraping the fence on the side of the “road”
Deep in the woods with no bars on my phone
Just glad I didn’t have to have my car towed!

Jack of Hearts – NaPoWriMo Day 23

April 24, 2015

This NaPoWriMo challenge asks us to pull a card at random from a deck, free-write about the card for five minutes, then create a poem from that.


you are a knave

a valet to the brave knight

requiring no bravery of your own

a handsome profile

an empty crown

a servant in aristocratic dress

a contradiction

someone, ironically, without a heart

but who collects others’


do you take

the shards of each broken heart

and sharpen your sword with them

preparing for the next victim

how does a heart heal

after an encounter with you


deal me instead

the ten of hearts

ten juicy red hearts

no fancy dress

what you see

is what you get

no facade

no attitude

no lies

no airs

no regrets


yes, deal me instead

the ten of hearts

and I will win the game


Unhappy Earth Day

April 22, 2015

This is in response to the NaHaiWriMo prompt, “prophetic.”

Photo by Igor Mojzes -

Photo by Igor Mojzes –

 For information about the dwindling population of pollinators such as butterflies and bees:


Happy Earth Day

April 22, 2015

Welcome to Friday Fictioneers! We are a community of writers from around the world who post 100-word stories between Wednesday and Friday each week. The stories are all based on a photo prompt provided on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.  Please visit Rochelle’s blog for more information…and join us if you wish!

This week’s awesome photo is by fellow writer Doug MacIlroy. Thank you, Doug!

Photo Copyright: Douglas M. MacIlroy

Photo Copyright: Douglas M. MacIlroy

Happy Earth Day

by Jan Brown

“The humans have their lights on again. Why? Is their eyesight weak?”

“Perhaps it’s affected by the cold. They’re not permanent residents like us. They need time to adapt to the harsh conditions.”

“Harsh?!? What’s harsh is the fact that our icecap is melting at an alarming rate. And it’s their fault!”

“OK, calm down.”

“I’ll be calm once our continent is not collapsing under our feet. They come here to measure the damage. They take videos of the disaster they created. But they’re helpless to stop it.”

“Yeah, happy Earth Day.”

With that, the penguins waddled away.

“Adelie Penguins on Iceberg” by Jason Auch – originally posted to Flickr as IMG_0760. Licensed under CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons


To read other Friday Fictioneers’ stories, click the blue frog:

Poetweet–NaPoWriMo Day 20

April 20, 2015

Last week, when I was doing taxes and writing haiku, I missed a fun challenge to write a “found poem” using snippets of text from social media. So I searched Twitter for the word, “healing,” which is my theme for the month. I’ve selected some interesting excerpts and paired them together….Enjoy!


The skies are crumbling

Repent, and keep on trying


Posting your stupid thoughts online

Healed by wordiness


Shift in perception

To recognize one’s own insanity


Putting pieces back together

Running out of time


Ppl have this very erred notion that all trauma is ultimately fixable

How do you explain these decisions by anything but a head injury?


Landay – NaPoWriMo Day 19

April 19, 2015

This is what I love about National Poetry Writing Month: I always learn something new.

Today’s poetry prompt is to write a landay–a couplet of 22 syllables, 9 in the first line and 13 in the second. This is a form of poetry originating in Afghanistan. It sometimes rhymes, sometimes not.

Landays are spoken or sung by women as part of folk songs, often to the beat of a drum. They are anonymous and are never written down. In this way, Afghan women can compose poetry that expresses thoughts on men, marriage, societal norms and treatment of women, thoughts that if attributed to a specific author or written down by a living woman, could be considered disrespectful, illegal or worse.

Maureen Thorson, the poet who administers, linked us to a great resource on landays. I learned that there are twenty million Pashtun women on both sides of the Afghan-Pakistan border who practice this form of poetry. Some landays are ancient and some are new. Some complain about ancient customs still in practice today. They can be dark, sarcastic and painful expressions of opinions that are otherwise kept buried.  And some are poems of love or lust, expressing longing for a boyfriend or husband.

So if you assume that these beautiful, burka-wearing women are always demure, you’d be wrong! Here are a few examples of their landays:

You sold me to an old man, father.
May God destroy your home, I was your daughter.
Making love to an old man
is like fucking a shriveled cornstalk blackened by mold.
Slide your hand inside my bra.
Stroke a red and ripening pomegranate of Kandahar.
How much simpler can love be?
Let’s get engaged now. Text me.

I can’t pretend to write their joy or pain, so my landay simply celebrates this unique form of poetry:

We tell our truth, we sing our bold song.
Can twenty million women with biting wit be wrong?

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 448 other followers

%d bloggers like this: