action healing, Being a poet, NaPoWriMo, NaPoWriMo2018, Personal Experiences, the color of moments

NaPoWriMo Days Twelve – Fourteen

Three days of prompts below

Day Fourteen: Teacup Dreams

And now for our prompt (optional, as always). Dream dictionaries have been around as long as people have had dreams. Interestingly, if you consult a few of them, they nearly always tend to have totally different things to say about specific objects or symbols. Dreams, unlike words themselves, don’t seem to be nicely definable! At any rate, today’s prompt is to write entries for an imaginary dream dictionary. Pick one (or more) of the following words, and write about what it means to dream of these things:

Teacup… etc


A cracked teacup filled with pennies sits

On a wooden board

On a rustic old table

Rough with years

In a farmhouse over the hill

Bread bakes

And smells of puffing yeast rise out of the oven and

fill a blue kitchen

A child comes in, side door from the yard

smelling the bread and asking for time

Digs his fingers into the teacup

Filled with pennies on the table

And the afternoon world spins on

Like the glint of copper on a coin


Day Thirteen: Syd Barrett’s Flying Babies (Phrase Change Up: Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater)

And now for our prompt (optional, as always!), drawn from a suggestion provided in Lorber’s interview. Today, we challenge you to write a poem in which the words or meaning of a familiar phrase get up-ended. For example, if you chose the phrase “A stitch in time saves nine,” you might reverse that into something like: “a broken thread; I’m late, so many lost.” Or “It’s raining cats and dogs” might prompt the phrase “Snakes and lizards evaporate into the sky.” Those are both rather haunting, strange images, and exploring them could provide you with an equally haunting, strange poem (or a funny one!

Little ebullient babies 

float on into the clouds

Fat chins glisten with laughing drool

Tender fingers niggling

the air as they rise

Watch the babies giggle as they float on into the sky


Day Twelve: Kansas City Haibun

Today’s (optional) prompt picks up from our craft resource. We’ve challenged you to tackle the haibun in past years, but it’s such a fun one, we couldn’t resist again. Today, we’d like to challenge you specifically to write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. It may be the high sierra, dusty plains, lush rainforest, or a suburbia of tiny, identical houses – but wherever you live, here’s your chance to bring it to life through the charming mix-and-match methodology of haibun

Glaciated Plains

River settlements of French

Grew boomed with wagons

River boats bob on

Green winding undercurrent

River city grows

Oh city

Oh river water enter of the nation, nestled into glaciated plains 

The matter of wooly mammoths make rich our rolling soil

Art thaws from the hearts of the people

Paint spills

Black and white years burn 

and green sproutlets of a new era push to meet the sun




Our (optional, as always) prompt for the day is taken from one of the prompts that Kwoya Fagin Maples suggests in here interview: a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions “What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”

“Everything means something” she said, pen pausing long enough for her to speak. She looked at me over a pair of reading glasses and a legal pad. The light from the tiffany desk lamp to her left, gleamed yellow across her lap, illuminating the legal pad and her nails as she wrote. She’d offered to review my dreams with me and was writing the details down as I spoke

I’d paused, and hesitated over a detail, deciding out loud whether or not I should include it in the retelling of this dream

I’d been coming weekly for a couple of months

And the more I spoke, the more I realized that I understood quite a lot and quite a little of myself

Without aggrandizing my own state of mind too much, I’ll tell you that delving into your own mind is like a competent sailor plunging into the depths of his beloved sea

On the surface he understands the waves and the wind and the nautical relation from one shore to the next. He can reasonably predict the response of his ship in the presence of any given weather scenario, the strength of his sails, the direction of his vessel and himself according to the map of stars that unfold when night descends

But outside of the bones of his ship, outside  the boughs and the sails, no sextant, no compass, alone in the cold sea water, pale body floating and bobbing at the surface, miles and miles of deep blue below him, he is alone, and entirely new way to navigate will be imagined

His body and mind, the only tools

So I described the tiny detail in the dream that I’d almost skipped over, and she nodded as she wrote, the tip of the cap of her pen bending in air, dipping and tipping, giving ink-shape to the details of my dreams

And as I heard myself speaking, heard my voice giving sound to the details of my dreams, I saw a white and iridescent little fish with the scrunched up face of monster, swim by

2017, action healing, awakening, Being a nurse, Being a poet, Fear, Growth, NaPoWriMo, NaPoWriMo2018, Personal Experiences, seeking, signs, summer, the color of moments, vignettes

NaPoWriMo Day Eleven: The State Of The Union Of Body And Mind

action healing, Atonement, awakening, Being a nurse, Being a poet, NaPoWriMo, NaPoWriMo2018, Personal Experiences, seeking, signs, the color of moments

Logged two days late, the prompt for day seven was to list out the identities of all of your “different hats” and then categorize them into a two lists of those that make you feel powerful and those that make you feel vulnerable. Then, write a poem using identities from these two opposing identities. In my case, the two identities that oppose each other some of the time, are also the identities that enhance one another. And in ways, my nurse eyes are better because of my poet eyes and vice versa. The eyes of a poet and the eyes of the nurse must both be very keen and see between the many lines of life. So those are the identities that I chose: my identity as a nurse and as a poet (both of which for me these days are being reinvented).  I will say also, that although I feel vulnerable in both and strengthened in both roles, my goal is never to feel “powerful”.

Eyes for the interstitial

Exacting intuition with evidence

See, hear, smell, palpate, seek,

Scanning physiology

All senses keening

Flourish the world with healing

Intuit the liminal

Holding space for the unnamble

See, hear, smell, palpate, seek

Scanning the world’s underbelly

All senses keening

Flourish the world with prophecy

NaPoWriMo Day 7: On Having The Eyes Of a Nurse-Poet