Image by Bethany Rohde

NaPoWriMo Day 23

Haiku by Bethany Rohde Recuperating: Your hand finally finds mine –in the tissue box. ******* A writer from the great state of Washington, Bethany Rohde received her BA in English Studies from Western Washington University. You can read her poetry at and on her blog,

Image by Andreas Krappweis via

NaPoWriMo Day 20

You think I am a bird of fate, foretelling from my tree, but I’m but a lookout for death, hoping you will walk away and never see this crow that views the end in your nearing breath. [My attempt at a landay, per the Day 19 prompt at]


NaPoWriMo Day 17

A Bad Sonnet on Terrible First Drafts By Holly Ordway These words – they won’t amount to anything. Blather, rambling, a bloviating waste Of everybody’s time. What made me think This was a good idea? It surely wasn’t. It really was a bad idea. The worst. Remember how you always hate your draft – Every…

Image by Becka Choat

NaPoWriMo Day 16

How Calming By Becka Choat How calming, the woods: sun-spangled shade, tangled roots, unexhausted earth. [A found poem from Chaim Potok’s Old Men at Midnight.] ***** Becka Choat is a lifelong lover of words who spends many hours each week in a room of her own, writing or reading and drinking coffee. Her book reviews can…

Image by Bethany Rohde

NaPoWriMo Day 15

Journal By Bethany Rohde It was a gift from my husband when I started to write: My only journal of peacock blue, with gilded scrolling and antique clasps. It sits on my white-washed shelf in danger– not of being filled with unworthy ramblings, but of remaining untouched till it’s handed down. ******* A writer from…


NaPoWriMo Day 14

A SONG FOR TIRED WRITERS By Holly Ordway Sing, Muse, of tired writers: of mothers reading to fretful children who need a story more than sleep or food. Sing of weary poets, done with grading, seeing too many things to do tomorrow; but grateful for words anyway. ***** Holly is a poet, teacher, and apologist…

Image by ProjectManhattan via Wikimedia Commons

NaPoWriMo Day 11

Play on Words By Holly Ordway Beside my bed – when I was four or five – There stood a white magnetic board, with letters, Brightly colored, that I could touch and move In any pattern that I liked – a language Of shapes before I knew the words, arrayed Across the first blank page…