#NaPoWriMo 2022 Day Three – Flashback

Excuses

I started on my homework
but my pen ran out of ink.
My hamster ate my homework.
My computer’s on the blink. (Kenn Nesbitt)

Every April poets sit down to write
Thirty poems in thirty days
Some days the words flow free
Like leaves caught in an autumn breeze
Other days are quite frustrating
And can drive a poet berserk
Counting syllables, minding rhymes
The glossa form has how many lines
Maybe I’ll find a way to shirk
I started on my homework

Staring out my bedroom window
The beautiful spring day is calling
Put away your pen and paper
Take a walk enjoy the sunshine
This glossa form is going nowhere
And if you step back go out to think
The next twenty lines could appear
As magic. Yes, the words will cheer
When on the page they interlink
But my pen ran out of ink

Two more stanzas are required
My writing skills are being tested
Maybe I can find another excuse
The dog and cat vie for attention
Wondering why I’m not playing
They probably think I’m a jerk
The next few lines take too long
This glossa is proving too strong
Perhaps I should say with a smirk
My hamster ate my homework

Every April poets sit down to write
Thirty poems in thirty days
It’s only day eleven
I’m running out of steam
The glossa form a worthy foe
But in its armor I see a chink
Four more lines are within my grasp
Here I am near the end at last
Please tell me this poem doesn’t stink
My computer’s on the blink

NaPoWriMo PromptAnd now for our (optional) prompt. This one is a bit complex, so I saved it for a Sunday. It’s a Spanish form called a “glosa” – literally a poem that glosses, or explains, or in some way responds to another poem. The idea is to take a quatrain from a poem that you like, and then write a four-stanza poem that explains or responds to each line of the quatrain, with each of the quatrain’s four lines in turn forming the last line of each stanza. Traditionally, each stanza has ten lines, but don’t feel obligated to hold yourself to that! Here’s a nice summary of the glosa form to help you get started.

Good morning and welcome to day three of NaPoWriMo where I use an old poem as a place marker for today’s prompt. I wrote this glosa on April 11, 2013 back on gather.com. I think it almost killed me. Today we are off to see the Klimt Immersive, so I do not have time to work on long form. Please accept my Excuse and I may work on a new poem later today, but it will probably be April 4th for everyone else if I manage to post a new piece. Thank you for reading my first and thus far only attempt at a glosa (which as you can see we spelled the form with a double s).

NaPoWriMo Glossa

Here is a glossa I wrote last year for NaPoWriMo. Starting to focus on poetry in April again. It’s less than a month away. I wrote a poem for high calibre poetry’s theme sadness. But other than that, I’ve been focussing on getting my sick family feeling better. Germs started multiplying in my house the last week of February. And they are still not completely eradicated.

Excuses

I started on my homework
but my pen ran out of ink.
My hamster ate my homework.
My computer’s on the blink. (Kenn Nesbitt)

Every April poets sit down to write
Thirty poems in thirty days
Some days the words flow free
Like leaves caught in an autumn breeze
Other days are quite frustrating
And can drive a poet berserk
Counting syllables, minding rhymes
The glossa form has how many lines
Maybe I’ll find a way to shirk
I started on my homework

Staring out my bedroom window
The beautiful spring day is calling
Put away your pen and paper
Take a walk enjoy the sunshine
This glossa form is going nowhere
And if you step back go out to think
The next twenty lines could appear
As magic. Yes, the words will cheer
When on the page they interlink
But my pen ran out of ink

Two more stanzas are required
My writing skills are being tested
Maybe I can find another excuse
The dog and cat vie for attention
Wondering why I’m not playing
They probably think I’m a jerk
The next few lines take too long
This glossa is proving too strong
Perhaps I should say with a smirk
My hamster ate my homework

Every April poets sit down to write
Thirty poems in thirty days
It’s only day eleven
I’m running out of steam
The glossa form a worthy foe
But in its armor I see a chink
Four more lines are within my grasp
Here I am near the end at last
Please tell me this poem doesn’t stink
My computer’s on the blink