Home of Monty Vern
I’m celebrating National Poetry Month!
It’s complicated – click link and see prompt for April 5th. I followed the prompt loosely.
napowrimo.net
It’s Complicated
Breaking my radio along with my heart,
Untuned instrumentals angrily blared,
While she sang apologetic verses offbeat,
Unable to select a genre she mixed
rhythms and mistaken intentions
Before titling our break-up anthem:
It’s Complicated.
Be well,
Monty
I’m celebrating National Poetry Month!
Write a poem about living with a piece of art.
napowrimo.net
Drawn
He drew me with everlasting lovingkindness,
The only love he knows,
Who am I to complain about the lines etched across my face?
Or my rotund shape that seems to be forever further sagging?
These are but evidence of a full life,
Of living and loving,
Of enjoying His grace,
And being His beloved child.
Be well,
Monty
I’m celebrating National Poetry Month!
Write a poem that obliquely explains why you are a poet and not some other kind of artist
napowrimo.net
Licensed to Poet
Clumsy feet,
Unmusical in beat,
I cannot paint a sky,
I’m not an acting guy,
I’m quintessentially unique,
Rhyming my only feat,
With punctuation bordering on absurd,
I’m always playful with my words;
If you didn’t already know it,
I’m only licensed to poet!
Be well,
Monty
I’m celebrating National Poetry Month!
Write a poem that directly addresses someone, and that includes a made-up word, an odd/unusual simile, a statement of “fact,” and something that seems out of place in time (like a Sonny & Cher song in a poem about a Greek myth).
napowrimo.net
Dear Me,
I’ve traveled decades,
First forwards,
Then backwards,
Then backwards again;
Don’t ask me how,
It’s harder to explain than pseudorays
Or cubic days,
But the fact is that I’m sitting here,
A tarnished old man, begging you,
Like a stiff-necked turtle
Awaiting the drop of the guillotine,
To please, no matter what happens,
Please don’t open that fortune cookie;
Better yet, don’t even order
The orange chicken,
Nothing good has ever come from orange chicken.
Trust me on this.
Yours truly,
Me
Be well,
Monty
I’m celebrating National Poetry Month!
Today, we challenge you to take inspiration from this glossary of musical terms, or this glossary of art terminology, and write a poem that uses a new-to-you word.
napowrimo.net
Moto
As
I gather
Pace I press
The clutch and shift
Musical gears – pushing lulls aside
In an escalating mechanical dance rave.
Be well,
Monty
I’m a bit late, but that is not going to stop me from celebrating National Poetry Month!
Pen a portrait poem of your own. It can be a self-portrait, a portrait of someone well known to you, or even a poem inspired by an actual painted portrait.
napowrimo.net
The Portrait
Here I stand;
Motionless in the window of the frame shop;
A “For Sale” sign hanging from my neck;
Left over from a previous year’s order,
Never picked-up,
I look oddly familiar, but unremarkable;
Perhaps a distant uncle,
Or an AI attempt at “middle-aged white male”;
A face peeks in through the window pane,
Initially curious, but soon disinterested;
It fades into the street beyond,
Along with the slightest glimpse of hope
I allowed myself to feel.
Be well,
Monty
East bleeds west,
As time dances along,
Urging the day forward.
Be well,
Monty
The lights burnt out,
Darkness cast across a nation broken,
Lit only by fiery wrath and ire,
Graffiti hate betraying fear,
He watches from his Oval Office,
Admiring the power of his chaotic pen,
Speaking of peace while waging war,
Promising luxury hotels in the wreckage,
Is that the plan?
To pick up the pieces in a bankruptcy auction?
The ultimate steal deal?
Defunded, positions eliminated,
So many lives derailed,
As the safety nets are methodically unravelled,
How far will we fall before we stand and fight?
Or are we past that?
Already too jaded?
Are we getting what we deserve?
After all this is what we voted for.
My mom tells me to add my light
To the sum of the light,
A lasting message from her dearly departed;
So I feel I need to make a turn here,
To find the silver lining,
To spin this into a positive;
But what if it’s not in me?
What if, today, I’m just too tired?
What if all I can do is sit here in the dark?
Be well,
Monty
I’m slow to anger, how biblical of me! But the truth is I burn low and slow and resentfully. You won’t catch me shouting loud. You won’t catch me in the red. But I stew inside with all the words unsaid. For years I didn’t even know it. I thought I was the patient one. The faithful husband. The loving father. The good son. But, in time, I cracked wide-open and ill-will spilled out, all spoiled and rotten. Wretched, I turned. To lies and sinful ways. Too dark to fully confess. Oh, I wish I had faster burned! To let out some ire! To not be so fixated on being seen as perfect. To jump into the fire! Perhaps, if I hadn’t tried so hard to impress, I’d have avoided the mess. I’m not saying anger is a good thing. For sure it can danger bring. But my anger, unaddressed, festering away beneath the surface, tore my life apart. Crossing lines and wounding hearts, including mine. I exploded slowly. Too slowly to notice. Too slowly to abort. I burned just too damn slow.
Be well,
Monty
They claim to be my words, but I’ve no memory;
They seem too deep, too wise, beyond me,
Yet there they are, on the page,
With a typo or two for extra authenticity,
As if intentional to address this very moment,
As if to say, ‘who else but you?’
It is hard to argue.
It’s not that the words don’t resonate,
They absolutely ring true;
And I’m not here to brag,
Nor be overly humble,
I’m just a bit confused,
How my own words seem to be so new.
Be well,
Monty
Monty’s Blahg