Facade

For Day 14 of NaPoWriMo, I was challenged to write a poem involving technological advances. My poem is inspired by how people use artificial intelligence to create fake videos and images of themselves and others. 

Facade
By Candace Shultz

Are you real?
Or are you just pixels
of a face rearranged
on the screen to look
like someone else?
Do I even know you?

What is truth anymore
when everything
can be turned to lies?

I don't want a facsimile,
a false truth, an illusion,
an artificial face hiding 
behind a computer screen.

Give me authenticity.
Be genuine. Be real
in your words and actions,
in the face you present
to me and the world.
Give me your truth,
and I will give you mine.

Your First Steps

For today's NaPoWriMo prompt, I included a "remembered, cherished landscape" in my poem. I chose the front yard of the apartment complex where my daughter learned to take her first steps.

Your First Steps
By Candace Shultz 

In the front of our apartment,
I chose a little patch of grass,
Cut short and pristine,
The most beautiful color green.
The sun warmed our faces.
The wind rustled leaves
From a nearby oak tree.
It was the perfect place
To take your first steps.

I placed your feet down
On the lawn, and suddenly
Your smile became a frown.
You clenched your fists
And released an awful sound.
You cried at my betrayal for
Putting you on that wretched grass,
But I praised you as I watched
You walk towards me with sass.

One step, two steps, and then a third.
You toddled towards me undeterred.
Your first steps! Oh, what a sight!
You are my star, my joy, my delight!
You left behind that grassy green.
You reached my arms, and then you leaned
Into my embrace before I lifted you high
Into the bluest sky, showering you with praise
And looking at you with love in my gaze.

Love of Reading

In today's poem, I tried to follow a prompt to describe a memory of a family member I love in which my thoughts echo today. I chose a memory with my Grandma. 

Love of Reading
By Candace Shultz

Grandma sits in her rocker,
A book open in her lap,
The lamp lit on the table beside her.
I borrow a book from her shelves
Upon shelves of Harlequin novels,
And I feel a little risque
At reading romance as a young teen,
But Grandma doesn't mind.
She just loves that I love to read.

More than twenty years later
Down the road of life,
I have lived all kinds of lives
In so many different, wonderful worlds,
The Harlequin romance just one
Of the many genres of books that I open 
In my lap as I sit in my own rocker.
Thank you, my dear Grandma, 
For all those stories that you let me read.

 

 

In Pursuit of Love - a blackout poem

Today's poem is a blackout poem! I love blackout poetry. I followed the prompt from this NaPoWriMo site. 

  

In Pursuit of Love
By Candace Shultz

An enthusiastic flower
Feelings of exultation
Oh joy!
The lover seen
A purpose new
Both eyes intent
In pursuit to nothing else. 

 

 

To make my blackout poem, I used page 21 in the book Our Bird Comrades by Leander Keyser found on this website.

Tears of Regret

For today's poem, I followed the prompt posted on the NaPoWriMo site to write about grief using Geoffrey Brock's poem, “Goodbye,” as inspiration. Here is my poem.

Tears of Regret
By Candace Shultz

You were sick,
And I didn't know.
Death knocked on your door,
And you followed him home.

Were you alone? I don't know.
I wasn't there to say goodbye.
Were you alone? I hope love
Surrounded you in the end.

You were a whisper in the wind
That I tried so hard to hear, but now
A heavy silence weighs on my heart,
And I drown in a pool of tears.

I Love You - an acrostic poem

I Love You
By Candace Shultz

I love you. 

Look into the mirror
Of my heart. It reflects a
Vision of you as seen through my
Eyes - my heart's desire, my better half.

You are my world, and no
Other person could complete me
Until I met you. With you, I am whole. 

It isn't an Empty Page

For today's poem, I followed the challenge to use a phrase repeatedly while contradicting or inverting that phrase. 

It isn't an Empty Page
By Candace Shultz 

It isn't an empty page.
It's a white glare in my face
Mocking me for having no words
To form into a resemblance of a poem.

It isn't an empty page.
It's a blank slate ready for new ideas,
No longer a void, but a place
To express thoughts and find meaning.

It isn't an empty page.
It's a cat sharpening its claws,
Getting ready for the hunt
To bring home the prize.

It isn't an empty page.
It's a person stretching their legs,
Getting ready to run a mile,
Knowing they will reach the finish line.

It isn't an empty page.
It was a beginning not yet begun,
Now an ending finally achieved.
It's a poem written by me.