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 29

Today's prompt was to write either a realism poem or a magical poem.  You can probably guess before reading, which would be my choice.

photography by Cristina M. R. Norcross / stream near Rydal Water, U.K.

A Wink and a Blink

Walking over the bridge from solid ground

to hallowed earth –

the stream speaks of stories.

The hidden cave at Rydal Water

welcomes our mortal feet.

With each step

an ageless time unfolds.

Colors seem brighter –

more defined.

Each branch becomes

an ink stain across parchment.

An artist with the most delicate brush

makes these lines jump into my vision.

Eyes squinting at brightness,

I can only catch but a glimpse

of the worlds beneath my footing –

mushrooms blooming

with fairies sunning themselves,

and water sprites diving like dolphins –

waving their small hands in the wind.

I hesitate before unlatching the gate

that leads back to the gravel road –

look behind me –

taking a snapshot

with a single blink.

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

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 9

Today's challenge was to write a shelter poem.  This is a poem about my first year of marriage, living in an abode of questionable construction.  All of it is true.

Our bungalow was just down the road from Marsden Rock (now two rocks)

South Shields Bungalow

Our bungalow-by-the-sea

was falling apart,

but it was all we had.

All of our wedding money

went to the move to England.

The bricks were slowly crumbling.

The backyard lawn consisted of long straw,

and we had no mower.

Everything was dark green –

the carpets,

the couch,

the curtains –

even the wallpaper.

I felt like I was living

in a bowl of pea soup.

When I wasn’t at my temp job

doing shift work,

I was writing.

There was no desk,

so we stacked some empty

milk crates and placed a piece of plywood on top.

It withstood my laptop,

my many hours of solitary typing,

and my heavy thinking.

One night, I flushed the plastic toilet freshener

by mistake.

Until the plumber came,

three days later,

we had to go to the pub

to use the bathroom.

The trick was to buy a pint,

so you looked like a customer,

but not drink so much of it,

that you would need to return to the pub

two hours later.

London was calling,

but for one year,

this bungalow-by-the-sea

gave two newlyweds shelter

from the storm.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 8

Today's poetry prompt was to write either a violence poem, a peace poem or both.  I'll be honest and say that I found this a bit troubling.  I write plenty of peace poems.  I tend to steer clear of violence.  This poem is my response to being asked to write the poem.  I suppose, I could have just written a straight forward peace poem.  Instead, I wrestled with my thoughts a bit.

Your Body Hears What You Are Thinking

There is no light in your cup.

You kick the stone down the road,

following its arc –

it’s jumping dance from pavement

to puddle.

Be careful.

Your body hears

what you are thinking,

and it hurts.

Be kind to your feet –

they walked you out of that house

where the boogie man groped you.

Be kind to your hands –

they comfort fevered brows

and make bowls of spicy chili.

Everyone loves your chili.

Be kind to your eyes –

they need not see the open wound

to know it needs to heal.

Be kind to your readers –

they are looking for something

to lift them up –

to lift them out of the violence of this world –

an invisible cloak

of good.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 7

Today's challenge was to write a self-portrait poem.  On any given day, I have many selves ~ I am multi-faceted.  This is just a glimpse on the day I wrote this poem.  See if you can figure out which poet my title is inspired by.

Today I Am Emily

Who Are You?

Living many lives

in many countries

can lead to a certain

Transcendental Homelessness.

My accent is neutral,

but I can put on a pretty good

South London inflection –

and don’t get me started on

my former, Long Island accent.

Where I am from

is the here and now.

Cast no spells –

I will not transform into

frog or princess.

You don’t know who I am.

Chameleon poet –

I wander in and out of words,

weaving stones with nylon thread.

I slip through fingers

like a fish out of water,

which I always seem to be –

neither here nor there,

I try to be everywhere.

Always observing –

always the people watcher

at the café table

sipping wine –

wondering what

life I could create

for the young woman in green tights

or the man in the sweater with holes,

weaving from side to side

down the street.

This is who I am.

I am nobody –

I am known.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 6

Today's poetry writing prompt was to write a night poem.  It could be anything related to things that happen at night.  The first thing that came to my mind was the musical by Hugh Wheeler, "A Little night Music," so I just grabbed that title and followed the poem down the rabbit hole.  The poem doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the songs from that musical, but my brain likes to jump  and play with words, so I let my imagination wander a little here.  I thought about our house at night, as my little ones are getting ready for bed.

A Little Night Music

The notes of your voices echo,

as teeth are brushed

and faces washed.

The last dove stakes its claim

on the roof –

letting out one, last, soulful tune.

The basement pipes rumble

with rushing water,

as yesterday’s showers and dishes

are forgotten.

Bare feet on hard wood floors

scurry up

after one last glass of milk.

Books are read silently,

in unison.

A laugh of recognition here –

an “Oh” of surprise in chapter two.

These melodies of night converge

as heads rest on pillows,

and the house sings

its solitary song of sleep.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 5

Today's writing prompt for the poem-a-day challenge was to write a poem of discovery.

To Be the White Orchid

Your newly polished self –

it shines in light

and in dark.

It rises above.

Your newly polished self

knows no boundaries,

because you have come

full circle

to the lightness of Being

that is you.

You surge

like the streamlined, silver power lines

of the city –

all jet stream

and mercury.

You wander into the self

with eyes wide to truth –

knowing that

this sometimes isn’t pretty –

this sometimes tastes stale.

Your newly polished self

wants to tango –

wants to leave town –

wants to be the white orchid –

exquisite

and

rare.

You are true blue –

newly polished. 

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 4

Today's poem-a-day challenge was to write a "Since ______" poem.  Write the word Since, fill in the blank, and then use that as your title.  This one stretched my poet muscles a bit.  I had a title in mind, but I needed to make it fit.  Part of me felt like I was writing a Mad Libs poem, at least for the title, but it all worked out in the end, as they say. 

Since Your Blindness to Speaking Stars

The truth of you

comes in small doses.

The lavender moments of calm acceptance,

as well as the blue clarity

just above cloud cover

and human weakness.

We are frail.

We fall.

We trust too much.

We don’t trust enough.

This hand of yours that shakes

for human touch.

Your heart walks through

the noise of doubt –

finds solace

in the many, common beats.

We hold them close –

fear and longing.

The clutch of papers

to chest –

the blindness to speaking stars.

This is the truth of you.

You shout.

You weep.

You jump.

You stand still –

but most of the time,

you love.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 3

Today's challenge was to write a message poem.  It could be an e-mail or letter to someone, a poster, a sticky note, a postcard ...

I chose to share one of my recent poetry postcard designs using this theme.  In honor of National Poetry Month, I will be sending out over 30 of these postcards as gifts to people, to help generate excitement about poetry!

Reaching Every Realm

From root

to speckled petal,

you will never fully know

the beauty of your every detail.

Your essence spreads out –

blue flames

reaching every realm.

Oh, to know

how you flower and connect.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month Challenge Day 2

Today's challenge was to write a poem about a journey or a voyage.  I chose to journey to the center of memory and family history.

Read on ...

Island of Souls

I journey to the center of you –
the island queen
with nimble fingers
creating Saban Lace.
I seek the hidden mysteries
of your smile –
your blue-black hair
coiffed just so –
the way you read
The Daily Word
in your speckled, red wool chair.

I travel to the source of ancestors –
to this island home
you left for a bigger island at age 11.
Not knowing how to swim,
you left by boat –
forging ahead
with only your embroidery skills
and strength of intent.

At 18, you left for a new land.

One-by-one, you brought them –
brothers and sisters
carried across the vast sea.
Your hands –
instruments of freedom.

I journey back to that day
you left all that was known
to you –
Saba spice,
sweet Malta,
the top of the volcano,
and the village at the bottom.

It is at the crossroads
of leavings and beginnings,
that I find my source.
I would like to think
it is you.

You are my black stone courage –
my onyx strength –
my Saba Rose pride.

Cristina M. R. Norcross
Copyright 2014

National Poetry Month 2014: Poem-a-Day Challenge with Writer's Digest and Words Dance Publishing DAY 1

Happy National Poetry Month!

I am a little behind in posting these poems from the National Poetry Month challenge with Writer's Digest.  Better late than never!  I have completed day 8 today.  I will create a post for each day's poem.  If you are subscriber ~ warning ~ you may get 8 e-mails from me today, but I promise that after that, it will only be one-per-day for the month of April.  By April 30th, you will have had you fill, I'm sure, and this writer will need a vacation!

The truth is ~ I probably write at least a poem each day, if not several.  The difference is that maybe 2 poems per week are worth saving and/or submitting somewhere.  These poems will be written and edited in just one day, which is not my style, but I am up for the challenge this month.

Here we go!  I hope you enjoy this journey with me.  Not every poem is going to be an opus.  I am prepared for this.  So be gentle, kind readers.  I will do my best to offer up some gems here and there.

Interested in joining in the poetic fun?  Follow this link to the Writer's Digest poem-a-day challenge.


DAY ONE: Today's writing prompt was to write a poem about beginnings and/or endings.

Echoes of You

The very beginning of you

is the furtive sun

not yet knowing how to hold your hand.

It is the stretching of muscles

when your tender feet meet the floor.

The very beginning of you

is storm cloud

and Big Bang.

It is the dancing dust whirl –

a tornado of life and light.

There is no end of you.

Your walk carries on –

your voice echoes

in the throat of a son

or granddaughter –

your cocoa butter skin,

the rich timbre of your voice,

the delicate way your fingers

embrace a pen.

Each new step

and each end of the road

leads to more of you –

the captured flutterings

of forget-me-not

and –

I am still here.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014