NAPOMO # whatever

I’m not even bothering to catch up. 🙂 I am having an unanticipated quiet day at home, due to lost keys. I’m listening to the DVD of yesterdays musical adventures and cleaning up from all the fancy dinners.

Here’s an untitled poem from another quiet day this year:

I can hear:

tick   tick   tick

chime     chime   

HUMMMMM

No cymbals,

No shouts,

No tinny music

Just this:

tick   tick   tick

chime     chime   

HUMMMMM

No machines, 

No requests,

No frantic running.

Only quiet sounds:

tick   tick   tick

chime     chime   

HUMMMMM

Lisa Holcomb 2014

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NAPOMO #8

good people share faith, love, intimacy

…  so trust the knowing in me

with effort, I metamorphosed myself…

synergy an interesting challenge…

into determined socializing.

 

and maybe eventually everywhere

the inevitable reward

my purpose:

i’m loved

our time is playful

so trust the knowing in me and maybe eventually everywhere the inevitable reward …

 

Inspirational web poem #2

Lisa Holcomb 2004

 

NAPOMO #7

The Wind That Shakes The Barley

There’s music in my heart all day, 
     I hear it late and early, 
It comes from fields are far away, 
     The wind that shakes the barley. 

Above the uplands drenched with dew 
     The sky hangs soft and pearly, 
An emerald world is listening to 
     The wind that shakes the barley. 

Above the bluest mountain crest 
     The lark is singing rarely, 
It rocks the singer into rest, 
     The wind that shakes the barley. 

Oh, still through summers and through springs 
     It calls me late and early. 
Come home, come home, come home, it sings, 
     The wind that shakes the barley.

 

Katharine Tynan Hinkson

NAPOMO #6

he can reach

the top of the table

under the crib

behind the piano

with ease

 

he grabs

a toolkit

a nail clipper

some cheerios

with tiny fingers

 

he finds

beads

rhinestones

plastic clips

in the shallow carpet

 

he’s just tall enough to choke.

 

 

Lisa Holcomb 10/27/04

NAPOMO #5

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN I SHALL WEAR PURPLE
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph


 

Who doesn’t love this poem? But honestly, I started the “weird” life early on. Why wait til I’m old?

🙂

Image

NAPOMO #4

NANOPOMO #4

Image Poem entitled “Jelena”
Lisa Holcomb 2013

 


My eldest son was doing a poetry project for school, so I did it alongside him. One of the prompts was to write a poem inside a picture of how the poem made you feel.  It was interesting to do. Mine was depressing.

 

NAPOMO #3

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

-Emily Dickinson

NAPOMO, day two

phone call

licking panic off my lips

     uttering the

               swollen words I wish i’d said

 

when I talk

         to you

i’m always stiff as yesterday’s cake

 

I sit here and eat the

       silence

like sky and caramel

 

we’ve rotted in this embrace

 

and now you spend time

     cursing in the corner

         and looking up at the

                  ceiling as if it has all the answers

 

we’re sitting under this

           plague blanket

brick bruises on our hearts

                  refusing to say the words we mean

         and saying all the ones we don’t

 

——-

Lisa Holcomb 1998

NANPOMO

It’s National Poetry Month…and therefore I must share poetry. Some days I’ll share my own and some days I’ll share famous works and others I’ll share works of lesser fame. Who knows what the day will bring?

 

Today, because it’s on my mind, a poem about adoption (I’m an adoptee and a friend called tonight to ask about my experience): (click on the image to enbiggen)

 

2difkindsoflove