NaPoWriMo Day 18: No Real Use

No real use for these

He sighs

And plucks the flower

Now endangered

But because his land

Is full of them

He won’t believe

It’s true

A weed to him

Plant based vermin

Taking over


He is unwilling to see

He is lucky

To have these rare

And valued blooms

Gentle white petals

Wilt and fade

As he muses there is no real

Use for these.


NaPoWriMo Day 17: Bean Bags?

Is it a bag of beans?

Who decided that

Tiny polystyrene beads

Were actually beans?

Are they named for dried beans?

Fresh beans?

Baked beans?

I don’t understand.

And why is it a bag?

It’s a seat.

A pouffe.

A tuffet, perhaps.

A stool, at a stretch.

But a bag?

Nothing is stored

Or carried,

Except its own beans.

Am I a meat bag?

Is the sofa a wood bag

Stuffing bag

Cloth bag

Spring bag

Bean bag?

I guess, to be fair

Polystyrene bead filled lump

Just doesn’t have the same


NaPoWriMo Day 16: Hamsters

(Prompt from eight-year-Old Nathan)

They’re funny, they’re furry

They look so sweet

But once they see fingers

It’s time to eat

Hamsters are cute

Hamsters are small

They adore that wheel

And the weird rolling ball

But their little black eyes

Are watching you sleep


NaPoWriMo Day 15: Old Creaker

Creaking like a ship at sea

Sails rattling and flapping

Snapping in a stiff

Ocean breeze

Salt in the wounds

Groaning, moaning,

Straining to rise

Rise above the decks

Like a looming wave;

I only trickle gently

Towards the final shore.

NaPoWriMo Day 14: Short Straw

Who could take a piece of straw

And build a house

A home

A hearth

Of heart and bone

Then live alone

No love

No joy;

No distractions.

This straw was not the short one.

NaPoWriMo Day 13: Easter

Easter starts with a corpse

I wrote

I didn’t mean to be


But the man dies

In a terrible way

It seems so sad

So depressing

A man who wanted




And yet received none

Or very little

Did we have to say he was the

Son of God?

Can’t we accept that humans

Are capable of this?

NaPoWriMo Day 12: Baby Cuddles

Soft cuddle

Sleepy baby

Nuzzling into my shoulder

A vast improvement

On the head butts of earlier

The pinch punch grab

Of curiosity

Without limits

I wouldn’t change it

Each bruise a medal

From my 17 month old

But this nuzzling


Shuffling cuddle

This is my real reward.