NaPoWriMo Days 16, 17, 18


[I really need to update. Here’s 3 more poems.]


Home work, play work,

Paid work, mundane work,

Work on the side,

Work ’round the clock

Work that gives us pride,

Work that makes us hit rock

Bottom. But it pays off,


Who knows?

I work all the time,

Most of which goes unpaid

And unrecognized.

Only I know I did something.

Well I guess it could be worse.

Life is work,

But work doesn’t have to be terrible.

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NaPoWriMo Days 14 and 15


“Underwater Basket Weaving”

Underwater basket weaving

May not be as impractical as we think.

Sure, we say it’s an elective,

A remedial class to fulfill a standard

For educational credit,

But is it useless?

By learning to weave a basket,

We learn to weave our own partial essences

In our lives.

Strands of ourselves and our community

Woven together meticulously

In a pattern to create

A practical whole,

Placed in a moist environment–

Independent of our whims–

To complete the masterpiece.

Much can be taken away

From an elective course like

Underwater basket weaving.

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Palm Sunday (Day 13)


A humble man in robe of white

Comes on a colt for all to see

Despite his looks, his face shines bright

To fulfill an old prophecy.


The people lay their cloaks and palms

Before the meek, but mighty king.

Authorities’ll try to silence the psalms,

Yet they will continue to sing.


As we enter our reverent week

To observe the holiest day,

We must remember to always seek

The justice of ours and his good way.

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Time and Space (Days 11 and 12)



A man-made concept

To interpret the movement

Of objects in space,

A setting of events,

And giving us the ability to think

About the past and future

While in the present.

For something created purely by humans

To measure a natural perspective,

It is not influenced by anything else

But there never seems to be enough!

Sometimes, I wish I had more time.


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Two Poems for NaPoWriMo (Day 9 and 10)


[Forgot to post yesterday. Here are two poems to make up for lost time.]


A tangy flavor,

Sweet as nectar,

Sour as citrus,

But neither in essence.

Grown from a plant so fragile,

We support them with bales

To protect them from floods

Or faulty irrigation.

At last, they are ripe

Under the vernal sun

Making the world seem sweet

Or sour from human consumption.

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