Day 1 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge: Poem – Kay Ryan – “The Big Bad Wolf” #amwriting #napowrimo #poetry #quotes #AtoZchallenge #2017




Today’s National Poetry Writing Challenge is to write a poem in the style of a famous American poet named Kay Ryan. She writes poetry with “short, tight lines, rhymes interwoven throughout, maybe an animal or two, and, if you can manage to stuff it in, a sharp little philosophical conclusion,” and today’s prompt is to write a poem like her. See an example of her poetry in the above link.

Also here is my A to Z Challenge at the very last minute yes, I know. A book quote that matches the poem everyday according to the author’s name alphabetically. 

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Credit: http://www.pinterest.com


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You are the stories and incidents that you never tell to anyone. You are the thoughts that you get while standing under the shower. You are those memories that won’t lets you sleep at night peacefully. You are those words that you will never say while speaking with someone. You are those scars that you always hide from everyone. You are those little secrets that you will never let the world know. You are everything that you hide under the identity that you call the real you.”― Akshay Vasu

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The crux of,

The problems,

The issues,

Tearful tissues;

The wishes,

Dead fishes,

Expecting to —

Much; life is —

A state of flux,

Waiting to,

Push you,

Into the great,

Unknown; where we’re

Gliding no longer.

Hiding behind,

Pictures of,

Parrots so,

Bright we,

Blend in.

Obscurity,

Fashions a —

Camaflouge.

No passion,

Distracted by,

Parrots squawking.

Beyond that,

We’re talking.

They are dead;

Birds who were,

Mimicking,

What we’re trying,

To forget.

Such as wolves,

Who are hidden,

Beneath a sheep’s

Grating wool;

Knowing first,

The value of,

Wool and —

The silence,

Of peace,

Seeping into,

Weakened bones;

Where we don’t

Have to be sheep,

Are tranquil as

The big bad,

Wolf puffing.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

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Poem: One Day at the U of A (and thoughts).


The swirls of the smoke coloured sky, scintillating and swarming as it deepens to ebony, a black blush of thoughts blanketing my mind. This is the evening time of reliving the ravages of day. 

I went out into the torrid of the thoughtless crowds, university students sighing and harassed by midterm exams. For a moment I held faith with them as I wrote, before remembering I was someone else.

Caught between two spheres, the adult who should be solidifying her career if not for a fatiguing sickness, and the ever determined student delving  deeper into knowledge once she learned the more you know, the more you do not know. 

A paradox indeed, that going to school for what seems like a seamless and unending time, has left me the truth: you know nothing even though you’ve been in school since you were six, you only can perceive that a person cannot know all there is to learn; no wisdom here but the air between your ears.

And I pass the swirl of bodies in modern university garb – ankle boots, and pea coats; skinny jeans and knee boots; sweat pants and running shoes. I do remember those days when I wore what they wear. Now I go out, I dress like an adult, classic, I think; but the staff on campus look at me as if I’m a young student, lights dim, it’s nearly been eight years.

But I found through my minds persuasion of lurid purple thoughts and intriguing segways, that there are many paths to knowledge and many ways to gain it; Pathways of pink and plenty into the working world, could be wonderfully convenient one day if I train myself for jobs with adult education. 

But for now I’ve accepted to attain the unattainable and focus on one course and apply for a masters, when next spring comes about. I figure that an MFA in creative writing cannot make me know nothing if it’s all fictious because I formed the story myself. I know what I know, especially if I made it up.

Clouds of cotton fluff in the air, sunshine soothing on my face, no wrinkles to create I wear serum with SPF. Still Green grass in October with orange fire and red fire leaves. I walk home, hop on a train, the bus. Hurriedly, pull myself beneath the covers. One day down, sleep in the breath of cold air tonight, arise fresh and freezing to winters bitter blow.