#NaPoWriMo 2018 Day Sixteen

Guess My Occupation

Bartender
Horse Listener
Software Engineer
Tarot Card Reader
Firefighter
Pastor
Porn Producer
ER Nurse
Bounty Hunter

Early Monday morning I spy this list sitting on my kitchen table. I did not even have any coffee in me. I read the list out loud and ask, thinking of some unusual occupations? Rachael laughs, It isn’t even my handwriting. Porn Producer?! Yeah it sounds boring. What? Gretchen and I watched a video where you had to guess what each person did. They told the pastor to cover his ears when they talked to the porn producer. Here I was thinking Gretchen was stretching her possibilities after taking the ACT this weekend, but no they were playing a silly game.

Occupation list
made mom flinch when she read it
children play strange game

NaPoWriMo Prompt – In this vein, our (optional, as always) prompt for the day asks you to write a poem that prominently features the idea of play. It could be a poem about a sport or game, a poem about people who play (or are playing a game), or even a poem in the form of the rules for a sport or game that you’ve just made up (sort of like Calvinball).

Good Morning! And Welcome to day sixteen of #NaPoWriMo. Ugh! It’s Monday and already I’ve gotten a text from Gretchen complaining The Great Gatsby was not in her book bag. And now I get one from Rachael who wants me to email a document off her computer! Mom still doesn’t have enough coffee to function properly; not to mention seeing such an eclectic list of jobs before coffee really threw me off. But at least it made good poetry fodder. Well I need to get things done before I log into work. My top priority being coffee. I need to shower sometime this morning, too, since Gretchen and I are off to the orthodontist after my work. Ugh! Monday! On a positive note Gretchen was happy with the ACT over the weekend. She was glad she got English for her extra portion instead of math. It will be nice if she’s happy with her score and won’t have to take it again. (Happy is a score high enough to earn the top academic scholarship at ASU). The girl doesn’t want to leave home. I really have to get better at telling them to stay out when they leave every morning. 😉

NaPoWriMo Day 6

Monday Morning

Morning
Persistent sun
Peeks through shade, cracks open
An eye. Yawn and stretch out of bed
Dreadful
How the dawn greets me cheerily
Rise and shine sleepy head
Roll over – shun
Monday

Sun breaking through bedroom windows.

Sun breaking through bedroom windows.

NaPoWriMo Prompt – Today’s (optional) prompt springs from the form known as the aubade. These are morning poems, about dawn and daybreak. Many aubades take the form of lovers’ morning farewells, but . . . today is Monday. So why not try a particularly Mondayish aubade – perhaps you could write it while listening to the Bangles’ iconic Manic Monday? Or maybe you could take in Phillip Larkin’s grim Aubade for inspiration (though it may just make you want to go back to bed). Your Monday aubade could incorporate lovey-dovey aspects, or it could opt to forego them until you’ve had your coffee.

No lovey-dovey aspect for Monday even after my coffee. Time to eat the egg salad. 😀

Monday Mishaps

Despite my Monday mishaps, yesterday was a pretty good day. I wrote some new poems; sent off a couple submissions; and Alberto Rios, AZ’s poet laureate, accepted my friend request on Facebook.

As you know, my poem is this week’s winner at high calibre poetry. Well I sent them a poem on happiness. I put Happiness – Nonet where you are suppose to enter your name. Oops, sorry guys. I should know better I’ve been entering most of the weekly challenges from the start of the year.

Then I went and got a glass of water. I thought there was a speck on the glass and was picking at it with my fingernail. Since it didn’t seem to want to come off, I looked more closely. There was a crack going down the side. I wasn’t going to let an opportunity slip by. I snapped a photo and wrote a poem.

20140225-101151.jpg

Instead of half full
The glass appears to be cracked
Empty optimist

Don’t worry after the poem was written the glass found its way to the trash.