His Life Purpose

He bubble wraps

your delicate heart,
converts cardboard
boxes into mythical castles,
weed whacks
the blues from your
weekend distractions,
provides air for your
imaginary guitar,
strums out grief
left behind
from too many
strings attached,
rolls you up like tissue-
papered love
notes, then settles
your heart
inside a glass jar.
He makes every day
an exotic vacation.
He says he does it all
for you.

He's My Little Swiss Army Knife

For today’s prompt, write a purpose poem. Many people like to have a purpose in life. Some folks do things on purpose. And yes, sometimes it appears there is no purpose to life’s events. Whatever drives you, I hope you’re able to pair purpose (or lack of purpose) with your poetry today.

* * * 

Booklice (A Poem for Day Thirteen of PAD)

I'm hurrying to catch up. I've cut this copied prompt down a bit: For today’s prompt (day thirteen), pick an insect (any insect), make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Praying Mantis,” “Ants,” and “Grasshoppers.” 

I Wonder if They Would Chew Gum Instead

Booklice 

Wingless members of the family
Trogiidae, commonly found
in human dwellings,
these tiny authors
feed on scripts, spit
them out for tenants to find.
The Psocoptera evolved
from ancient scribes
but have lost all recollection
of manuscript keeping.
Poor eyesight and pen-
less, they communicate
using sound instead,
tap with the end
of their abdomens, using Morse
code in a faint ticking noise
and chewing to communicate
stories like that of
Violet Beauregarde.

After Amateur Etymologists’ Society 

*****

[Please note that all prompts have been copied from the Writer's Digest Poetic Asides website.]

FamILY Recipe - a Poem for Day Thirteen of PAD

Here is the prompt for day thirteen of the April PAD Challenge:

For today’s prompt, write a family poem. It could be about your family, someone else’s family, a big family, a small family. It could be about one person in the family or a group picture. Your call. Just write that poem.

I Love Them from Mouth to Feet

FamILY Recipe

In the beginning,
I was famished,
yearned for love,
but then
my little family
grew from one
to two to three
to four. Now,
the hunger’s
gratified,
satisfied,
emerged into
a smorgasbord of
I Love You.

***

Those Things I Can’t Tell Myself (a Poem for Day Thirteen of PAD)

The prompt for day thirteen is confession.

I'm Just a Brick Wall Now

Those Things I Can’t Tell Myself

I confess. I sometimes visit 

the brick entryway
of our consummation
where hardness became
soft, where grief wrapped
her bony fingers around
your guarantees, where I found
myself, but lost you,
one letter at a time.

*****

What Is Your Animal Spirit Guide? (A Poem for Day Thirteen of PAD)

I thought I would take on the full challenge and write a sestina. Only yesterday was a busier-than-usual day, so I had to finish this today and it needs additional editing. To keep up with the challenge though, you can read the work-in-progress below.

Day Thirteen prompt for PAD:

For today’s prompt, write an animal poem. Pick a specific animal or write about your animal spirit. Maybe you’ll get tricky and write about mustangs (meaning the car) or jaguars (meaning the American football team). Maybe you’ll do an acrostic, or even go crazy and write a sestina (crickets).

A Raccoon Delivering a Message?

Nocturnal Chitterings from Animal Guides

Somewhere around the middle of self-examination, raccoons
splashed into my internal chaos, slipping a dip in my pool
of confusion, leaving behind a delicate message
I yearned to interpret. Wait by the corner just beyond
sheltered borders of your complacency, spread yourself, unfold
your soul, and embrace your endearing curiosity.

But sleep won me over, wooed back to slumber by chittering curiosity
bouncing from bedroom walls to backyard grounds where raccoons
tip-toed in, took quite a drink, their possessiveness beginning to unfold
and take a lick at solitude I’d gotten used to beyond
the last twenty years of beer mugs, dartboards, and pool
tables, unable to hear signals of smoke hidden as a message.

My eyes drifted back to planes where spirits floundered with a message
for those in touch enough to see, nurture innocent curiosity
about things eyes cannot perceive, only senses beyond
the usual five can enhance awareness for talking with raccoons
or interpreting things they do when they pool
around your life, helping your spirit to unfold.

Still, nocturnal creatures at each corner yearned to unfold
the fleeting earth, draw attention to time’s sacred message:
take off your mask, trust in others, pool
resources with those of like curiosity.
I began comprehending signals from those raccoons
weeping and screeching—what is greatest lies beyond.

So lost in the depths of immobile-bodied dreams beyond
any I’d ever had, my understanding of existence began to unfold.
Yet refusing to let go of my time and attention, those raccoons
tried once again from outside and in to get across the full message.
Refuse to lose yourself in daily routines, nurture curiosity
for all grand things, and take a plunge in life’s nourishing pool.

By this time, I was quite exhausted, splashes in my backyard pool
disturbing me again. Stomping to sliding door, I looked beyond
the raccoons’ outer appearance, admiring their curiosity.
Pursuing desires left them unafraid. I’d watched their character unfold
before my tired eyes, once and for all receiving the message
from those masked bandits disguised as raccoons.

Quench your thirst for curiosity with a spin in life’s pool,
buoyant with vigor. I’m left thankful those unwavering raccoons navigated beyond
from their home to mine all to unfold this vital, now-recognized message.

*****