TGIO!

Whew! Thank god it’s over! It seems I’ve survived.

Six days past November, and winter’s arrived.

The waters were rocky, the rapids full blast,

with my raft behind, set to come in dead last.

Implosion was forecast. I wanted to quit.

But, not before adding that last little bit …

and just one more thing I’d forgotten to say ….

Such blabbering on! Filled up pages that way!

And I was reminded how wordy I am,

a great superpower to have in this jam!

 Ooh! Here comes Verbose Chick to ramble and rant,

to boost my word count when it’s shockingly scant!

My writing persona, complete with a cape,

sat typing her thoughts as my story took shape,

clack-clacking away with a cat in her lap,

who’d settled down there for his afternoon nap.

And so, she returned everyday till I won,

my passion renewed, like I’d barely begun.

If I had just quit, ’t’would have been a mistake.

Yet … thank god it’s over. I needed a break.

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Blitzkrieg!

Some marathon writing will take place tonight …

so brew some fresh coffee and buckle up tight!

I vow to play catch up, perhaps get ahead

(I promise I won’t go to Facebook instead).

Long gone are distractions that plagued me last week

which caused my word count to remain rather bleak.

I’m back here at home with my blinders attached.

Production today has been thus far unmatched!

My knuckles are cracked and my fingers are hot.

This time, I am giving it all that I’ve got.

Click-cllickety-clack: the one sound in this room.

My sweet story bud is beginning to bloom.

It’s full-speed ahead as the pages fly by.

I aim to win NaNo, not to give it a try,

for I’m the white rabbit, who cannot be caught.

So, 50K, here I come, ready or not!

A NaNoWriMo How-To

You’re taking part in NaNoWriMo? Want to find success?

Get settled in, resigned to live November under stress.

So, first things, first, you’ve got to start, or else you can’t complete,

for if one doesn’t start, one faces guaranteed defeat.

Just pick a plot and go with it, or else be left behind.

And do not stop to edit, yet, although you’ll be inclined.

Tell all your friends and family. Let Facebook know it, too.

You’ll feel much more beholden and be apt to carry through.

 Put stickers on your calendar; mark days you reach your goal.

You’ll want to keep momentum once you see you’re on a roll.

You’ll write it out so quickly, you will have a great excuse

for why it’s kind of cheesy (you can put that fact to use).

Continue writing, even if you’ve nothing else to say,

as sometimes brilliance happens when one plows on through that way.

The most important thing is to remember, this is fun!

Write 50,000 words within November, and you’ve won! 🙂

Playing God

To have this kind of power is a rush.

It’s far more satisfying than a game.

Their lives and dreams are mine to build or crush.

I say exactly what is in a name.

I’d give them what they want, but that’s a bore.

The conflict is what drives the story on.

Just when they almost bust, I pile on more,

then drag them through a dazzling denouement.

At times they beg and plead, but I won’t bend.

They’ll suffer if they must to tell the tale.

I’ll work them right until the bitter end.

I love to orchestrate each last detail!

The thrill of playing god intoxicates.

I coast high on the wave that it creates.

Dear Plot Bunny …

         Dear Plot Bunny …

                Hop away and leave me here in peace.

         You’re usurping precious time. Your antics have to cease.

         You can wait till next year, or adoption is a choice.

         Either way, I don’t have time to give your cause a voice.

         Nano’s hard enough without distractions such as you.

         It’s an order, not a question. Go ahead, now. Shoo!

NaNoWriMo Approacheth

Yes, NaNoWriMo comes again in just a short few days.

I’ll stay up long nights typing in a caffeine-powered craze.

We will not have clean laundry and our supper comes in bags,

as long as I can say my target word count never lags.

The trash will pile and wait a while for me to take it out.

What’s left inside the fridge will turn to green and start to sprout.

Our cats become proactive or they may not get their food.

They must meow to shake me from my focused writing mood.

At our Thanksgiving dinner, I’ll inhale my meal and dart;

for when the month’s end nears, I reach the most intensive part.

Sweet pumpkin pie will fuel me for the climax of my book,

it being the one thing I’ll stop to do my part and cook.

For now, I work my outline so I’ll know how it will end.

Or, maybe I’ll find out that it won’t go as I intend.

My research time is winding down and drawing to a close.

There shall be great technology in what I will compose.

A world like none have never known is in my brain this year.

So, welcome back, November! I’m excited you are near!

Poetics’ Aesthetics

I love the shape a poem takes, its special own tableau,

some lines drawn out, others rather wee.

Although their lengths may vary, there’s a gratifying flow

whether meter’s set or verse is free.

The longer lines might demonstrate a complicated thought,

mirroring their value in broad lines.

Conversely, sometimes denser words reveal a complex plot,

manifesting though their width declines.

Appealing to man’s fundamental zeal for symmetry,

fold my work in half see it match.

Then draw some sine waves on each side with trigonometry.

Look for other shapes I didn’t catch.

It satisfies to click the “center” button from the start,

oohing as the balanced words appear.

It adds that certain something … more than concepts I impart,

the icing on my views as they cohere.

When I’m done writing, I will take a glance from further back,

stopping to admire the form it took.

Perhaps it will propel the potent punch I planned to pack,

meriting, ideally, one more  look.

Perpetuity

You all should shag a poet who is free if you’ve the chance.

A poet offers more than just a true, whirlwind romance.

For if you do it well, you will influence what she writes.

There’s just no way around it, if you take her to the heights ….

Then your love, she’ll immortalize, your essence living on,

your most impressive sexy feats persisting when you’re gone.

Perhaps you may pass on to kids your striking DNA.

But there are certain parts of you, your children can’t convey.

And though her silly writing’s not as famous as The Bard’s,

not spoken on the stage, nor used in cheesy greeting cards,

all words writ live forever. They’ll endure throughout the years,

for writing goes beyond your genes, or when love disappears.

Plus, even if your dalliance has ended in a mess,

from time to time, she’ll read her work, and think on your caress.

Poetaster

“A picture’s worth a thousand words.” I, too, believe that’s true.

I wish so badly I could paint or draw to capture you.

But I can’t draw or paint well, so I write some verse instead.

No matter how I try, so many details go unsaid.

In lieu of those, I’d use the plastic art forms if I could,

by sculpting you from clay or carving out your shape in wood,

thus catching all your nuances that still evade my song,

presenting your sweet curves I’ve been in love with for so long.

All those things above, beside, there’s still photography.

I never get the light right, though, so much one still can’t see.

They never do you justice, so it’s poetry I use.

I’ll try until I die to glorify my perfect muse.

 I’ve used a thousand words and I’ve repeated several times,

piling high upon my shelves those stacks of meager rhymes.

The proper thousand words to use stay trapped within my mind.

I hope, if I keep searching, that someday, those words I’ll find.

Clueless

 How dare you disobey by skipping town!

How dare you threaten suicide this week!

As far as jerkwads go, you take the crown!

I’m so damned mad, I almost cannot speak.

Who told you you could act like you’re a star?

Who told you those were okay things to say?

Who told you you could go and steal a car …

who taught you how to do that, anyway???

So figure out a way to get back home.

And come up with a good excuse (this time).

That ego that you’re using’s just a loan,

with which you perpetrate outrageous crimes.

I’ve never met a man as cheap as you.

I can’t believe the liberties you took.

When I say I’m surprised, it’s ’cause it’s true–

This wasn’t in the outline of my book.

 

Hello, Paper, My Old Friend…

Though I mostly use computers for my writing now,

I sometimes like to write things out by hand.

If I don’t, from time to time, I fear I’ll forget how,

and that result, I simply couldn’t stand.

There is something magical ’bout paper or a pad,

just a blank slate ready to receive,

somewhere to set down my daydreams, memories I’ve had,

things I now or never will believe.

And no matter, right or wrong, the page will not protest,

never has opinions it will force.

No spellchecker tells me that I haven’t typed my best.

There’re no grammar rules I must enforce.

I am free to doodle, write in margins, strike through text,

using routing arrows if I please.

I could sit here all day with my writing muscles flexed,

filling up lined pages with such ease.

I don’t have to know if I have recently hit “save,”

never need a chair that reaches plugs.

I don’t need a battery or program to behave,

never troubleshoot, nor check for bugs.

I’ll go back and use my ‘puter after this, today.

Writing out by hand was just for fun.

I want to remind myself there is another way…

Like most pursuits, there are more ways than one.

picture courtesy of PublicDomainPictures on pixabay.com