Before we begin, Marie and I would like to wish every mother out there a very
Happy Mother’s Day!
All you incredible women who are both life giving and nurturing, make everything possible. Your dedication to your families is unwavering and much appreciated.
I offer an extra nod to Marie , just because I can. My mom will have been gone for 27 years this Christmas and I know how hard she struggled to give us a good life. You all do such a hard job without so much as a thank you. So, let me say, “Thank you, Mom” to each Mother today.
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”
The Bard had it right. What is in a name? You’re about to find out.
In the process of writing this poem, you are asked to go to
Place your full name in the search box. Then use ONLY the resulting words or phrases found in the letters of your name in constructing your poem.
This technique was used for the NaPoWriMo 2013 Day 24 prompt.
You will find that what’s in a name makes for some interesting poetry!
MARIE ELENA’S MISSING NAME:
Drat! Mine went missing somehow, and so I just now quickly wrote a different one. Try writing with no “S,” no “T,” and no “H!” Yikes! I must also write a disclaimer: I mean no disrespect to our fine gentleman poet, Earl Parsons. Just couldn’t resist writing of old Meanie Earl. 😉
Walt, thank you so very much for the kind thoughts. I know you, my Keith, and so many others miss your moms terribly. I could not be more thankful for mine.
Ode to Meanie EarlMeanie Earl made me “oar” More and more and more and more! Meanie Earl, I do agree I am, I am a leaner me!
© Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013
Oh – and that “leaner me” bit? Don’t believe it for a second. Sheer poetic fantasy! 😉
WALT’S SELF-NAMED NUMBER:
THIS JOINT TAKEN TO TASK
John Joseph was seen near the twin towers
when last he spoke to the waiter.
Ratlike he walks; there is her ink
on his inept heart. The town’s newest thespian
was shaken; the weakest titan worn,
they let these jerks rejoin the war.
What’s a joker to think?
No network wrote their tales,
Joseph the janitor takes a slow sweep
and the rest join in his trek to the top.
He wasn’t the one to stop, shake, joke or jest.
This poet knelt in pain,
he was written to his knees.
There were no pleas spoken.
© Copyright Walter Joseph Wojtanik – 2013