NaPoWriMo – Day 2

Each day for the month of April, the Cedar Bark Poets are writing a poem a day in celebration of NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing month. Poems are posted here daily. Let Katheren know if you would like to participate!

Day 2 prompt-

And now, our daily (optional) prompt. Today, I challenge you to write a poem that takes the form of a family portrait. You could write, for example, a stanza for each member of your family. You could also find an actual snapshot of your family and write a poem about it, spending a little bit of time on each person in the picture. You don’t need to observe any particular form or meter. Happy writing!

Paskall Family Portrait:

High school love from the start
Connecting together a Ross and Paskall heart Young couple married at nineteen A summer wedding, the hottest ever seen

My Dad Al was the head of the household
Strong, indépendant, loving, and bold
Worked hard as a longshoreman at the docks Yet when he came home it was time to rock

Three children would create our family
Stacey and Cailean and of course me
I was the oldest, then Stacey and Cailean last Our childhood seemed to happen so fast

My siblings and I always got along great Creating up adventures with our friends on playdates The yard was shared with neighbours next door They were our family that we just did adore

Last but not least would be my Mom
She was the heart who taught us where love came from Mom always kept our family close together And how to treasure each other forever

Now of course our family tree isn’t that small Aunts, Uncles, cousins and grandparents, best of them all We see each other change from season to season Just to get together, whatever the reason

My small family is just a small branch on the tree All the small branches connect so you see Just how strong and rooted we really are We are family that sticks together whether near or far.

Jonah’s Poem:

Grandmas and Grandpas reside at the top

Treats and money would fall and never stop Mom and Dad were next you see Always living life as a hippie Then comes my big brother Brett Felt like the one and only, until he met us “the set”

Heckle and Jekyll is my twin and I

Always playing double trouble pranks in the blink of an eye Three boys, my parents had their hands full Living on the island, it was never really dull Our family bonded with the passion for old cars My love for my family and old cars, are just the beginning of my memoirs.

Boxed Memories, Glassed time


Snapshots …

Huddled together, smiles contrived
Quickly taken before someone leave, with others newly arrived

the images do not match the people, the interest stint the memories do more to fill in the details of the image then the print

forgotten things you remember
of past events January though December

but looking back years
new respect for the past nears

Photos you didn’t want to be in
now draw you in akin

old off tone, fade, torn
in frames and photo albums well travel and worn

Old family pictures of times past
reminders of distant memories in your mind firmly cast

Siblings, crazy Uncles and parents across backgrounds far and wide stand there wondering if the photos been taken yet, fearful to move for fear of being chide.

In the bottom of the box, old frames
where the stack of more formal family portraits remains

a summing up of the year of growing it contains changes all dressed up, behind frames of glassed panes

the years of history, from walls and mantels and a nook all the framed portraits that they took again unboxed awakening the memories they shook as back into the past through frames glassed I look.

On a portrait brown moulding framed, my eyes trained a moment in history onto the paper stained

A moment of transition, passing of tradition two generations within its corners stand, one born here the other from a distant land wide eyes filled with ideas grand, and a future planned

Before of a farm field they stand, in background a pitchfork and a haystack, barb-wire bands ancestry flows through the hour glass, of a family tree like sand passing on connections and history of a moment, well dressed with farmers tan hanging on a wall decades ago, a pine planked wall, of a nail hammered in by a Great grandpa’s hand carefully suspended on a strings white woven strand I can still see in my mind the wall on which it did stand, in the memories of an old family farm house from which childhood memories fanned

This portrait is as much about the frames history, it’s travels though our families hands, as the moment in which it stands, our history and all our shared connections like gold nuggets panned

passed on to me for safe keeping, until to another generation I can hand

– W.B.

We Find Ourselves

1st son whom I love dear
Lived through 18 foster homes
He struggles hard,to this day
To make his world safe to roam

2nd child also a boy
Understands what he can
Works so hard to live a life of joy
I admire this young man

3rd child, oh Joy, a girl
Full of creative talent
She is beautifully coming to terms
Finding her lifes balance

Last we have my youngest son
Smiling since his days begun
He is honest,funny and a poet
He loves deep,likes to show it

I am the disabled mom
Could not lift,carry or run
I lost my children to the system
But joyfully we are all together NOW
May all eyes,in happiness, glisten


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