For this, my penultimate poem of NaPoWriMo, I give you my very first sonnet, written in free blank verse, which, according to Mary Kinzie’s A Poet’s Guide to Poetry (a book I adore, by the way), is unrhymed loose iambic pentameter. Mine is very loose.

{poof!}

Some evenings, none of the boys wishes to sleep. It makes getting a start difficult, but the poem has prevailed. Only two more poems remain to finish off the month. It’s bewildering. I’ve never been even marginally prolific — I don’t think I’ve written this much in even a year.

{poof!}

Because it would be wrong to simply coast through the finishing line these last few days of NaPoWriMo (only 3 days, 3 poems more!), I set myself the task of using the abecedarian form, slightly adapted, for today. Instead of 26 lines, each beginning with the next letter of the alphabet, I have compressed it into 7 lines. It is probable that I will never do this again.

{poof!}

It’s amazing how even the simplest of edits requires a rested mind to discover. While I haven’t undertaken any major revisions yet, I have tweaked here & there where I couldn’t bear to leave it for now, lest I forget the changes I wanted. Because I so seldom have a rested mind.

{poof!}

Book fair again, all day today. It’s really enervating to spend so much time in the company of other book people, especially other poets. I’m glad I had the opportunity to be there. Probably accounts for the odd nature of this draft.

{poof!}

I worked a book fair today and returned home late, but during quiet times I managed to write a bit. Thus today’s poem is brief, but, I hope, pithy.

{poof!}

I dislike too much exposition in a poem, so one of my biggest flaws as a poet is then writing an anemic poem, which yearns for a bit of meat to gnaw on. I’m actually excited for May to come (only 7 more poems to go!) so I can print all these poems out & do some revisioning — I fear this poor dear is a mite skinny.

{poof!}

Because self-flagellation seems to be the thing, I’m attempting a rondeau. I haven’t kept the strictest rhymes, but have used a fair amount of slant rhyme instead, just to keep it from clanging too much. Hopefully this isn’t the crappiest poem you’ve read all day.

{poof!}

Today’s poem is a triolet. With its tight & nearly engulfing repetition, it seems to me a very apt form in which to write about pregnancy.

{poof!}

Because I am positive my husband will think this is about him & be infinitely hurt, let me state straight off that my father was a snorer for the record books. That my mother was able for so many years to share his bed is a mystery best left to itself. My father may be offended as well, but since he resides in the Hereafter, I don’t expect I’ll receive nearly as much grief over this poem from that quarter. The form is what I call a reverse nonet.

{poof!}