She has the same look about her,
or so it seems
when she tilts her cheek just so
and the tides shift,
shrink in on themselves
so ashamed by her disappointment.
Uncanny, how similar she seems
reflected beside me.
This name is still an uncertain bird in my mouth,
perched at the tip of my tongue when I reach
for its fragile feathered body.
So small in the hold of my hand
it cheeps, cheeps, cheeps
and I say Finch, Finch, Finch
to the mirror above the sink,
check the windows are closed before loosening
the grip I have on its wings
uncertain if I can make the sound stick.
Write a poem that delves into the meaning of your first or last name.
NaPoWriMo 2021 Prompt – Day Fourteen
First it was the slugs,
then the pigeons, this year squirrels
and not just the one hiding shells
in the grates of our drain pipes.
This year there’s a pair of them
running track along the broken fence line.
Dark
mouths
open.
Hollow depths,
or so it appears
until a scream finally sounds.
Before my husband and I started dating, I wrote a fib for him a thank-you gift for fixing my laptop. It was NaPoWriMo that introduced me to the form, and he’d never received a poem as a gift before so he found it quite novel. Now I’m not saying poetry is the basis of my marriage, but sometimes a little fib can go a long way.
Slip your hands beneath the ocean,
sift the sands,
though the debris laid to rest
and the bones of forgotten things
boiled down to soup stock
in the murk.
There is still a thread there,
find it.
A silver of something live,
whispering as an eel
beyond your fingertips.
But you are not the trap
or the bait
or the line.
You are the caught thing,
the lost thing,
the forgotten thing.
Slip your hands beneath the ocean
and find yourself.
Carol J Forrester 
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