Writer Wednesday: More #napowrimo poetry

Following the whole “keep myself accountable,” I am sharing the poems I wrote this week as part of my #napowrimo goal of writing one poem per day in the month of April. I hope you enjoy!

April 8, 2021 (free form)

“Things My Toddler Says”

My truck is a hammock.
I farted on Mom.
I want rainbow chocolate muffins.
That tree is too long.

Right now it’s wake-up time.
I want to watch a show.
No, don’t change my diaper—
No, no, no, no, no!

*Incoherent screaming*
Can I have a hug?
My ketchup is bleeding.
I just ate a bug.

I lost my toy car—
We need to go back!
Oh, wait. Here it is.
Can I have a snack?

Mom, are you sleeping?
Wake up! Play with me!
Tell me the story
Of getting stuck in a tree.

Now I need water—
In the green cup, not blue.
No, the yellow cup, now!
Yes, that one. Thank you!

You’re little, I’m big.
I’m big and you’re small.
I want pizza for breakfast.
Watch me kick the ball.

The muffins are gone.
They’re in my tummy, too.
Soon they’ll come out
In a big stinky poo!


April 9, 2021

Research for a Story (sonnet)

We’re spawned during the darkest midnight storms.
We live to lie upon, and with, our marks.
To us, so many surprise babes are born
That shade their mothers’ morals in the dark.

An incubus and succubus are we:
We are both creatures, changing by the hour.
We steal from men—and corpses—their fresh seed
Then lie with women, transferring that power.

Cause nuns to burn, if pregnant with our child,
Excuse the hazards of a midnight tryst,
Explainaway behavior lewd and wild:
All this we do with secret midnight bliss.

Despite our power over humankind,
We’ll never know the love that true hearts bind.


April 10, 2021



I lie underneath

Where dwell your doubts

Where dwell your fears

I breed them.


To my teasing

To your weakness

To the illness I plant in your mind.

I work to bring out your worst.


Cubare! Lie down!

Find your box

And do not venture from here

You are easier to catch that way.


I’ve come out from under

Embrace what I’ve made you:

You were great but—

You’ve surrendered your humanity to me.


April 11, 2021 (haiku)

Too many things due.

No time to write this poem—

And yet I’ve done it.


April 12, 2021 (ghazal)

“Grading is Better with a Corgi on Each Foot, a Ghazal”

Grading late work is better with my corgis.
Office: sitting warm, cool view, nearby: corgis.

Late work floods my screen: drowning. No end in sight.
Perhaps students were distracted by corgis

Or whatever intrigue captivates their soul:
Cat, hamster, book, song, or asking “Why?” Corgis

Don’t question why I sit at my screen all day.
My feet are their pillow. Sleep. Snore. Like, corgis.

Life is better with a corgi on each foot.
And what helps me when work makes me cry? Corgis.


April 13: “Clean”

Something smells—it’s in the fridge.

I just don’t know what the heck it is.

A cup of milk? Some moldy cheese?

I cleaned it out—but tell me, please,

Why the fridge still smells so bad.

It makes me cringe, it makes me mad.

A gremlin stew? A witch’s brew?

I cleaned it out: I want to pout.

A deadly ghost? A rotten frog?

Zombie perfume? Eau de Bog?

Let’s eat it up or throw it out

Until the day that we can shout:

“This is it! Here it is—

I found the smell within the fridge!”


April 14—limerick

“Lonely Lunch”

I sit eating lunch in my van;

Raindrops tap the roof as they land.

It’s lonely and still,

But it follows my will:

Breathing maskless in here feels so grand!

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