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For Day 30 of NaPoWriMo we were prompted to write a minimalist poem, or a very short poem. I also wanted to write a concrete poem, which is a poem written in a way to match the shape of the subject. Here is my final poem for National Poetry Writing Month!

Before the Rain

Wind chimes twirl to a tinkling tune
As leaves gently sway to a dance of their own.
Gray clouds glide across the morning sky.
Birds chirp and sing just out of sight.
The wind whispers through the trees
And leaves a cool kiss upon my cheek
As I rock softly on the swing,
Lulled into a deep sense of peace.

Poetry

Perhaps
One of the most beautiful things about writing is
Etching our hopes, fears, memories, dreams, and 
Thoughts down on paper or screen to be
Read and remembered year after
Year after year.

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For Day 28 of NaPoWriMo, we were prompted to write a meta-poem, which is a poem about poetry. I decided to write a short acrostic meta-poem.

Will You Love Me in My Old Age?

Will you hate me as I age?
As smooth skin gives way to wrinkles?
After my flat belly rounds with child
And then flops over in folds from stretched skin
And too much junk food in the night?
Will you hate the tiger stripes around my waist?
The bumps and dimples on my thighs?
The hair on my neck and chin?
Will you still love me when my breasts sag?
When my hands become rough and dry?
When my brown hair turns gray?
Will you love me in my old age?

Role as Mother - Haiku

Lost in her role as

Mother, she fades into the

Background of her life.

Taste of Summer

Sweat pools beneath her breasts
And clings under her arms.
The sun glares down, burning her skin at her neck.
Her face flushes in the heat.
She turns her head at the sound of a bird
Calling to its mate sitting in an oak tree
With leaves full and green in the midst of summer.
She watches as the little bird flies through the air,
The sky clear and blue with barely a cloud in sight.
The smell of grilled hot dogs reaches her nose.
Her husband stands at the grill. He smiles at her,
Then laughs as he hears her stomach growl in hunger.
He offers her a hot dog in a bun, which she slathers with ketchup.
She takes a bite, savoring the soft bread and juicy beef,
The taste of summer filling her mouth.

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For Day 25 of NaPoWriMo, we were prompted to write about a specific season using all five senses and to include a rhetorical question. I skipped the rhetorical question, but I chose to write about summer, my favorite season.

Diamante Poems

Daughter

Kind, Intelligent

Coloring, Dancing, Pretending

Princess, Teacher, Superhero, Cat

Meowing, Running, Building

Funny, Creative

Girl

Son

Smart, Helpful

Climbing, Running, Chasing

Automobiles, Trains, Bugs, Cats 

Singing, Reading, Playing

Energetic, Sweet

Boy

I Want to Paint a Picture

I want my paintbrush to caress the canvas
With beautiful colors: purples, pinks, yellows, and blues
Swirling together to form a sunset in the sky;
Shades of green and brown filling in the branches and leaves of a majestic tree;
A splash of blue for a lake against the bright green blades of grass.
Instead my paintbrush only scratches the surface:
The colors of the sky somehow mixing into a muddy brown,
The limbs of my tree melding together instead of branching off,
The leaves losing their details in a clump of green,
The lake blue but bland, and the grass dull on the bottom of my canvas.
I want to paint a picture from the creativity of my mind,
But my art cannot be expressed on a painter's canvas.
My canvas is paper. My paintbrush a pen.
My art is the written word.

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The prompt for Day 22 of NaPoWriMo was to write a poem engaging with another art form. I chose painting as another art form, something I've tried to do numerous times. Unless I'm at a Paint n' Sip event or watching a tutorial on how to paint something specific, I have a hard time painting a good picture. I even tried to follow a Bob Ross painting tutorial and completely failed. I don't paint trees very well.

My Bad Cat

My bad cat is looking to make trouble:
Putting her paws on the counter over and over again;
Licking drops of coffee from my near-empty cup;
Stealing lettuce from the kitchen island,
Then leaving it on the floor to squish between my toes;
Pressing her paw against a flower made of Legos
Until it falls to the ground, shattering into tiny Lego pieces.
She delights in my displeasure of her disobedience.
She stares at me, daring me to chase her away.
And despite the spray of water to her fur,
She continues to look for trouble, my bad cat.

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For Day 23 of NaPoWriMo, we were challenged to write a poem about an animal. I wrote about my cat who is always getting into trouble on purpose.

Limerick: A Writer from Texas

There once was a writer from Texas
Who thought she was riddled with hexes.
She tried to write
With all of her might,
But instead she kept drawing X's.

Roly Poly

A little boy watched
as a roly poly crawled
across the sidewalk.

He bent over, his
face almost touching the ground,
his finger pointing.

"Look, mom!" the boy cried
as the roly poly curled
into a tight ball.

"It's scared," said his mom.
"Leave it alone. C'mon. Let's
go to the car now."

The boy stood up and
walked two steps, but then he stopped
and he bent back down.

"Another roly
poly!" the little boy yelled
as his mom just sighed.

On the sidewalk, she
saw many roly polies
littering the ground.

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This poem is inspired by NaPoWriMo's Day 20 prompt to "try to write a poem grounded in language as it is spoken." I used a little bit of spoken language in my poem. I also used haiku for every stanza.

Hot Cup of Coffee

Cranky in the morning, getting
Out of bed is the last thing I want to do.
For the warmth of my blankets
Feels much better than the cold floor.
Early mornings see me bleary-
Eyed and searching for a hot cup of coffee.

An Elegy to My Cat

I heard a sad, desperate cry:

the sound of a final plea for life,

though I didn't know it at the time.

The cry startled me awake,

and I strained to listen for a minute

until I realized something was wrong.

I woke my husband and we got out of bed.

We rushed to the living room,

and there she was on the floor,

her wet body surrounded by a yellow pool

of her own urine, which her body released

when she gave her final breath. 

I stared at my loving pet,

her eyes like glass, the light extinguished,

no longer a mirror to her soul, 

just a reflection of my face,

shocked and afraid, with tears on my cheeks.

I stared at her open mouth,

her tongue touching the floor.

I looked away. My stomach hurt.

My husband wrapped her in a towel

and put her in a cardboard box

to keep her safe until morning.
The moon still shone in the dark sky,

but her death kept me awake.

Why did she have to die?

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For Day 18 of NaPoWriMo, I attempted to write an elegy for my cat Bean. She died years ago. At the time we didn't understand why she died. She seemed perfectly healthy. Now we suspect she died because she ate lilies. We didn't know that lilies were poisonous to cats. I miss her still.

Countdown Jar

Brother

and I count down

the days with candy from

a jar. We pray for daddy to

come home.

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My poem is a cinquain: a five-line stanza with 2 syllables in the first line, 4 in the second line, 6 in the third, 8 in the fourth, and 2 in the final line. 

I Matter Too

I am stabbed repeatedly,

Ink to my unblemished skin.

I am used at the whims of others,

Their thoughts filling my body,

Changing me, scarring me forever.

Sometimes they try to erase what they've done,

But they cannot undo their mistakes

Because their marks still mar me.

I remember their scratches even after they fade.

And when they rip my pages from my body
I scream, but they do not hear me.

Or maybe they do not care.

They close my covers and shut me up.

And when they are done, 

They throw me in the trash.

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For Day 17 of NaPoWriMo, we were encouraged to write about a scene from an unusual point of view. I originally intended my poem to be from the point of view of a notebook or journal, but it turned into something more dark and serious.  

A Letter to My Husband

Dear Husband,

Why do I have to cry

every time you leave?

I know you're coming back.

It doesn't matter if it's a day,

or a month,

or a year.

I always miss you

and want you near.

Please be safe.

Text me when you get there.

I'll be waiting here.

With Love,

Your Wife

Write Right

Ewe here words hear an their.
Ewe reed it out loud an it sounds write.
Butt look closer an ewe wilt sea.
That knot everything is as it should bee.
Grammar is imp or taunt. Spell cheek dose knot
All ways work. Pay a ten shun two watt
Ewe right bee cause me nuns can change.
Don't jest here watts hear. Write right.

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For Day 14 of NaPoWriMo, we got to play around with homophones, homographs, and homonyms. The English language can be tricky. I started this poem two or three different times before I finally got the hang of it. Then I just had fun with it.

Fear

The fear consumes me
until my stomach hurts
and my head begins to pound
so much that I can't hear anything
around me. My mind is focused
solely on the cause of my fear.
My lips won't speak.
My eyes look down.
My heart races, and my feet
want to follow by running away.
Instead I am frozen,
consumed by my fear
as the darkness swallows
me into its belly
and I disappear.

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For Day 13 of NaPoWriMo, we were challenged to write a spooky or mysterious poem.

The Tooth Fairy Forgets

The Tooth Fairy forgot to visit today.
Out loud to my child I say, "No way!
She must have been so busy, but it'll be okay.
Tomorrow she'll be here early, I bet!"
Inside I'm cringing. How could I forget?
I can see that my daughter is very upset.
Disappointment is etched in her face.
After I hug her, downstairs I do race
To tell my husband of our dreadful disgrace.
To us, a tooth can be such a dull little object
But to a child it is significant in every aspect
Because magic and money come from what the fairies collect.
Tonight the Tooth Fairy will make sure to stop by
Leaving a letter, some money, and glitter behind
And always a little magic for the children to find.

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For Day 12 of NaPoWriMo, we were prompted to write about a dull or significant object we own. Why do we love the dull thing? What would happen if we lost the significant thing? 

A Quiet Place

Noises are all around me:
People talking and laughing,
Dishes clinking against the sink,
Music blaring from a CD.

I sit by myself, a book in my hands.
The room loses focus as I read
About vampires, faeries, and wizards
And my mind escapes to faraway lands.

Sometimes I'd rather dance with a faerie
In the tall green grass of a field
Or run with the werewolves after we change.
Sometimes I prefer the imaginary.

I come from a quiet place,
My own little corner of the world,
A place that no one can touch
Unless I let them in my space.

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For Day 11 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt was to write a poem of origin: where I am from, not necessarily geographically. I struggled a little with this poem, hence why it's four days late, and I feel I can add more eventually, but for now this is a poem about myself as a quiet child preferring to read a book rather than interact with the real world.

I Just Want to Sleep in Late

I don't want to wake up.
I don't want to get out of bed.
I just need a few more minutes
To rest my tired head.
I'm not ready to make breakfast
Or make the kids get dressed.
Laying in my bed asleep
With no noise would be best.
Just ten more minutes of snoozing.
No arguing with kids about school.
I wish it was the weekend.
To wake up this early is so cruel.

Things My Toddler Likes

Cheese and pickles.
Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff.
Lots of tickles.
Candy, cake, and ice cream.
Mickey Mouse.

The color blue.

Chasing his cats all around the house.

Roller coasters with loops.
Reading Pete the Cat and Gossie & Friends.
Counting to 29, always skipping number 14.
Listening to nursery rhyme songs for hours on end.
Cars and trains and anything with wheels.
Playing with magnet tiles and building a tower.
A toy bird that echoes all his squeals and screeches.
Making the bird say Mama so I hear it over and over.
Squishing play-doh and asking me to make a car.
Singing "Mama, I love you. Mama, I love you"
To the tune of Are You Sleeping? (Brother John).
Waiting for me to say, "I love you too."
Copying everything his sister does.

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The prompt for Day 9 of NaPoWriMo challenged me to write a list poem in the style of Sei Shōnagon, a Japanese writer born more than a thousand years ago. You can find some of her work here.

I Deserve to Be Happy

I deserve to be happy
To eat all I want
To sing off tune
To sleep in late
To give all my kisses
To receive them back
To hug warmly
To snuggle tight
To listen to others
To talk and be heard
To dream big
To write what I want
To not feel judgment
To be a wife and a mom
To be who I am
To love who I want
To be loved in return
I deserve to be happy

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I'm posting this a day late, but the prompt for Day 7 of NaPoWriMo was to write what I deserve, write about what I would give myself or someone else, or write of gifts and joys. I decided to go with a poem about what I deserve, a lot of which I feel I already have.

Looking for Shadows

A little boy looks

at the light between the trees

for his tall shadow.

Blackout Poetry - Fear

Today I decided to write a blackout poem. In blackout poetry, you select a page from a book, magazine, or newspaper article (a page from anything) and black out words you don't want to use. The remaining words on the page become your blackout poem. Usually I glance over the page and underline or circle the words I want to use before blacking everything else out. I chose page 139 of the book Mistress of All Evil by Serena Valentino.

After I blacked out text, this is what my page looked like.

Fear

By Candace Shultz

Shaking leaves cascade out of the darkness.

Face that fear. Grab fear. Crush it.

Place the Light where you are.

You have the face of a queen.

Disconnect

The streets are full of strangers,
Eyes forward or looking down at their phones.
We're all in this together.

My mom taught me to look out for dangers:
Don't walk outside in the dark alone.
The streets are full of strangers.

But it doesn't matter whether
I'm with someone or on my own.
We're all in this together.

No one is paying attention to me.
Their eyes are glued to the screen on their phone.
The streets are full of strangers.

But I can't say I'm any better.
My phone is in my hand, my head facing down.
We're all in this together.

Let the change start here
Before we all disconnect and drown.
The streets are full of strangers,
But we're all in this together.

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Today I followed the NaPoWriMo prompt to write a villanelle poem using phrases that oppose each other and pulling text from outside sources. I chose the phrase "the streets are full of strangers" from the song "On My Own" from Les Misérables and the phrase "We're all in this together" from the song "We're All in This Together" from High School Musical.

Moving On

She closes the box and tapes it shut, dreams
and memories locked inside the darkness.
Gentle hands will keep it safe, but it seems
the movers are in a rush. They care less
about her pictures and her wedding dress
and more about the time seen on a clock.
The box falls from the truck. Oh, what a mess!
All her photos sprawl across the sidewalk,
friends and family wishing they could talk.
Her white dress is wrinkled against the ground,
and she just stands there silently in shock
as rough, strong hands pick up her ultrasound.
Her husband pulls her into his embrace
as their old lives disappear from that place.

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On Day 4 of NaPoWriMo, I followed the prompt to write a sad poem in the form of a sonnet.

Bananas

The bananas sit on the island counter,
green touching yellow, five in a bunch.
Two days pass by and only three remain,
their peels bright yellow and inviting.
A boy and girl eat rice krispies cereal
with cut up bits of banana in their bowls.
Soon black spots appear on the banana peels
as they sit in a clear bowl on the island.
One more is eaten as a late night snack,
and another in a bowl of Neapolitan ice cream
until finally only one banana remains.
The dark spots grow and multiply,
and the banana softens, mushy to the touch.
It sits there on the island, emitting a ripe smell,
forgotten until it is thrown into the trash.

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I wrote this poem for NaPoWriMo - Day 3. The prompt was to write a poem that involved a story or action that occurred over a period of time.

Writer's Block

A blank white page
on the screen
A blinking cursor
staring at me
Words tumbling
through my mind
My hands
still on my lap

A calming breath

I can do this.

My fingers
rest on the keyboard
Waiting
to move
Waiting
for the right words
to spill forth
from my jumble of thoughts

A few words typed
and then deleted
Some other words written
and then erased
The rest escaping
from my mind
leaving me
dark and empty.

An exasperated sigh

Why can't I do this?

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For Day 2 of NaPoWriMo, I was prompted to end my poem with a question. Since I haven't written much in the last couple of years, I've been struggling with writer's block. I think I just need to write a little bit every day to get over this obstacle.

How to Not Write a Poem

I want to write a poem today, but first
my daughter needs to go to school
and she can't find her brush to get through
her tangled messy hair, and my son needs
help putting on his shirt and shorts and socks,
and no one has eaten breakfast yet.

I want to write a poem today, but first
I need to take my son to the eye doctor
to see if his eyes have improved since the
last time we visited, and after three hours
there at the doctor's, we are tired and hungry,
and then we find out my son needs glasses.

I want to write a poem today, but first
I need to pick up my daughter from school
because by the time we got home from the doctor's
office it was already two in the afternoon, so after
a quick late lunch, my son and I walk to the school,
stopping occasionally to look at the butterflies.

I want to write a poem today, but first
my daughter needs help with her spelling words,
sight words, and math homework; my son
can't find his big Easter egg toy that he just
has to have now; and everyone needs a little snack
after the long walk from school.

I want to write a poem today, but first
I need some coffee, and then my husband comes home
and we need to go to the store to pick up our daughter's
derby car kit, but the traffic is terrible, so we stop
for dinner at McDonald's, and then we go to
the eyeglass store to buy new glasses for our son.

I want to write a poem today, but first
I need to get my children ready for bed and read
them each a story, sing "Soft Kitty" to them, and kiss them
goodnight before I go downstairs to wash the dishes,
clean the kitchen, straighten up the living rooms, 
and make sure my daughter's backpack is ready for tomorrow.

I want to write a poem today, but first
I want to relax and watch a show with my husband
and cuddle on the couch, but after two episodes
it's already time to go upstairs to brush and floss
my teeth, get into my pajamas, slip under the bed covers,
read a few pages of my library book, and drift off to sleep.

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For the first day of National Poetry Writing Month, we were prompted to write a poem that instructs our readers on how to do something or not do something. I wrote my poem today about how not to write a poem. I hope you enjoy it.