“An ‘Elfje’ counts as five sentences.
Line 1 – One word. This word symbolizes a colour or feature. The word symbolizes the atmosphere.
Line 2 – Two words. These are something or someone with this colour or feature.
Line 3 – Three words. Giving more information about the person or the object. You describe where the person or the object is, who the person or what the object is, or what the person or object is doing. This sentence usually starts with the word ‘he’, ‘she’ or ‘it.’
Line 4 – Four words. Here you are writing something about yourself in relation to the person or the object. This sentence is your conclusion.
Line 5 – One word. This word is called the ‘Bomb.’ It is the essence of the poem.”
Today’s NaPoWriMo is to “write a poem that explicitly incorporates alliteration (the use of repeated consonant sounds) and assonance (the use of repeated vowel sounds).” For A to Z Challenge the GoodReads quote is from the letter L. As well, thanks to Pricless Joy for hosting FFftAW.
“The thing about love is that you will never run out of it. It’s an ever-flowing river. So go ahead and LOVE. What are you saving all this love for — death?” ― Kamand Kojouri
The river she flows fluent, flourishing in her mad descent,
Rapids, water reeling past rocks leading her to a path of providence.
Fast, and fleet, a river rivaling; I’ve experienced —
On the weary trail, the river cutting, crushing the rocks.
She carves her path, ploughing silt to the shore,
Debris of dramatic, erosion deciding on the the crooked carved path.
The water, she must flow, finding her fabulous spark in the light of —
Lumionous sunlight, searing in the afternoon heat.
For this river runs through the desert, the orange, organic trails,
Mixed with red-rock, rizing in the Arizona afternoon.
Cliffs creating a canyon so deep and wide, where the water dances through.
No one to stop her destruction of rock, her pounding so hard it hurts,
But the river rivals all, keeps on carving her way —
Through the canyon cringing, when she chops off more silt.
Off its brilliant fire, she finds a place where the —
River rests in waterfalls crashing and carniverous,
Then she wanes as she reaches shore and and lays back breathing,
At ease, she is pleased and settles,
Against the sand of some beach, somewhere; she’s oblivious —
And now for our (optional) prompt. Today, I challenge you to fill out, in no more than five minutes, the following “Almanac Questionnaire,” which solicits concrete details about a specific place (real or imagined). Then write a poem incorporating or based on one or more of your answers. Happy writing!
Warm Spring Day at fifteen degrees,
In our pretty bungalow near the River Valley,
Gerber Daisies on the table, warm colours please,
Resting on a tablecloth, Easter pastels gladly.
The dog lies under the table in my art studio,
I’ve tried to paint her, but she never sits still long.
Driving downtown to immerse myself, with dog go.
Bask in the presence of the farmer’s market’s throngs.
Dog walking beside me, enjoying all her doggy friends.
Conversation with some guy about Hockey playoffs,
Not many Canadian teams made it, no matter in the end.
Many Canadian players, play for American teams, so layoff.
Walking down the street past ancient buildings,
Observing the walls speckled, thoughtless youth wrote graffiti.
Some call it ‘art’ while others would say ‘you’re dreaming.’
Obscenity scrawled haphazardly, done messily.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Asks the aged vendor selling peaches.
I give him a smile, saying: “I’m happy to be single right now.”
Subject change, “Have you seen my new puppy?” Subject now out of reach.
Old guy is comfortable, complains of gas prices and frowns.
Oil prices particularly bad, so I let him know gas prices are low.
He doesn’t understand; when he was young gas cost barely anything.
Ready to move on, I don’t want to be rude; dog barks, “time to go.”
He talks more, the Terwilliger Park Foot Bridge opening this spring.
The new bridge has an amazing minimalist design,
I tell the vendor about biking there with my Dad,
When my brothers and I were younger, biking was fine.
Following closely, didn’t want to get spanked as we had.
Then slipping away I wander to other booths,
Comfortable in leggings and thin white sweater,
The dog wants to run, I can tell; We leave, dog approves.
Down to the river valley on the off leash trails is better.
We have to watch out for the Beavertaur — a mythical animal,
But some say they have seen it on the prowl.
Both beaver and minotaur; a creature quite unimaginable.
For those walking river valley trails, the situation could be foul.
My friend has sworn upon Wayne Gretzky’s statue,
That he barely escaped the Beavertaur with his life.
Made me laugh; today the dog and I are fine, no snafu.
We went on home and we had a nap, long day but no strife.
Gazing out my window, to the brick patio below,
Think we need outdoor furniture, to enjoy in the sun.
Remembering family friend, left life’s flow.
Gone for five-years already, in heaven’s quiet hum.
She babysat me when I was small, thirteen years my senior,
There sits the statue of a dog. I remember a certain dog. She had the qualities of queenleness, loyalty, and love. She was the bringer of fun to a childhood of bike rides down the off leash paths and long walks in the river valley.
She ran for miles with my Dad. My Mom said it would not surprise her if that is how the dog died, running her heart out. My Dad had a t-shirt that read: My running partner has four legs. The dog didn’t leave this world running; I don’t think anybody does.
To me the dog was a snuggle buddy at whatever time she wished. She would jump up on the couch and put her right paw on me and lean into me until a soft furry tummy was revealed. She’d push her nose into my hand and when I put my head down she’d strike with kisses.
But our best friends, leave us at a time not of their choice. They are inflicted with sickness, sometimes, ill health that a vet cannot even diagnose. I woke fifteen minutes too late to say goodbye to her. I petted her anyways, she had this beautiful soft fawn coat.
And I stroked her back and her little ears as she lay on the counter in the back of the vet. She was to be cremated. The blanket she was covered with was truly the veil of death, taking her away. My Dad and I tried not to cry as we both went out to the car. But tears escaped us as we drove home.
No dog is exactly the same, but they are each unique. Their time in years is short, but they are never forgotten. I place my hand on the statue and memories flood my mind. This statue is not of her, but to me, in my heart, it’s Nikki.