National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 30 / THE END!

The BIG hoorah!  Today is the last day of the National Poetry Month Challenge.  Whether you've followed all along, or are stopping by for the first time for a glimpse into my month of writing a poem-a-day for Writer's Digest and Words Dance Publishing, hope you'll grab a cup of tea (or Sangria, if it's evening when you read this), and walk back with me on a trip down memory lane from my days at the University of Ottawa, Canada.

Today's prompt was to write a closing time / Miller Time / calling it a day poem.  Here is my offering.  Happy Day 30 and Happy National Poetry Month!  See you again next year ...

Thursdays at Café Rosie Lee

(for old friends)

The sound of books closing, pens retracting

and backpacks zippering

signals the close of another academic day –

the beginning of Thursdays at Café Rosie Lee.

Taking three steps down into a cavern of warm, garlic heat

and the taste of creamed mushroom soup,

brings me effortlessly to my once-a-week world

of food, friendship and Sangria.

We play cards and talk about Shakespeare

with equal amounts of passion,

seated around our usual table in the corner.

Without fail, the staff at Rosie Lee’s

knows we are coming.

They prepare extra plates

of rosemary chicken and wild rice.

Laughter springs in bursts from Samantha.

With smiling eyes,

she knows the strength and bend of my heart.

Pauline has languid, bawdy stories to weave –

I could sit and listen to her rich, round voice all night.

Sheila brings life and light everywhere she goes –

making me believe that we could jump right through this roof,

if we wanted to.

We share a love of books –

the weight, texture and scent of them.

We console each other over exam-time stress

and demanding professors.

Living inside the words,

the laughter,

and one too many pitchers of fruity wine,

exists the struggle to know ourselves fully.

Holding hands,

and our breath,

we take a great leap into the unknown

with a mighty yawp!

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 27

Today's prompt was to write a monster poem.  This is normally not my genre of choice, so I opted to approach the poem with a bit of humor and human observation.  We'll see if it works.  There are no werewolves in my poem, but you may just recognize a few common traits.

The Ballad of Mr. Dissatisfied

It’s hopeless –

hopeless, I say.

The grass is not green enough.

My car is not flashy enough.

These eggs are not cheesy enough.

My house is not grand enough.

My shoes are not shiny enough.

The sun is not bright enough.

It’s hopeless –

just hopeless.

Time is too short.

My belly is not flat.

My nose is too long.

The list goes on and on.

If only.

If only.

I live in your ear,

whispering sweet nothings of

“you’re not good enough,”

and “you might as well quit.”

I am the monster

of dissatisfaction

living within.

But there is hope, you see.

The walls are melting,

along with my resolve.

A burden shared

is a burden broken in half.

Share my woes,

and you will see me slowly disappear.

A monster is only a monster,

if you feed it.

And just like that –

with this poem –

I am gone.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 17 / SHAZAM!

The writing prompt for today was to write a pop culture poem.  Abracadabra ... I'm back in the 80's with just a touch on my iPhone.

SHAZAM!

Shazam tells me I would like

Mumford and Sons,

So I ask Siri to bring up iTunes.

Greasy spoon?

Yes, the nearest greasy spoon

is on Main Street.

Is there anything else I can help you with?

When too lazy to put on my own music,

or find out which album has virtually

“Dropped,”

Sirius XM New Wave

brings back,

Every Day is Like Sunday,

or the refrain,

It’s the End of the World as We Know it.

I’m left with the bubble

of thinking that I’m still in the late 80’s –

a virtual music world –

when we still had vinyl,

and you could rewind a cassette tape

with the turn of a pencil.

Shazam!

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 16

Today's challenge was to write an elegy - a poem about someone who has passed.  Here is my offering.  One hour before midnight ... I made it just in time!  Vera would be proud.

Golden Threads

Show me how to do those leg lifts, Cristina.

I need to learn.

You know –

Tissue only likes the white cushion

to sit on.

Nothing but the best

for my Tissue.

Vera loved her cats.

We have that in common.

She also loved her kids.

Her girls, by marriage,

and the many foster children

she raised from her soft hips.

A voice like honey –

hands made for cooking chili –

Vera held the world close.

She sewed until her hands

were broken from arthritis.

She mended minds.

She mended hearts.

Vera was the mother to all.

On the day I found out she died,

there was a rainbow in the sky.

I rushed home,

thinking my own mother had taken ill.

We sat at the table,

after the phone call came through.

Mother to many –

Vera was gone.

We remembered her –

the golden needle –

the silver thread.

Somewhere close

she is mending fabric –

making clothes out of bread.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 15

Today's prompt was to write either a love poem, an anti-love poem or some combination of the two.  In honor of one of our oldest friends from college getting married this summer, I wrote a poem about one of our first trips to Paris, when Scott met us for the day to tour around.  It is a snapshot in time of our early marriage, our love of Paris, our love for each other, and the joy of knowing that we were meeting up with an old friend.  It all kind of melds together into a somewhat humorous, narrative poem involving a baguette.  Hmm ... let's see what happens.

Au Lapin Agile, ca 1880-90

We Were in the Tub

Now You Know

(For Scott G., in celebration of his engagement.  Psst, take her to Paris.)

Paris is all about romance –

romance and art –

romance, art and food –

romance, art, food

and long, luxurious mornings of love.

We had all of these things

on our first trip to Paris.

Me, on a bed, with a baguette.

You would think that bread was my lover.

Does it live?

Asked Ali, when she saw the photograph.

After walking past Le Lapin Agile,

realizing it was closed,

but longing to sit in the same corner

where Picasso or Modigliani once sat,

we gave up staring at the hours of operation sign

and walked up a very long flight of sand-colored steps.

Arriving at the smallest hotel room in Paris,

I fell onto the bed,

baguette in hand.

We’ll eat some of this later –

with wine.

I’ll just close my eyes here for a while.

Click –

husband took the now infamous,

unattractive photo of me,

asleep on the bed –

comatose and hugging my French bread.

I will never let go of good bread –

that would be a waste.

I dream walk into the tub,

look at the bidet in the room

with raised eyebrow,

and sleep a bit more

in the lukewarm water.

My love joins me.

We rest together

arm in arm –

leg resting on leg.

I awaken to the sound of the phone ringing.

Splashes fall,

I do not move.

It’s Scott.

He’s here.

Quick, get dressed.

We’ll meet him at Le Jardin du Luxembourg.

I bet Scott never knew

what we were up to

when he picked up that phone.

Now he does.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 14

Today's prompt was to finish the sentence:

"If I Were _______"

and use that as your title.  Here is my offering for today.

If I Were That Blade of Grass

Honey touched dew would

glide down my shoulder,

offering succor for the season’s

dry, parched earth.

If I were that blade of grass,

young squirrels would

launch themselves onto branches,

using my strong, frond-like length

as a trampoline.

If I were that blade of grass,

I would be in danger of suffering nibbles

from deer and small rabbits,

but I would let them.

My capacity for growth

is endless.

If I were that blade of grass,

I would sing in the wind,

like the sound a wine glass makes

when touched on the rim –

liquid circles of high notes

and low tones.

If I were that blade of grass,

I would welcome both the new green

and the fading brown –

accept my short comings

and keep growing.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 13

Today's prompt was to write an animal poem.  I'm giving a poetry reading today, so my time is limited.  Here's what came through for me, when I let the animal totem of the cat speak.

(photo from the National Geographic story, "The Search for Cleopatra")

Cleopatra’s Cat

Cleopatra’s cat feels guilty.

He could have loved more,

given more,

scratched at the door more –

sounding the alarm to intruders.

In the end

no sleek, feline skills

would have been enough.

Her escape was a final one.

All black lines

and silent stealth,

Cleopatra’s loyal pet

stayed close,

as poison touched

ruby lips.

He glided next to her,

soundlessly,

holding vigil,

when porcelain skin grew cold.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 12

Today's prompt was to write a city poem.  I have lived in many cities.  My favorite big city to live in is London, UK.  Here is a narrative poem about our last trip to London with our two boys.  It was quite momentous for several reasons.  Our youngest has a special memory about Camden Town.

I Lost My Tooth

on a Double Decker Bus

He will always have this story.

On our way to Camden Town,

small, crowded shops line the river.

Snaking footsteps

wind in and out of doors.

The steam from food vendors,

rises in fragrant clouds,

invoking hunger.

From behind me I hear

a joyous shout.

“I lost another tooth!”

says our youngest.

Without the school nurse’s

plastic treasure chest on hand,

I carefully save the tooth

in a plastic bag.

The bus stops

for a new adventure.

A new smile takes it all in.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 11

For Day 11 of the challenge, the prompt was to make a statement the title of your poem and then write something inspired by those words. 

I'm starting to want some images, on a regular basis, to liven things up.  So here is one of my photographs from our trip to The Domes in Milwaukee.  It was so majestic inside these beautiful rooms of exotic flowers and trees.  Hope you enjoy the scenery ... and today's poem.

You Are Closer Than You Think

The space outside of you –

that color spectrum cloud

of potential and spirit song –

contains the toolbox you need –

your want,

your trust,

your skill

your passion,

your philanthropy,

your purpose.

The scent of patchouli

hangs in the air.

You follow the yellow brick road

to the you of tomorrow –

the bungee jumper

you were meant to be.

Your threaded fingers

weave their magic.

Hands clasped in prayer –

a hoped for future.

You are closer than you think.

Reach out –

touch it.

Feel the juice

of the fresh peach,

the leather soft glide of the leaf,

the subtle give of earth

beneath your feet,

when you take that first step.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014