As if it really existed, prized moments clicking away
Running late to the start, to the train, to the finish
Wasting the day
Chasing the clock rubbing my worry rock ridges
Burning bridges no room for the small talk
Missing the view
And the things that I should or couldn’t really do
As if time really existed or mattered anyway
It’s only 62 miles, I keep telling myself
It’s only 14,000 feet up and 14,000 feet down
Only five canyons, 17 stream crossings and thousands of poison oak daggers
Just one sunrise, one high noon, one sunset, and one waning crescent moon
It’s just a race, I keep telling myself. It’s just a race
with just one finish line
Beneath the surface of time memories echo
Horn blown sea shells to call us home
Sand in our hair, pails full of treasure
Long summer days, the seashore remembers
One last temptation to glide in her surf
Unable to resist the wish of perfect wave search
Left tossed in sand break and thunderous curl
No board but the bodies of three little girls
Just the thought of evening the dreamers speak
As day takes on an orange evening glow
Whence darkness dares to whisper to the sheets
Returns the dreams of youth born long ago
Life the fortuneteller blows changing winds
From perfect calm to waters peaked with foam
Directs the journey wanders on a whim
Where love remains the call to venture home
In dreams the siren beckons sea and crew
Smooth sailing to the sunset she predicts
Yet whether insight slight adjusts a clew
A treasure found aground will sea eclipse
Day 31 but no more NaPoWriMo. Instead I found a prompt generator to get me started this morning. It generates the first line of the poem and I took it from there.
You for me were a perfect stranger
I never imagined in my life.
Time passed and I spoke
of something you know.
After all, you were the person
that most understood me
and much of your life coincided with mine.
You became who I best identified with
whom I revealed my “being”.
Now I discover that I did not know
Yes, again you are unknown because
in the distance I’ve noticed that
the friend you are never ends meeting
because there’s always something that surprises me
there will always be something new to share
You will always be for me
something new to discover.
It’s Day 30, the final day of the 2016 NaPoWriMo Challenge. Every year when the month of April ends it’s a bit like ending a good book, or losing a loyal friend. I always promise to continue writing, but it’s not the same with you for me.
Part of this month of poetry has been to look at poems originally written in other language in English translation. Today’s challenge is to try your hand at a translation of your own. If you know a foreign language, you could take a crack at translating a poem by a poet writing in that language.
This poem…Tu Para Mi was originally written in Spanish.
I remember waltzing with my father, on my toes spinning round and round the living room.
I remember being afraid of carousel horses sure they would launch from their station and fly right through the spinning circus roof Mary Poppins style.
I remember my yellow Chevy Luv pickup, piling the cab full of girls, boys in the back, and driving to the beach.
I remember watching the sun melt into the ocean colors filling the sky like rainbow sherbet.
I remember seeing my husband for the first time sitting on a milk crate, a meter in his hand, his head buried in an electrical panel. I couldn’t get his attention.
I remember sitting with him through chemo sessions and launching Marvel the Monkey across the infusion suite hoping his super powers included curing cancer.
I remember not remembering the last time I’d had a vacation.
I remember having more money than time. I prefer more time than money.
I cross the line
With worried winded final push
Uphill slog, eye on the time
Water bottle’s empty slug
Wipe a salted brow
Ignore the blisters my toenails dug
Scamper to the music
Plug in ears, plug in my tunes
Feeling alive my gliding gate cruise
Herded storming bovine
We are off in a burst
I cross the line
Day 28 of the NaPoWriMo Challenge. Today’s challenge is to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning.