NaPoWriMo 2021
April 4
Prompter: Official site
Prompt: Write a poem based on a photo by @

If pain had a pattern,
I’d say it was a pinstripe
of emerald green and sunny yellow
falling over each other
and again
and again
till one’s very eyes burn at the…

Prompt: Windowpane
Source: wandering_star_poetry (Instagram)

A windowpane
is never just a windowpane.

It’s a childhood habit:
every afternoon, sit by the closed windows
while the house snores away
and peer down at the world below
and imagine their lives, their stories.
I used to do it when I was bored,
I used to do it on rainy days,
I used to do it so I felt less alone.
But I never thought I’d do it every day.
Two and twenty nine suns and moons:
the windowpane became the whole world
fitted into thick black frames,
tinted just enough to hide me away.
It’s a childhood habit
turned into a mindless ritual:
perch atop a chair every afternoon,
sit by the closed window -
Maintain the distance -
and peer down at the world below
and imagine their lives, their stories.

A windowpane
is never just a windowpane.

Prompt: Witch’s brew — write a potion for something you really want
Source: scentofsnowfall (Instagram)

3 white candles

4 teacups

1 cup of milk

1 cup of water

4 pinches of fresh mint leaves

1 ginger

1 soft shawl

1 diary

1 pen

Pour some water, set it to a…

Prompt: Empty seashells
Source: wandering_star_poetry (Instagram)

As a child, I always collected seashells — mostly abandoned bivalves scooped into skirts for my sketches and fancy sinks for my fancy dolls. But once in a while, my sister would raise her arms and summon the sea to press a tower shell…

Prompt: Dewdrops
Source: wandering_star_poetry (Instagram)

The clock strikes midnight:
The harsh winds blow,
the night sky roars,
a trembling heart breaks all over.

The clock ticks one:
The body still shaking,
face painted with drying tears,
the lonely soul breaks all over.

The clock ticks two,
then three, then four:
empty eyes gazing
into empty dark walls
that turn sour with growing self-hate.

The clock strikes five:
the world comes alive,
the sun dancing her way through,
and a window barely creaks open.

At exactly five thirty,
the grass starts to shimmer
with a million fragments of the heart -
dewdrops gathered overnight.

You’ll be fine.

Prompt: Describe a smell in 10 words
Source: po_ethics (Instagram)

Musky old books,
freshly-pressed dresses,
kisses of joy.

Prompt: Map
Source: the.lemonaide (Instagram)

I may be loud, I may be funny,
I may be easy to be with,
I may be open, I may be too much,
but I’m not yours till you try:
Here, hand me that pen,
let me draw you a map —

Prompt: Dark love
Source: requested on Instagram

Being in love with the past is a love too dark:
a ladder down an endless pit.
The huffing and puffing and going nowhere far,
the giving up and calling it quits.
The scorching flames that cradle too warm
a heart that stitches its eyes shut.
To claw and claw and never get out:
Being in love with the past is a love too dark.

Prompt: Meet
Source: the.lemonaide (Instagram)

Rooftop picnics.
Home-made coffee.
Pizza delivered in a sanitised box.
An arm’s length distance.
The rub of latex gloves.
A thousand eye-smiles for a single curve of the lips.
Arms raised high -
maintain the distance -
and air-hugs all around.
But if you keep this up,
it’ll only be a while
till you can meet and greet once more.

Prompt: Direction
Source: the.lemonaide (Instagram)
References made to F Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby” and the soliloquy in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”

Stretch your arm towards that green light,
march your legs a little closer,
feel the spray of a sea of troubles against your skin,
puff your chest and fight to live.
Take up arms, practice your tongue,
wear your heart on your sleeve,
and when you behold that green light in your palms,
whisper lovingly and learn to cherish it
till it’s no longer atop a lofty mountain
or across the dock at last,
but in the twinkle of your eyes
and you’ll no longer be doomed
to be borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Suki G

English Literature teacher, researcher, writer. Instagram ID: @ _suki_g

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