No Longer In Print (NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 28)

We’re almost to the Finish Line of NaPoWriMo, thank goodness—as my brain’s ink-tank gauge reads “E”.  Following the italicized prompt description (blue), you’ll find my poetic offering—and after that, the host’s helpful example (blue) for those who’ve accepted the challenge.  You’re welcome to “grade” my homework 🙂

“…our prompt (optional, as always). Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem using Skeltonic verse. Don’t worry, there are no skeletons involved. Rather, Skeltonic verse gets its name from John Skelton, a fifteenth-century English poet who pioneered the use of short stanzas with irregular meter, but two strong stresses per line (otherwise know as “dipodic” or “two-footed” verse). The lines rhyme, but there’s not a rhyme scheme per se. The poet simply rhymes against one word until he or she gets bored and moves on to another.”

‘No Longer In Print’

No longer in print

Wrought-gold words merely lint

The author expired

Or maybe retired

Style no more admired

Perhaps reached the end of

Fame’s fickle-foot stint

As does the world

Less extraordinary

It turns amid stars

The Literary

Bright writers whose

Phrases gleamed yesterday

Are replaced by new lights

Dawn’s thoughts penned today

So, be wise, be humbled

All who labor, envision

Birthing books tall of stature

Joining classics of literature

For fans will esteem you

Grand high, sure it’s true

But detractors abound

Unseen internet minions

Who’ll carp, complain, claim

That your ink-beaming genius

Was unfounded, worse…mumbled

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Images ~ Pixabay

“Here is a good explainer of the form, from which I have borrowed this excellent example:

Dipodic What?

Dipodic Verse
will be Terse.
Stress used just twice
to keep it nice,
short or long
a lilting song
or sounding gong
that won’t go wrong
if you adhere
to the rule here,
Now is that clear
My dear?” ”

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Tastes of Loss (NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 27)

“…our (optional) prompt! Many poems explore the sight or sound or feel of things, and Proust famously wrote about the memories evoked by smell, but today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores your sense of taste! This could be a poem about food, or wine, or even the oddly metallic sensation of a snowflake on your tongue.”


Taste of Loss

Salted, coppery

Old pennies

Bloodied hands

Wine, seltzer can’t rinse mouth clean

Of sour vomit, loss


Taste of Loss

Sharp, spoiled strawberries


Absence tastes

Like white chalk in no one’s hand

Gone-love’s lips, silenced


Loss, tasteless

As tepid water

Old wafers


No longer possible, life’s

Flavor pale as paste

Image credit:

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

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Big Mac Civilization (NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 26)

“…our (optional) prompt! Have you ever heard someone wonder what future archaeologists, whether human or from alien civilization, will make of us? Today, I’d like to challenge you to answer that question in poetic form, exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist? The object or site of study could be anything from a “World’s Best Grandpa” coffee mug to a Pizza Hut, from a Pokemon poster to a cellphone.”


Apparently I’m too hungry to access finer poetry center of my brain 🙂

Must have been people

Some kind once upon a time

Animals too—beeves

Big Mac, we’re most stumped by that

Millions sold in land now gone

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

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Fig Jar World (NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 25)

“…our daily prompt (optional, as always). In 1958, the philosopher/critic Gaston Bachelard wrote a book called The Poetics of Space, about the emotional relationship that people have with particular kinds of spaces – the insides of sea shells, drawers, nooks, and all the various parts of houses. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores a small, defined space – it could be your childhood bedroom, or the box where you keep old photos. It could be the inside of a coin purse or the recesses of an umbrella stand. Any space will do – so long as it is small, definite, and meaningful to you.”

Small fig-shaped jar

Once held Dalmatia Fig Spread

Now a world unto itself

In cove beneath far ocean bed

Slumber-eyed I climb inside

Sail on bleached white shells amid

Assorted treasures under lid

Polished stones, jade and onyx

Marbled agate cobalt blue

Worn translucent sea glass

Striations mirror sky at dusk

Single flat finger of driftwood

To rest upon while admiring

Teeny colored beads, a bracelet

Wrist no longer fits

Tiny pink silk rose, its whorls

Perfection woven eternal

Even smaller silver chain

Shimmered links to lost something…

White bow ribbon ties black cross

To one, carved quartz, pale as dawn

A miniature fig jar cathedral

Where are blessed mermaid angels—

Writing hymns, myths within?

Singing siren songs for whales

Much too large, sad, long gone?

Space more transparent than pen’s heart

Captive trinkets, tide-washed thoughts

Poems forlorn, as yet unborn—

Hands hold, turn glass ’round, ’round

In dimmed wee-dreamy midnight light

Fig jar world—waves, wind chimes call

To sojourn…twelve bells, ghost-love’s sound

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

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Pecking At Wisdom (NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 24)

“…our (optional) daily prompt. Today, I challenge you to write a poem of ekphrasis — that is, a poem inspired by a work of art. But I’d also like to challenge you to base your poem on a very particular kind of art – the marginalia of medieval manuscripts. Here you’ll find some characteristic images of rabbits hunting wolves, people sitting on nests of eggs, dogs studiously reading books, and birds wearing snail shells. What can I say? It must have gotten quite boring copying out manuscripts all day, so the monks made their own fun. Hopefully, the detritus of their daydreams will inspire you as well!”


I am not fondeth—nay, I loathe

Ill-mannered bird-kin bothersome

Rude frequent visits, feathered fidgets

Much muchness relentless

Entirely tiresome annoyance

Their peck-peck-pecking

At pinions of this ancient head

To access legendary wisdom

Indeed-y, greedily they seek

Gilded gift, my inheritance

Leaking, within each peck-peck beak

Foolish—for it’s all artifice, ruse

Wise adages I may have possessed

But memory forsakes, and more I lose

Soon I’ll be left with peck-less nothing—

Mere pecked-pathetic old owl’s bald pate

Manuscripts inscribed, calligraphy

Illuminated letters for posterity…

(Sigh) scribbled notes I pen in margin

Diary, amnesic days which fade

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

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Poetry + Faith = Rest (NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 23)

I suspect I’m running/writing on fumes at this point—my elevenies feel like grownup “onesies” (an article of clothing for babies, if you’re unfamiliar”) 🙂

“…our daily prompt (optional, as always). Our prompt for Day Twenty-Three comes to us from Gloria Gonsalves, who challenges us to write a double elevenie. What’s that? Well, an elevenie is an eleven-word poem of five lines, with each line performing a specific task in the poem. The first line is one word, a noun. The second line is two words that explain what the noun in the first line does, the third line explains where the noun is in three words, the fourth line provides further explanation in four words, and the fifth line concludes with one word that sums up the feeling or result of the first line’s noun being what it is and where it is. There are some good examples in the link above.

A double elevenie would have two stanzas of five lines each, and twenty-two words in all. It might be fun to try to write your double elevenie based on two nouns that are opposites, like sun and moon, or mountain and sea.”



Flows, soothes

Fever in thoughts

Carries peace to heart




Holds on

Keeps focus true

Provides buffer against craziness


© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

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This, Our Land, Earth (NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 22)

“…our prompt for the day (optional, as always). In honor of Earth Day, I’d like to challenge you to write a georgic. The original georgic poem was written by Virgil, and while it was ostensibly a practical and instructional guide regarding agricultural concerns, it also offers political commentary on the use of land in the wake of war. The georgic was revived by British poets in the eighteenth century, when the use of land was changing both due to the increased use of enlightenment farming techniques and due to political realignments such as the union of England, Scotland, and Wales.

Your Georgic could be a simple set of instructions on how to grow or care for something, but it could also incorporate larger themes as to how land should be used (or not used), or for what purposes.”


Fallen, fallen

Grand majestic inheritance

This, our land, Earth

Despairs, laments…

Too much lost to greed and

Lapsed, tossed respect.

What happened to

Accountability, reverence?

Generations past held

The land as sacred, saw

The fingerprints of God

Wherever they looked;

Acknowledged it gratefully

As gift from Him—to nurture

Provide all that His beloved

Creation, Mankind, would need

As we briefly sojourn here.

The land, and man’s soul, have

Suffered crippling erosion—

Arid hearts parched

Sustaining waters depleted;

Toxins encroaching, seeping

Into everything that isn’t

Swallowed by bulging landfills.

Can there yet be sufficient faith

Repentant effort…to hope

Redemption, restoration

Might be realized?

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Image ~ Pixabay

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