Tag: NaPoWriMo

Day 3 Encounter (Encuentro)

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“The dream world and the real world are the same.” (Remedios Varo)

Image Credit: National Galleries of Scotland

Today, Napowrimo has challenged me to write a surreal prose poem. Wonderful! It gave me the opportunity to do what I love to do–learn more about women artists, in this case, surreal women artists of Mexico. Check out this article in Art News if you would like to learn more about this intriguing artist, Remedios Varo and her artist friends.

And here is my prose poem for today:

Encounter (Encuentro)

The artist encounters her past self. Remedios tips open the lid of the coffin-like box & haunting eyes peer out. She does not look in. She seems uninterested in the self of her past soon to be on the shelf with the others. Her cape flows blue-gray and ragged, and even her skeletal fingers poise ready,  but her new self has yet to be revealed. The artist gazes beyond now. She encounters life, death, and transformation as she waits to drop the lid on her old self. Who is the new Varos she sees in the distance?

Jacquelyn Markham (4/3/2024)

Remedios Varos, artist 1908-1963

I really appreciate that the National Gallery of Scotland is acquiring more works by women surrealists. And always, much credit goes to the National Museum of Women in the Arts for its contributions to women’s art. Thank you NMWA for featuring Varos in exhibits and events and for all you do for women in the arts!

Jacquelyn Markham, poet & writer, author of Rainbow Warrior, Finishing Line Press (2023), Peering Into the Iris: An Ancestral Journey and China Baby, among other titles. She offers writing & creativity guidance through Moonflower Mentoring.

Day 1 PAD 2024-plot poem

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Here we go, poets and poetry lovers! Day one of the poem-a-day challenge and National Poetry Month! So exciting! Read more about it here.

Prompt: Write, without consulting the book, a poem that recounts the plot, or some portion of the plot, of a novel that you like but haven’t read in a long time (compliments of NaPoWriMo)! My today’s effort below.

Ocean moon, photo by the poet

Edna & the Sea

When Edna left the shore &

plunged into the salty blue,

her body slid through breaking waves,

a silvery fish, sunlight flashing freedom.

When Edna left the shore behind

she lost everything—except herself.

When she left the shore, she found herself,

as solid as a whale, breathing air in bursts,

then diving deep, deep, deep into the azure sea.

When Edna returned to

her city home, everything she lost

was there—Victorian rooms, silver trays

with calling cards, tea sets, & callers at the door,

but where was she?

Edna felt the pull of the ocean,

slipped from the shallow talk & society,

she felt the waves wash her ankles,

a moment’s hesitation before the plunge,

like a fish freed from the hook,

frolicking in viridian sea, its escape barely seen.

Jacquelyn Markham 4/1/2024

This plot poem is inspired by Edna Pontellier in Kate Chopin’s The Awakening.  If  you haven’t read the book, you are missing a classic novel that reveals so much about the lives of women in the 19th century. And frankly, even into the 20th (and maybe even today for some women), Chopin’s words can evoke a “tower moment.”

Tower Card from Rider Waite deck

2024 Poem-a-Day begins!

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Good bye March. Hello April and National Poetry Month!

So, the early bird prompt came in and I will end March with beginning the April poem-a-day challenge (as every ending is truly a beginning).

Here is the early bird prompt from NaPoWriMo.

“Pick a word from the list below. Then write a poem titled either “A [your word]” or “The [your word]” in which you explore the meaning of the word, or some memory you have of it, as if you were writing an illustrative/alternative definition.” The list:

  • Cage
  • Ocean
  • Time
  • Cedar
  • Window
  • Sword
  • Flute

Of course, as a flutist, I certainly must select “flute”!

A flute

A flute coos blues

swallows air like a tuba.

In Galway’s hands, the flute shows off,

becomes a bumble bee!

A funky flute spits & hisses

like my tiger cat, hums

a deep rhythm like Yusef Lateef.

A flute sound in the woods

travels trees, accompanies

bird song. My flute

sends a silver melody

across the waves

an offering to the sea.

Jacquelyn Markham (3/31/24)

A flutist in an Easter bonnet!

Yellow Celosia of Hope Revisted

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October was as full as its Harvest Moon as it always is in our part of the world after the heat breaks.

I have missed my interaction with friends and readers at Poet Voice, but I am back!

Some of my time was devoted to the 8th Annual Pat Conroy Literary Festival, held every year around the late Pat Conroy’s birthday.  I was fortunate this year to take part in a Poets Panel with the amazing sister and fellow poets, Ellen Malphrus, Jennifer Bartell Boykin, and Tim Conroy.  What an honor!

I read from Rainbow Warrior, keeping my new book of poems alive and visible, as I vowed to do in my Vision Plan (check out my post on that process here).

Though I was away from Poet Voice for a bit, I also vowed to keep hope alive in my own way with a poem, proving that “poetry matters,” the topic of the poets panel I referred to above.

Over time, my most popular blog post was in April during the poem-a-day challenge in honor of National Poetry Month.  I wrote and posted “Yellow Celosia of Hope” which was chosen by Maureen Thorson as featured poem of the day on April 27, 2023. (There are many ways to participate in the annual Poem-a-day Challenge; I have been enjoying the camaraderie and prompts on NaPoWriMo, founded by Maureen.

On the April day that I wrote the poem, I did plant a yellow Celosia with “golden feathers,/hope waving from my garden.”

Alas, the hottest summer ever was hard on the beautiful yellow feathery thing!  And now, the world over, we need hope more than ever, so I planted two yellow celosias in my fall garden.  They are annuals, but in warmer climates may act like a perennial.  I will nurture them and replace the symbol of hope as needed. Here again, is the poem:

Yellow Celosia of Hope

I lose hope when the world

loses compassion.

I lose hope when I lose myself or

a belief in the invisible.

I lose hope when I don’t see

love, a solution, or an end.

When I lose hope,

I listen for my heartbeat.

I listen for the wren

announcing dawn.

I look for pinpoints of light

sparkling on the river,

galaxies in the dark sky.


When I lose hope,

I listen to music—loud.

I read the poets, I eat, I drink,

I pace, I cry, I imagine

hope returning.

I cook rice.

I bake biscuits.

I sweep the floor.

I plant Yellow Celosias,

golden feathers,

hope waving from my garden.

Jacquelyn Markham

Dear readers and friends, what ways do  you keep hope alive in your lives?

Can we all envision peace together and make a difference as Baba Jolie suggests in her 11/11 portal pick-a card-short video?

Baba Jolie speaks of envisioning peace together

And poets, if you believe as poet Denise Levertov (1923-1997) wrote in her poem, “Making Peace,” that “poets must give us imagination of peace,” then please fire up your imaginations like this Flamma Golden Celosia and let it burn with hope for world peace and harmony in our everyday lives.

Aftermath of PAD 2023

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Siren Song, watercolor by poet, c. J. Markham, 2023

Hello loyal readers,

In the aftermath of the poem-a-day challenge, I want to add a few poems that slipped by with the fast pace of my literary life since my book Rainbow Warrior was released!

On Day 10 of the poem-a-day challenge, I was uninspired to write a “shanty” poem although many of my poet friends were loving it. No, it was not coming to me!

This was the prompt from Maureen at NaPoWrimo: “I’m playing to my own strengths here, but I challenge you to write a sea shanty (or shantey, or chanty, or chantey — there’s a good deal of disagreement regarding the spelling!) Anyway, these are poems in the forms of songs, strongly rhymed and rhythmic, that sailors might sing while hauling on ropes and performing other sea-going labors.”

Although some of my kindred poets were writing away, I just couldn’t imagine a poem/song to be sung while loading or unloading a ship, etc., so I slipped to day eleven and continued.

Now, I’ve decided to use a poem to the sea from an earlier time to make up my day 10 challenge! Below is the poem: “Offering to Yemanya.” Shout out to Ed Madden, in whose workshop I wrote this poem some years ago (sponsored by the Poetry Society of South Carolina).

Offering to Yemanya

Sometimes the river beckons me

to pipe an offering.

I push my breath through my silver flute.

Sun sparks my notes to Yemanya,

acrobats on the river blue,

somersaults to St. Helena Sound,

gold melodies crest to the sea.

                      Jacquelyn Markham

Day 30   “The Return of Love: A palinode”    PAD 2023

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“Painting my heart out”–acrylic painting by the poet

My poem for Day 30, the final poem of poem-a-day challenge, reflects a retraction of my position on disappointment in love put forward in many poems, including “Hyena,” (day 5); “Sonnet on Love,” (day 9); “Affairs of the Heart: Claims & Warnings,” (Day 16); and “somewhere i travelled beyond good sense,” (Day 25). As I retract my position on love, instead of bitterness and disappointment, I will reverse some of the lines from these poems. Why am I doing changing my tune? I am responding to the prompt below and writing a “palinode.”

Maureen’s prompt: “write a palinode – a poem in which you retract a view or sentiment expressed in an earlier poem. For example, you might pick a poem you drafted earlier in the month and write a poem that contradicts or troubles it. This could be an interesting way to start working on a series of related poems. Alternatively, you could play around with the idea of a palinode by writing a poem in which the speaker says something like “I take it back” or otherwise abandons a prior position within the single poem.”

The Return of Love: a palinode

I waved goodbye from the closed car window,

laughing like a hyena, louder than the wheels

humming on the highway.  Then,

the highway turns toward home & you.

Words don’t fit like a puzzle, but

drop like a stone & your once warm

embrace turns chill until sun slips from

behind the cloud & it’s all bright gold.

I asked a fortune teller if  I should

continue this time.  She predicted

an affair of endless love.  

I must retract my earlier bitter words!

My sword-pierced heart flip flops. So, i

send him these words that e.e. shared

“your slightest look easily will unclose me

though I have closed myself as fingers.”

I whisper “rose is a rose is a rose” & shout

“How do I love thee, let me count the ways?”

            Jacquelyn Markham (4/30/2023)

Day 29 Pierogi Speaks to Babcia        PAD 2023

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Pierogi image courtesy of Kingarthurbaking.com

The prompt: “Start by reading Alberto Rios’s poem “Perfect for Any Occasion.” Now, write your own two-part poem that focuses on a food or type of meal. At some point in the poem, describe the food or meal as if it were a specific kind of person. Give the food/meal at least one line of spoken dialogue.”

In 2022, I was pleased to be featured by Maureen and Napowrimo with my poem “Kielbasa Speaks to the Vegetarian of Polish Descent,” so for this food poem, I wanted to stay with the Polish theme and Pierogis came to mind. Here’s what came out of my meditation on Pierogis! I wish I had some sizzling in butter right now!

Poem removed by Poet Voice for revision and publication elsewhere.

Day 28  Index poem    PAD 2023

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Before we delve into day 28, I want to say that I am so excited to have been selected as featured poet for Day 27 by Maureen, the matrixmind of the Napowrimo site for my “Yellow Celosia of Hope” poem. Thank you Maureen! So happy I have persevered and wrote the poem as well as planted my Celosia in the garden yesterday (I really did!)!

Now, I’ve written a slightly playful, fairly esoteric poem in response to day 28 prompt. I used the interesting index in my old poetry handbook from a time when books still had an extensive index, copyright 1940! For those who would like a definition of the term consonance, here’s one from the poetry foundation.  I include one snippet from my index that inspired me.

A consonance to death

Did the Daemon Lover have dactyl words and feet?

Oh, no, he was just a daffy-down-dilly!

Villon’s Des Dames du Tempts Jardis would

not have a thing to do with that dilly!

“I can understand that,” said the

Daughter of the North as she danced  away

to “Danty Baby Danty”!

No worries, the Earth Turn South

by morning, if we can make it

through the night despite Eidolons

lurking over the bed. Eidolons—

Eidolons? Eidolons! Is there

an echo in here? No, it’s only

the baby’s Echolalia.

Yes, a baby, no death,

perhaps a consonance to death

will do, bath, myth, broth

or sleuth will suffice!

No death, just truth, after all,

it’s the end of a perfect day!

            Jacquelyn Markham (4/28/2023)

Day 27 Yellow Celosia of Hope PAD 2023

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Update: I was so pleased that Maureen & NaPoWriMo selected “Yellow Celosia of Hope” as the featured poem of the day! Thank you, Maureen! It was an honor!

So close to the end of this challenge, we need hope, so hope is the topic of my poem today. And here is the prompt from Napowrimo, day 27: “Today, begin by reading Bernadette Mayer’s poem “The Lobelias of Fear.” Now write your own poem titled “The ________ of ________,” where the first blank is a very particular kind of plant or animal, and the second blank is an abstract noun. The poem should contain at least one simile that plays on double meanings or otherwise doesn’t quite make “sense,” and describe things or beings from very different times or places as co-existing in the same space.”

Photo courtesy of serendipityseeds.com

Yellow Celosia of Hope

I lose hope when the world

loses compassion.

I lose hope when I lose myself or

a belief in the invisible.

I lose hope when I don’t see

love, a solution, or an end.

When I lose hope,

I listen for my heartbeat.

I listen for the wren

announcing dawn.

I look for pinpoints of light

sparkling on the river,

galaxies in the dark sky.


When I lose hope,

I listen to music—loud.

I read the poets, I eat, I drink,

I pace, I cry, I imagine

hope returning.

I cook rice.

I bake biscuits.

I sweep the floor.

I plant Yellow Celosias,

golden feathers of hope,

waving from my garden.

            Jacquelyn Markham (4/27/2023)

Day 25 somewhere i travelled beyond good sense PAD 2023

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e.e. cummings, 1953

This poem, of all love poems, brought back a not so fine memory. Here’s the prompt and the e.e. cummings poem is below my original day 25 poem!

Napowrimo Prompt for day 25: “Begin by reading e e cummings’ poem [somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond]. This is a pretty classic love poem, so well-known that it has spawned at least one silly meme. Today’s prompt challenges you to also write a love poem, one that names at least one flower, contains one parenthetical statement, and in which at least some lines break in unusual places.”

somewhere i travelled beyond good sense

that rose like the “eyes deeper than all roses”

turned to a garlic or maybe worse,

a chestnut tree in bloom (have  you ever smelled it?)

in my naivete, i sent him–the scoundrel–these

lines in a letter, (little did i know):

“your slightest look

easily will unclose me/ though i have

closed myself as fingers”/i, too easily opened,

the experience, a rose turned garlic. Truly,

i cast e.e.cummings’ words before

swine. i apologize e.e. i didn’t know!

Jacquelyn Markham (4/25/2023)

link to this poem: https://poets.org/poem/somewhere-i-have-never-travelledgladly-beyond

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

E. E. Cummings – 1894-1962

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands