Tag: napowrimo.net
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Performative Perfection
Poet after poet takes the stage. Each poem, alive in the unique telling of its writer, their cadances conveying their singular vitality. Our heartfelt applause for each one thunders in the cavernous Prudential Hall. Ah, how long until I can partake of all four days of the Dodge Poetry Festival? firelight a blind bard singing…
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My Daily #Haiku (4/15/23)
4/15/23: school rain clouds Spring vacation ends too soon #haiku #micropoetry #poetry #napowrimo #glopowrimo #napowrimo2023 #glopowrimo2023
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A Jaded View
With all due respect, Doctor Williams, is it as simple as you say? Honestly, in my humble opinion, it’s more like: depending on a beat-up oldsmobile it’s flawed gas-gauge reading full, while empty Of course, you do you… white chickens pecking the last of the feed neglected beside them a red wheelbarrow A satire of…
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Punchline Kyoka
I parked my life in the middle of the Web, then told everyone, “Get the hell out of my privacy!” Why do we say “No way!” when there is and “Way” when there’s none? Let them rush If they like, then watch them burn walk your own way: That’s what I’d do for Day 13…
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Prose to Haiku: a Meta-haibunic Dialogue
I wonder at your brevity. So direct, and to the point. Short, then long, then short: always bending those two images into something new. But couldn’t you just elaborate a little more? Wouldn’t our readers benefit more from a Tik Tok than a snapshot? Look, I know you pride yourself on being the shortest form,…
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Whose Line is it, Anyway?
“… is a doormat with an attitude!” It’s one of her many copyrighted expressions. Yes, I live with a master of one-liners. The Bride is the Emma Bombeck of our generation–if I ever convince her to publish a weekly column. She’s also famous for this one (said the night of an Easter Vigil mass): “Skip…
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Transient Serenade
Barely past dawn on that wine-dark sea, I heard the sea shanty of distant sailors, on a ship I could not see… “Shiver me timbers this sea breeze so cold!” On, on, pull the line on “Will I see a rich port before I get old?” Give me a hand, and pull the line on…
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A Crushing Encounter
As if there were any other way, and yet, there is not… His quickness to turn over the keys, that telltale odor on his breath; his tongue in a flutter of release, conversing with an overtone of death. How his face locks up like struck flintlock or cringes up as he lets loose more tears.…
Frank J. Tassone 