Snoink's Napowrimo attempt

First attempt at Napowrimo! Wish me luck... *gulps*

13/30

1. The Problem With Those Butterflies
2. Poetry Gnomes
3. When Pigs Flew
4. Follow the Money
5. Right on Time!
6. To My True Love
7. Remember
8. God Give Me Grace
9. Seussian Love
10. Ode to Flour
11. Designer Purse
12. Moo! Moo! Moo!
13. Bedtime

GOODLY LUCKS!

WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?!?!

*sobs*

Anyway, the first poem...

*

The problem with those butterflies
Is that all they say are lies, lies, lies.
They’ll tell you that the sky is red,
that your brain’s a cabbage inside your head.
They’ll say that clocks go up to ten,
That roosters are a type of hen.
They’ll claim that skunks smell like flowers
And that seconds can go on for hours.
They’ll swear that fish can breathe in air
And bubble gum belongs in hair.

You can’t believe those pesky bugs --
their lying words, their indifferent shrugs.
(The only time they’ll tell the truth
Is as a prank for April Fools.)

...this might possibly be my strategy for NaPo... >.>


Poetry Gnomes

When you need to write a poem,
You should first consult a gnome.
Tell them your beginning line
And they’ll suggest the perfect rhyme.
They’ll tell you about the proper flow
And say where every word should go.
They’ll prattle on about tone and theme
And offer ways to be less mainstream.
They’ll babble on about adjectives
And debate the pros and cons of narratives
Until, at last, without any stress,
You’ll have a poem that’s a total success!

...DUDE. I'm Snoink! I have to write a poem about pigs. It's like... a law or something.

When Pigs Flew

Today, something happened — a wondrous thing!
All the pigs in the world grew glorious wings.
With great big oinks, they leapt all about
And spread their new, mud-splattered wings out.
The tiniest piglets were the first to fly,
The sows following quickly with a paranoid cry.
The boars came next, though their great big girth
Kept them much, much closer to Mother Earth.
The birds chirped around them, clearly surprised,
As they surrendered their dominion over the skies.
Swine twisted and tilted and fluttered with ease
As grunting filled the fresh, springtime breeze.
The sky, once as blue as a jay’s feather down,
Was a visual cacophony of pink, black, and brown.

And we all looked up with astonished faces
As pigs all around turned into flying aces.
For who ever would have thought, in a sky so blue,
They’d see the day when pigs finally flew?

...part of me wants to edit this terrible poem to actually be good and part of me is like, "HOLY SMOKES, I AM SO BEHIND."


Follow the Money

“Follow the money” they always say,
So I followed the money yesterday.

When the bank took my money,
They looked at me funny
When I sprang over the counter
And demanded that they show me
The safe in which my money would be.

They pushed a red button and --
With a terrible screech --
Every alarm began to scream.
Before I could help it,
The cops showed up en force
And hauled me away.

So the moral of this story
I guess you can say,
Is don’t follow the money
If you want to be free.

HI. I spent my spare time cooking today, because I am AWESOME. Here's a lame poem...

Right on time!

I can’t think of any proper rhyme --
But the pizza’s done and Matthew’s here
Right on time!

To My True Love

Truer love has never been known
From my love, my spicy burrito,
Wrapped up in a blanket of plain tortilla
And paired with a virgin margarita.

That crunch of onion, tangy and sweet
The taste of carnitas — that wonderful meat!
Even the beans paired with that cheese
Could make me drop to my poor knees.

My delight was as an innocent child’s
Upon tasting guacamole so mild
Which paired perfectly with that sour cream
Oh, the joy! Could it be but a dream?

Let’s not forget the salsa — the cilantro
Not overpowering the ripened tomato
With onions and peppers adding the spice —
Could anything really be as nice?

Alas! Now you are but a sweet memory
Of carnitas and salsa and guacamole.
Still, gone to my stomach though you may be,
My love for you lasts for eternity.

Remember:

When it’s time for your toddler to go to bed
And she screams and cries as you march ahead,
And yells so loud her face is blue,
And crashes and slams her head into you,
And twists and begs and asks, “Why me?!”
And generally acts like a wild banshee
Until, when you finally come to the crib
You’re hoping that she hadn’t busted a rib:

She’s not reenacting the battle of Saratoga
She’s simply practicing her aerial yoga!

God Give Me Grace

Well, he said, with a sad smile on his face,
That, with my tears in my eyes, looked woefully misplaced,
You can make a tally and count seventy-seven times
And then explode at those petty, useless crimes.
Or you can learn to forgive, learn to let go,
Learn to show mercy and grace -- and I know!

I know he is right. I know that I should forgive.
I know that this is the right way I should live.
But something inside of me is taking the bait
And whispering quietly, “What if it’s seventy-eight?”

I blame this on my husband.

Seussian Love

We can talk about love
Or we can talk about snuvs!
(We can talk a long time about snuvs and their gloves.)

Or, maybe we can talk about tweetle beetles
As we do our own battles,
Speaking faster and faster
Until we dissolve into a tangled pile of laughter.

Tongue twisted and tired,
We find refuge in each other’s eyes
And I ask myself, why is it such a surprise?
That a man like you who can love so much
Can make my words of love seem like mush.

My lover! How was I to know
That the name Daddy would suit you so?
I watch you with our beautiful child
Your powerful hands become meek and mild
As you turn the worn pages for the four hundredth time
To read the same, silly, Seussian rhymes.

And I think to myself: how incredibly blessed
Am I to have a man who is clearly the best!

Ode to Flour

Taste it: the dry white powder is
Bland, boring — it’ll choke you up
If you can even stomach it.
And yet, pair it up with simple things
And see the transformation take place:

What was once tasteless has thickened
Chowder. The ham and the clams floating through
An ocean of cream with icebergs of fresh bread
Picked up by my spoon.

Or, it has turned to brownies, the flour
Solidifying the mixture of
butter, sugar, chocolate
To become: a brownie. Fudgy,
moist, delicious. We scoop it up and taste it
Wiggling our toes in delight.

Or, maybe it has become bread:
That dry bread made from flour and water
(no yeast) that forms that simple, boring wafer
Which transforms into Christ.

Designer Purse

Don’t give me a designer purse:
Those are the worst of the worst.
They’re big! Gigantic! And they’ll fit
Anything that you put in it.
Your wallet which is big as a horse?
Don’t worry — it’ll fit, of course!
That stick of gum that you think neat?
Put a whole packet — or maybe three!
A chapstick or some moisturizer cream?
You’ll need that for that special gleam!
Some make-up so you can freshen up?
Put as much as you need — we know what’s up.
That water bottle, so you don’t get thirsty?
Put two in — it’s a necessity!
A pen so that you can record what you think?
Don’t forget twenty with different colored ink!
A snack or two so your stomach won’t growl?
Why not settle for an entire cow?
Before you know it, the once empty purse
Is stuffed so much it’s about to burst!

Moo! Moo! Moo!

“Moo! Moo! Moo!” I said to the cow.
He only stared at me with a scowl.
He chewed on his cud.
Said, “I speak English, Bud.”
And left me wondering, “How?”

Bedtime

Bed time never comes
Fast enough for tired moms —
Can I go to sleep?