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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Unravel Me

Yet, still, you unravel me…

Like old sweater I’d have

Wrapped ’round your shoulders

With heart’s unrelenting affection

To away the chill bent on stealing you.

Your silence didn’t sway me—

I fill in the spaces with phrases

Wound like cotton yarn between

Fingers—cat’s cradle, dreams I play.

And they, words a-fraying—wise, pretty…

Deep as pensive Pacific clouds in

Dream-voice as far, wavy azure…

Yet, still, unravel me.

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Image ~ Pixabay

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Portrait of Perhaps (NaPoWriMo 2017-Day 10)

“…our prompt (optional, as always). Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that is a portrait of someone important to you. It doesn’t need to focus so much on what a person looks (or looked) like, as what they are or were. If you need inspiration, here’s one of my favorite portrait poems.”


Beneath those searing blue eyes

Which melt me, I see your scoffing smile—

You think me audacious, call the idea

Repetitive, redundant—that I should

Paint yet another word-portrait of

Artist loved only by his loyal wife, and

Faraway woman who ne’er navigated

Consistently calm waters in anything

Close to a seaworthy vessel.

Perhaps you seek to hide that you’re flattered,

Honored—reckoning my talent equal

To your acrylic canvases, woodblock prints.

Or maybe you’re annoyed, merely an off mood…

I’m too old be be frightened by your irritability;

Walked too many miles on sharp lava-rock road,

Peopled by characters you’d not have spared glance.

Bitter?  I’ve simply grown tough tortoise shell.

It amuses me to watch grown men quake

At the frown on my short frumpy-figured face.

I’ve been characterized as one who

Doesn’t take s–t from anybody—and

Where do you suppose I learned that?

Ah, I see your gaze sparkles Aegean—

Yes, you’re the man quoted as saying:

“I don’t kiss ass for anyone.”

You taught me well, Love—and never realized.


The first 25 years I defended you fiercely,

Took humiliation’s lonely licks.

Then one day I snapped, called you an ‘ogre’,

Agreed everyone else had been right about you.

Time passed…and damn you, you died—

Left me nothing but deafening silent pain;

Alice fallen down well, mutely drowning.

Later the real, delayed grief came sudden,

Cutting through me like daggers of ice,

Tears raining pewter for weeks.

I rallied in the only way I know—

Imagination’s a potent drug, more

Effective than electroshock therapy.


Today I look fondly—heart in full swell—

At your pensive picture…tender memories

Returned and embellished, embroidered

In rich filigree…pulsing with spring’s new life,

Revitalizing ordinary.

Words pour…in every shade and hue,

Of always forget-me-not blue.

I fill lines which may weary readers,

And care not one scintilla.

Nights, your shadow drifts ’round

The room, finally rests beside me—dreamworld

Sifting stardust, embraced protectively.

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Image ~ Pixabay

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