~ NaPoWriMo ~ Day 28 ~ In Color ~ Brown ~

Today, I’d like you to pick a color. How many synonyms are there for your color (e.g., green, chartreuse, olive, veridian)? Is your color associated with a specific mood (e.g., red = passion, rage, blue = hope, truth). Look around the room, take a walk — note everything you see that is your chosen color. Then start writing, using the color as a guide.

If you’re having trouble getting started, here are a few examples of “color” poems — Federico Garcia Lorca’s Romance Sonambulo, e.e. cummings’ All in Green Went My Love Riding, and (a personal favorite) Diane Wakoski’s Blue Monday.

Happy writing!

Color Chosen : Brown

O How amusing !

I look around I smile and then frown

I see so many things  colored brown

Right in front is the table I am using

the top is lined like a flowing gown

O How amusing !

Another table Oh why I have two

its chocolate brown, not black or blue

bookshelves with  cupboard is brown

bought quite cheap from nearby town

O how amusing !

boxes books covered doors and frames

all brown  beige biscuit in all the names

the lamp shades covers on the bed

almost everything from toe to head

O how amusing !

The whole room is like the dark godown’

no green some white bit yellow all brown



~ NaPoWriMo ~ Day 27 ~ O’ Dear ‘The Royal Stitch ~

Today, I challenge you to use the wondrous powers of the Internet to help you write, and I have a particular method in mind. Think of a common proverb or phrase — something like “All that glitters is not gold,” or “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Then plug the first three words of the phrase into a search engine. Skim through the first few pages of results, collecting (rather like a poetic magpie) words and phrases that interest you. Then use those words and phrases as the inspirations (and some of the source material) for a new poem. Happy writing!

Proverb Chosen ~

A Stitch in Time saves Nine

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A shiver runs down the spine

royal dress  showing  the slash

time short,  problem benign

how to define, fracture hairline


rip in the fabric,tear in the piece

neat pleat folded fine by the crease


no knitting needles need no thread

for the garment is silky not a pelisse;


hoofs trot horses snort   bell rings

check to see if ready are all things


O’ Dear I fear I fear the tear ! the tear!

How on earth will her Highness wear?


all are worried fixed all wear a frown

what can be done  to save the crown


Think Think Move Move Do Do Sew

All crowded in, pins threads needles


pushed pulled pleated threaded too

pricked  raced  hemmed stitches flew


at last a dozen doing their best

won the race , time and test


at last  jig jumps on was the dance

smiles spread as saved was the gown


Princess  ready as Prince Royal fine

stepped in elegant  graceful and fine

fallen maids  exhausted on the floor

fingers sore ‘with stitches galore


it really is true  as  the sages opine

‘a stitch in time saves nine’










~ NaPoWriMo ~ Day 25 ~ Ballad ~

Today, let’s try another musical form — the ballad. Traditionally, ballads were rhymed poems that told a story of some kind, and were often set to music. They were sometimes set in four-line verses, with an ABAB rhyme pattern, employing alternating 8 and 6 syllable, iambic lines. This 8/6 iambic pattern is sometimes referred to as ballad meter. The use of this type of pattern was not universal, however, and old ballads often involve different syllable counts, as well as refrains that break up the verses.

The form has generated many sub-genres over the years, including the sentimental ballad (think “Danny Boy“), the gruesome murder ballad, and of course, the power ballad. The form’s come a long way from the folk songs with which it began, but the narrative aspect of the ballad remains intact.

Your ballad could be sad, or funny. It could tell a tale of love, or murder, or just something silly. If you have any musical talent, it might be fun to try and actually make a tune for your ballad! Happy writing.



The Mysterious Road in the Greens




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It was not the road not taken’

nor did it seem much untrodden

though was  silently deserted,
cranky voices of travellers
mumbling walking slowly talking
some with sticks some with bags hanging
clothes tattered, soiled like old rags
what wanderers, gypsies knights are these

perhaps disguised, going  nowhere?

who knows the mystery who may share

to unknown inns and known places,
who will then find the real traces
of cart and carriage wheels dug deep

ruts in mud and mire who will know

Ye Olde Captain smelling  rum

and whiskey in strange attire

patriotic spirit afire

what sweet whistles and jingles
of keys calls shouts and songs are these?
what rustling of maps and tinkles
of coins, of silver and golden
dusty and crumpled but precious,
held, as sonorously they stumble-
forward serious, some on horses,
like amblers, no racers, no hurry,

they move and giggle and g rumple,
no heroic braves may know this way
was the way to go now all  quiet,

steeped in solitude, fresh and green

scene changed from seen to unseen,

was this the road that saw the men?
ten thousand who brought grand glory
to the king  of  Olde England!



~ NaPoWriMo ~ Day 26 ~ Erasure poem ~ Love of J Red Frock ~


Today, I challenge you to perform an erasure of your own. You don’t need to start with a poem as long asParadise Lost, of course, but a tolerably long poem is usually needed to furnish enough material so that the final product isn’t just a few words long (though erasure haiku might be a fun new subgenre). A few long poems that might respond well to erasure could be Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, Allen Ginsberg’sHowl, or Tennyson’s The Lady of Shalott. Go ahead and copy and paste the text into a document, and then start whiting-out words.





 LOVE      OF  J.     RED    FROCK

by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)

LET  go , you

against the sky

upon a table;

through                                streets,


in one-night



Of              intent

an overwhelming question …

“What is it?”


Make      visit.




fog                 upon the window-panes,

smoke                   on the window-panes,



from chimneys,

Slipped                                             sudden leap,

soft October night,

house,              fell asleep.


And                                       time




meet the faces

murder and create,

works       of hands

on your plate;

for you                                me,

time                         for                 indecisions,




women come and go


be time


wonder,                               “Do I dare?”

turn               descend




rich and modest,





a minute                reverse.


, known them all:

evenings, mornings, afternoons,












And how should I begin?










Asleep … tired … or it malingers,



I am no prophet—




, after the teacups, floor—








not Prince Hamlet,


the Fool.


I grow old … I grow old …



eat a peach?

upon the beach.



sing to me.



we drown.


~NaPoWriMo ~ Day 24 ~ Anagrammatic ~ Self Portrait ~

Today I’d like you to think about words buried in words. In particular, think about the words buried in your own name. Plug your name into an anagram generator, like this one, and try writing a self-portrait poem using words that are generated.

Anagrammatic ~ Self  Portrait

Raja reflects royalty

Unsaid it will never be

Mum I am so I am a

Madam,Geminian creative

teaching training in Drama,

winner of awards in writing,

but not in  Dinars,

ready to aid

run in the sun,wind on land arid

as  mudman with drum   like  mad.

My name is   manju   siwam   rad

~NaPoWriMo ~ Day 23 ~ In Moments When I am Alone ~

Today, let’s try writing triolets. A triolet is an eight-line poem. All the lines are in iambic tetramenter (for a total of eight syllables per line), and the first, fourth, and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines. This means that the poem begins and ends with the same couplet. Beyond this, there is a tight rhyme scheme (helped along by the repetition of lines) — ABaAabAB


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~ In Moments When I am Alone ~

In moments when I am alone

There are so many I lose  count

I hear you voice in sweet tone

I reach out to sense sweet ionone

My spirit drowns in the unknown

searching in vain through the seamount

In moments when I am alone

There are so many I lose  count

~NaPoWriMo ~ Day 22 ~ Earth Day Poem ~ ‘Who Holds The Wings?’ ~

Today is Earth Day. The first Earth Day was celebrated in 1970 and is now celebrated internationally. In honor of the occasion, I challenge you to write a poem in keeping with Earth Day — it could be a reflection on what’s growing in your garden, a modern pastoral, or a Marianne-Moore-style poem about an animal. Anything to do with the natural world is fair game.

Happy writing!



~ Who Holds the Wings? ~

I don’t know why, I was happy
when I stepped outside in the cold
which again I did not feel as I –
looked up  ‘n saw an eagle

dive ‘n fly
it was a Call as Nature speaks
who holds the wings straight?
who keeps the birds floating  high?

as they with grandeur glide abide
by laws of unseen control ‘n not defy
content with twigs straws they nidify
flying to ‘n fro sway with the breeze
one high in the sky one tweeting

merrily in the trees—

 I saw them happy ‘n wished to stellify
on ground words the mind may occupy
and not allow a shut eye

all night—
I may dream to fly
around the world-like a star

But I am happy on Mother Earth
I shine and smile, with The Light!