Fruity Little Poem: Ode to a Key Lime” | A-to-Z NaPoWriMo

Hello, dear readers! I hope, despite the bad rap it tends to get, that your Monday was pleasant. Mine was–I got to spend time shopping with my dad, followed by a book-talk-sushi-date with Jeremiah, topped off with this:

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt took me far down memory lane–back to high school, to be specific. Upon reading the prompt, I realized I’d already written a poem that matched it perfectly, from a similar assignment in Senior AP English. While I searched for the poem in the archives of my computer, I found many, many pieces of writing, including fiction, poetry, a screenplay, critical essays, memoir-style essays, and more. I even found chapters from the original version of the YA fantasy novel I’m currently working on. (Thank goodness I restarted it anew…) I was shocked to see how much I’d written, not just as a student, but also in my free time, and it’s amazing to me how long it took me to decide to be a professional writer. 😉 I was also grateful to discover the acquisition of my degrees in English and Writing & Publishing was time and money well-spent, considering my vast improvement–though I still catch vestiges of sentimental romanticism creeping into corners of my work from time to time.

Embed from Getty Images

NO! Bad sentimentalism!

Luckily, I found this poem wasn’t sappy–but rather tart. 😉

Today’s prompt is to write a love poem . . . but the object of the poem should be inanimate. You can write a love poem to your favorite pen, the teddy bear you had as a child (and maybe still have), or anything else, so long as it’s not alive!

Ode to a Key Lime
By: Amanda K. Fowler

Bright green:
A color usually associated with jealousy.
But you, little one,
Are more envied than envying.

Exotic in origin;
Nothing commonplace about you.
Divorce yourself from your family,
Take your own name and the equatorial beach house.

Beautiful, perfect fruit;
Bewitch your victims into biting your bitter flesh.
Intoxicating, electrifying;
They can’t stop drinking till your body is drained.

Prima donna of flora,
Grace us with your presence!
We eagerly await your renaissance all year,
Only to have to part after so few months.

Pies, juices, garnishes;
Tart though you may be,
We find a way to glorify you;
For you deserve the honor of kings.

Embed from Getty Images

“Charm for Happiness,” “Dancing,” & “Eternity”: Poems for A-to-Z NaPoWriMo

Hello, dear readers! I hope you’ve had a wonderful weekend! It seems spring is coming here in fits and starts, which is making for some pretty weather–and lovely poetry inspiration. 🙂 This weekend, I got to visit Jeremiah’s farm; take a long walk with my mom; and play ukulele music (my newest instrument to learn!) to celebrate a birthday party against the backdrop of springtime drizzle and fog. These picturesque experiences have inspired my poetry for tonight.

Today’s post is catching up on letters C, D, and E for the A-to-Z Challenge, and the corresponding NaPoWriMo poems (the prompts, for which, I will post directly above the poem, along with the inspiration).

In keeping with today’s status as the third day of NaPoWriMo, I challenge you to write a charm – a simple rhyming poem, in the style of a recipe-slash-nursery rhyme.

When I read this prompt, I wondered what kind of charm I would come up with, if I had the power for it (beyond just my pen 😉 ). I immediately thought of the conversations I’ve been having with multiple people lately on the elusiveness–and importance–of happiness. I know there are a few things that are guaranteed to perk up my mood, and they’ve gone into my charm below. Feel free to borrow the spell for your own use–it just might work. 😉

Charm for Happiness
By: Amanda K. Fowler

An ocean’s tide lapping your toes,
The scent of wildflowers tickling your nose,
A cuddle or snuggle with fur or skin,
Messy epiphanies with your favorite pen,
The warmth of the sun bathing your face,
The kindness of strangers–a show of grace,
A few bars of song played with fingers or voice,
All of these things to make you rejoice.

Write a lune. A lune is a sort of English-language variation on the haiku, meant to better render the tone of the Japanese haiku than the standard 5-7-5 format we all learned (and maybe loved) in elementary school. There are a couple of variants on the lune form, but just to keep things simple, let’s try the version developed by Jack Collum. His version of the lune involves a three-line stanza. The first line has three words. The second line has five, and the third line has three. You can write a poem that consists of just one stanza, or link many lune-stanzas together into a unified poem. 

The nighttime fog last week was so gorgeous, I just had to turn it into a poem. 🙂

By: Amanda K. Fowler

Still, dense, heavy,
Fog drapes like a blanket
Covering the night.

It hushes, hides–
But under the gleaming streetlights,
It is dancing.

Embed from Getty Images

The night sky is always so beautiful and vast out in the country. It’s truly awe-inspiring, and I realized–there is power in perspective. No prompt for this one; just my own idea.

By: Amanda K. Fowler

A million stars dot the sky,
twinkling, shimmering,
ruling over their planets
and the life they hold.
I am just one pair of eyes
staring at the infinite,
but–I can cover ten stars
with just my thumb.

Embed from Getty Images

Two Challenges, Day Two: “April First” and “Brynhildr’s Passion” (A-to-Z & NaPoWriMo Day 1 & 2)

Hello, dear readers! Well, April is off to a busy start for me. I’ve decided to do my best with the challenges–even if the posts will be short, I’d like to attempt them. They broaden my creativity, and I would like to use them as warm-ups for the bigger writing projects I’m focusing on. I mentioned the specifics of the challenges in my last post, but I will define them here, for future reference:

A-to-Z Challenge: Every day in April (except Sundays), write a blog entry based on a topic beginning with consecutive letters (i.e., April 1 = A, etc.). The origins of the challenge are explained here.

NaPoWriMo Challenge: Every day in April, write a new poem from your own imagination of from the daily prompt here.

Without further ado, I present to you days one and two, below.

Day 1–A:

April First’s Verse Curse
By: Amanda Fowler

April Fools…
…I broke the rules.

Perhaps it’s best
I started late–
for all is jest
on this date.

Day 2–B:

Prompt: Write a poem based on a non-Greco-Roman myth. You could write a poem inspired by Norse mythology, or perhaps by one of these creatures from Japanese legend.

I consulted my resident Norse mythology expert, Jeremiah, for this prompt; he recommended Brynhildr.

Brunnhild by Gaston Bussière
Image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons
Public domain under {{PD-1923}}

Brynhildr’s Passion

By: Amanda Fowler

The fire encircling your castle
is a ring of hate around your heart.
It will engulf you whole–
but your love could extinguish it all
if only you let it.

Rays of Love: An Illuminating Pantun

Hi everyone! I bet you didn’t think I’d be posting again so soon, but I couldn’t stay away. ❤ However, this will probably be my last post for about a week, so I can focus on my memoir project, but I should be able to post intermittently after that time. Remember, if you’d like to attend my memoir preview luncheon on May 9th, please refer to the details by clicking on the calendar entry on the right.

I was such a fan of the pantun form I used yesterday that I wanted to post another today. You can see the prompt and explanation of the form in my most recent post, but a quick review: It’s a quatrain, with an a-b-a-b rhyme pattern. The second couplet relates to the first in an imagistic way. They often link nature and love.

“Rays of Love”
By: Amanda K. Fowler

Sunlight streams through wispy puffs of cloud:
Spotlights illuminating through darkness.
When doubt or sadness have been my shroud,
Your love’s a rope to the sun out of the abyss.

A Self-Portrait in Anagrams

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was QUITE the doozy, but it was so creative and fun.

Today I’d like you to think about words buried in words. In particular, think about the words buried in your own name. Plug your name into an anagram generator, like this one, and try writing a self-portrait poem using words that are generated.

Merriam-Webster defines anagrams as “a word or phrase made by transposing the letters of another word or phrase.” I actually took this literally and only used whole phrases that used each letter of my first and last name. Most of the phrases were nonsense, as you can imagine, but some painted interesting images. I also learned several new words in this process, which I’ll provide hyperlinks to (click on unfamiliar words in the poem and it will take you to a definition; it may not always be the first meaning, but there should be a clear choice of which makes most sense). I realized, with the collection of phrases I’d picked out, once I rearranged the lines, they almost told the story of my traumatic brain injury. In case you’re new to the blog, I will summarize: I was a passenger in a severe car accident and received a traumatic brain injury, which redirected and changed my life. I’ve felt blessed and guided to help others ever since, and the strength, courage, hope, and love I learned throughout the process have forever shaped me. The self-portrait poem below illustrates that journey from feeling lost in the beginning to blossoming at the end, to the best of my ability by using the exact phrases generated. I think I will tweak it in the future to read a little more easily, and I will provide a “translation” at the bottom. I have already used a strike-through in two cases of “oar” underneath, changing it to “or”–I figured this was allowable, since the two sound the same and are already almost spelled the same. 😉


Amanda Fowler: A Portrait in Anagrams
By: Amanda K. Fowler

A flared woman—
a modal fawner
fawned a moral.
Aroma-led fawn
fawn roamed lea.
RAM! Waned foal;
a dawn or flame?
Lamed fawn, oar
flawed man—oar–
loam-drawn fae.
Dawn: foal–>mare.
Damn fear alow!
Dare of law, man,
and formal awe—
and–am flower.


Thanks for bearing with me through that! Hopefully it made some semblance of sense. Just in case, I will provide an approximate line-by-line “translation” below:

A woman with strong emotion–
a fan of grammar and rules
showed affection to a moral idea.
A child led by atmosphere–
the child wandered.
RAM! [The car accident] diminished the child;
was it a beginning or an end?
Disabled child, or
flawed person–no–
a metaphysical person of peace, reshaped by earth.
Decidedly, it’s a beginning, a dawn: child to woman.
Banish fear below!
Dare rules, people,
and disbelief with courage–
and, I am a flower–I have blossomed.

A Triolet in Raindrops

Another rainy day today–I think we must be in store for some fabulous May flowers! My apologies for the short post again tonight–it’s been a busy day for writing!

With Earth Day and the weather today, I knew nature would again be my inspiration for my NaPoWriMo poem.

Today’s prompt was another fun rhythm challenge:

Today, let’s try writing triolets. A triolet is an eight-line poem. All the lines are in iambic tetramenter (for a total of eight syllables per line), and the first, fourth, and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines. This means that the poem begins and ends with the same couplet. Beyond this, there is a tight rhyme scheme (helped along by the repetition of lines) — ABaAabAB.

I’d heard of iambic tetrameter, but I’d never tried it. It is a close cousin of my favorite iambic pentameter, with only two less syllables per line. I was shocked by how much I liked it; I think my favorite may have some new (or ancient, as it were) competition! The rhythm is so much more song-like than iambic pentameter, and this was helped along even more by the triolet repetition of the 1st, 4th, and 7th lines–which, again, I’d never tried. The rhyming, too, lent a melodic quality to it. I’ve worked with repetition before, as with the pantoum–an example of which I will likely share later this month–I would argue that it was the most difficult style I have ever attempted.  It has a similar idea of interlacing with repetition, but the triolet’s repetition is shorter, and the whole poem is only eight lines, which gives more pressure to say something profound in a concise manner, but less anxiety about droning on with a story. Somehow, with the triolet, I had more of an instinct to capture a moment than a story, the latter of which I felt compelled to do in a pantoum–or rather, impelled, as I was immediately inspired to write about my mother’s quilting when I noticed the weaving pattern of the form. When I study a form of poetry, it often sparks a related idea for the subject, much as a smell can recall a memory. It is almost a physical feeling–the writing process feels like a muscle memory of an image or a story to me. That is how I came to think of tonight’s poem. It has a trickling, soft, graceful effect in the way the rhythm sounds; almost like a delicate dance. In the hustle and bustle today at work, I was momentarily stunned when I walked outside and was greeted by drizzle.

By: Amanda K. Fowler

The raindrops mist upon my face;
Light as they are, they give me pause.
I’d rushed outside, but ‘tis the case,
The raindrops mist upon my face.
They fill my soul with sudden grace;
I’ve near forgot my journey’s cause.
The raindrops’ mist upon my face—
Light as they were, they gave me pause.


A parting tip: when I work with such strict rhyming forms as this, or a sonnet, for example, I find it helpful to lay out a template for myself on my page/screen, line by line. It seems simple, but it works for me. This is what it looks like:


Forces of Nature: Earth Day and Pastoral Poems

Happy Earth Day, children of Gaia! Just kidding, I’ll try not to make this too weird. Sure, I’m obsessed with nature, but in a completely self-aware way, with a sister who will tell me when I’m wearing one, or five, too many flowers at a time. I did my part today by wearing earthy colors and shoes with big flowers on them. Yes, I can’t resist celebrating holidays, even Earth Day!

Speaking of nature, we’ve been having some crazy weather in the Midwest. Last week, we had 70° F one day, torrential downpour and epic flooding the next day, and snow the following day! I think our weather makes us hearty. 😉

We are still dealing with the effects of the flood. I was visiting Jeremiah’s farm when it hit, and luckily, the house and animals are OK, but the surrounding fields and forested area had quite the challenge.

No one in the area, or back home, had ever seen flooding so bad before. I guess, if I were to think of it as an author (which  I always do)…maybe the rain was washing away the tragedies from earlier this week (the bombing in Boston and the explosion in West, Texas) and refreshing the earth, the people…The plants certainly got a drink, and I saw flowers blossoming today around the campus at Marianjoy.

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was in keeping with the theme:

In honor of the occasion, I challenge you to write a poem in keeping with Earth Day — it could be a reflection on what’s growing in your garden, a modern pastoral, or a Marianne-Moore-style poem about an animal. Anything to do with the natural world is fair game.

Because I am so inspired by nature, I was happy to see this prompt. In fact, I have presented and published a few of my favorite nature poems. I was selected to read these poems by the English Graduate Student Association at their second and third annual conferences, while I was a graduate student, myself, there. This, along with my selection for Radio DePaul, was one of my most rewarding experiences at DePaul. The conference was a celebration of select students’ work, organized by category, and we read our work aloud to our fellow students, faculty, family members, guests, etc. After the conference, a selected number of presentations were chosen to publish in the conferences’ proceedings. For tonight’s poem, I will point you to one that I wrote about my relationship with nature, which was pubilshed in the 2011 DePaul EGSA Proceedings. It is in blank verse, and I wrote this while I was at Jeremiah’s farm one summer night (pre-flooding–if I were to write it right now, it would have a decidedly soggier note to it). That’s one of my favorite things about going out there–it’s like a different world, where the only sounds you can hear are alive, where the air feels fresh…well, you can read the rest in the poem. 🙂

Please click here to read “Country Nocturne” on page 159 (you can “search” the title and it will take you there).

Enjoy the last few moments of Earth Day! You might consider hugging a tree, planting a flower…or just shutting off a light a few minutes early. 🙂

Meeting You: Poems of Greeting; Love Heals Grief

Reblogged on 6-24–made some edits on one of my most popular posts ever.
This post has been edited to include a text version of the poem below, since some readers told me the .jpg was hard to read. To view the intentional line endings, please do refer to the image version, which you can click on to expand.
I also realized I was remiss in not including a picture of my other baby referred to in the poem, Chad–so he now joins Oreo in the photos below. : o3

Sorry if you were counting on a post yesterday for NaPoWriMo– I had an early morning meeting yesterday, and by the time I sat down to write my post last night, I was drifting off! I figured I’d be better off just posting today, especially because I wanted to do this topic justice.

Yesterday’s NaPoWriMo prompt was this:

Early on in the month, I asked you to write a valediction — a poem of farewell. Today, let’s try the opposite, and write poems of greeting.

What a cute potential! Poems of farewell make me think of deaths, in general, even though my poem wasn’t exactly a literal death–but needless to say, unless they are satirical, they are usually sad and mournful. In case you missed it, you can see my blog post about poems of farewell and thoughts about writing about grief here. So conversely, a greeting poem makes me think of birth and happiness.

…and that made me think about when we met our son, Oreo. I call him my “son” because I don’t think “pet” adequately describes the relationship. Jennifer and I were in our twenties when we got our first “pet” (besides fish), Chad, and I think we skipped that whole childhood stage of knowing what it’s like to have a pet right to the adult stage of what it’s like to have a child.

I wanted to write this poem about the happiest moment of my life: when we met Oreo. Falling in love with Chad was a more gradual process, though no less happy–but it was too gradual to be described as a “moment.” My thoughts about it naturally took the form of telling the story to Oreo directly, almost like a letter. The thoughts flowed strongly and were large and sweeping, directing me to put this into a prose poem format.

You couldn’t see this with my last prose poem posting, because it was recorded from the radio, but the form is a blend of standard narrative and poetry. There are a few differences between straight-up narrative and prose poetry, though, especially in the sentence structures and vocabulary. Keeping a natural voice is not as important as creating images and feelings, for one. Also, my poetry teacher taught us, to our chagrin, that it is important to end each line with a strong, deliberate word, just like other poetic styles, but that because it is prose poetry, you should aim for a block-like shape. This combination of requirements is quite difficult, and you find yourself playing with rhythms and lengths of words just as much as other poetic styles.

I am posting this poem as an image, so that no matter what size of screen you are viewing this on, you can see the shape of the poem and the line endings as I meant them to be. (You can click on the image for a more clear display.) I did try to keep it in a block shape, but the three words that stick out farthest (and the inner-most one at the end) are meant to be the most significant.

To view the poem as text, scroll past the image. The line endings won’t be intentional, but I’ve heard it’s easier to read (not as bright).

"Meeting You" Prose Poem of Greeting

“Meeting You”
Prose Poem of Greeting

Meeting You
By: Amanda K. Fowler

When people ask me what my happiest memory is, I tell them about you. But the story doesn’t start with you, or maybe it’s that your story began before I met you. I think the happiest times in our lives are the upswings from sadness; the cups of our hearts can fill with the most bliss once they have been emptied. My cup was a leaden void, a great black hole encompassed by despair, starting in August 2011 when our first baby died. I knew I would never heal, would never be happy again. I felt my grief was proof Chad had ever existed, that he still existed, somewhere. The grief became my happiness, my new mission, until September 19th. From somewhere unknown, I felt a guiding push—I called every single Petco within 50 miles to ask if they had any guinea pigs who loved to cuddle. It was crazy, and I could hear as much in the receptionists’ voices as they told me there was no way to know, but that guinea pigs were animals with soft coats. “No,” I said, “no.” I mean, yes, of course they were soft. But I wasn’t looking for an animal or a texture. I was trying to find my son, a baby boy, and then I realized that push was Chad; his paw was guiding us from Heaven to find you. I said “thank you” and hung up, because how could I explain any of that? Finally, one of the stores put me on hold, maybe to look up a number to tell me to get help, I thought, but actually their guinea pig expert wanted to talk to me. “There is one who loves to cuddle more than anything,” he said. “He’s the biggest, because he’s been here awhile, but he’s really sweet.” Our baby had been waiting for us to find him. And though we hadn’t really discussed bringing another life into our home, hadn’t decided if or when, we all knew it now, and we inhaled our dinners and sped off to meet you. The car ride felt like forever, and Jennifer didn’t even wait for the car to stop before running out of it, didn’t even close the car door, was halfway across the parking lot before the car was parked. My hands shook with excitement as I asked the front desk for the “guinea pig expert,” and he smiled when he saw us and put his hands gently inside the glass tank where you had been standing, uncomfortable with your size versus the others’, and you felt us watching you and tried to hide, suddenly shy, but eventually decided you were ready. Then they put you on my lap and you walked across the plane of my denim skirt, tentative at first, and we were shocked you didn’t look like Chad, shocked at your crest, which was white and sprung out from your grey crown in a heart. But you weren’t Chad, weren’t meant to be, and I cried in relief, because the guilt I didn’t know I’d had was melting away with every step your feet pattered on my legs, and it was nearly gone by the time you curled yourself into a soft loaf shape in my arms, nuzzling your face into the crook of my elbow. For the first time, I realized my grief wasn’t keeping Chad’s memory alive, it was our love, our love that he wanted us to feel again, with you. Jennifer was already paying for you before I realized you were ours; you were sent to heal us, to love us, and to show me how wrong I’d been—because not only would I be happy again, but I already was. The cup of my heart was full of love for both of my babies: Chad and Oreo.

Baby Oreo, 4 months old, 2 days after we brought him home.

Baby Oreo, 4 months old, 2 days after we brought him home. ❤

One of my favorite pictures of Chad. It captures his mischievous side. <3

One of my favorite pictures of Chad. It captures his mischievous side. ❤

Lost in Translation: Poems from Faraway Lands

As our nation began to pick up the pieces after yesterday’s bombing in Boston, even more stories of heroism emerged from the rubble. I think it’s wonderful how social media has been used for good to promote these heroes as well as to spread the word about how to find missing people/how to help–just look how many times that link alone has been shared (12.2k at the time of this post!). On a personal note,  I want to thank you for your warm reception to last night’s blog post, “Phoenix in Boston–A Tribute.” I am proud to say that poem was emailed to our whole company today by our spiritual director, and I was thanked all day for it. I’ve also been asked to read it as the reflection for our inter-departmental meeting tomorrow. It was one of those blown-away moments for a writer. Sometimes, when I write poetry during an emotional state, it’s hard for me to tell if it’s good or not. Hearing that my poetry has touched not just one person, but many, means so much to me. Thank you so much, dear readers, for your continued support. ❤

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt took me even farther away than Boston–it took me to Poland! The prompt:

Write a “translation” of a poem in a language you don’t actually know. Go to the Poetry International Language List, pick a language, and then follow it to a poet and a poem. Generally the Poetry International website will present a poem in its original language on the left, and any translation on the right. Cut and paste the original into the text-editing program of your choice (and try not to peek too much at the translation). Now, use the sound and shape of the words and lines to guide you, without worrying too much about whether your translation makes sense.

I do enjoy reading translated poems from other languages, and it amazes me how many ideals are shared across different cultures. I suspect something is often lost in translation, though, because the sound of words has a meaning to it almost as special as the real definition. I think that very point was the aim of this exercise. To be honest, the result turned out even wackier than I thought it would! I thought I would try my hand at a Polish poem, since that does comprise the majority of my nationality. For some reason, I thought that the language would be natural to me, since my ancestors all spoke it–even my parents do. I’m not sure I could have been more wrong! I chose a nature poem by Piotr Sommer, since, if you couldn’t tell by now, I am drawn to nature in my writing, and since the poet’s first name is the same as my mother’s father. 🙂 In “translating,” I tried to go by “homographs,” that is, words that look the same, comparing Polish. Sometimes, when nothing looked alike, I’d read the words aloud and try to go by homophones (words that sound the same but have different meanings). The result was pretty much a jumble. I am posting the original and my homograph/homophone “translation,” and tomorrow, I will try to post a re-imagining of my “translation” that might make a little more sense.

The original:


O, dni! Te były najbardziej nieuległe,
z początku płynne, później rozedrgane,
nijak nie były w stanie dojrzeć, dojść do siebie,
nawet w nocy.Kontynenty jak gdyby nigdy nic
przesuwały się pod powiekami
jak pyłki w słońcu.I tylko nie wiadomo było, co dni wiąże,
ponieważ ptaki
bez przerwy poruszały się w powietrzu, liście
przenikał wiatr, a oddech był za słaby.

© 2009, Piotr Sommer
From: Dni i noce
Publisher: Biuro Literackie, Wrocław, 2009


My “translation”:


Oh, God! The blithely bard siege new eagle,
and poaching plinth, posing rose garden,
near jack near blithely with standing door jamb, doze do sleepy,
night with knocking.

Contently jack goodbye niggardly nice
presumably see pod balcony
jack piling with slouching.

I talk near wide billow, co-God wise,
pony was talking
bees priory porously see with poor white ruse, listen
prenatal water, an odd ditch bills a slab.


Real translation:


O days! those were the most unyielding,
fluid at first, then quivering
there was no way for them to ripen, come to themselves
even at night.

Continents as if nothing ever happened
shifting beneath the eyelids
like dust in sunlight.

And it wasn’t clear what links the days
because the birds
were moving always in the air, the wind
permeated the leaves, and the breath was too weak.

© Translation: 2009, Christian Hawkey and William Martin


I will dream about this poem, especially since the logic of it does seem rather Lewis Carroll-esque, no? Hopefully, I can find the way out of the rabbit hole of this poem and find something a little less ridiculous–maybe even without the help of a Cheshire Cat. 😉

Phoenix in Boston: A Tribute

It’s been a somber day for America today. In case you hadn’t heard, two bombs exploded (and two more were found that didn’t go off) during the Boston Marathon today, killing three people and injuring 140. For a good recent account of the event, click here. We were all in shock today at Marianjoy, following the story, watching the gruesome videos…it was so tragic. I was also shaken because I was just there a month ago, on that very street, in those very spots, taking a silly picture outside of a grilled cheese truck (the one I just posted a few days ago). I’m not trying to compare myself to any victims, because I can’t even imagine what those poor people and their families are going through right now. It’s just frightening how narrowly you can escape disaster and then feel awful for the people who couldn’t.

But I saw a news article today that reminds us of the good in humanity. The pure kindness in these simple acts took my breath away–just look at the pictures of people bringing drinks to the injured, the stories of comforting–so beautiful. This is why I continue to have faith in humanity. No matter what evil people will try to do to poison the good in others, it has the opposite effect: strangers band together to help each other. Good rises from the damage of the evil, and good will always win.

My heart was too heavy today to follow the NaPoWriMo prompt, but the pantoun format definitely intrigues me, and I think I will use it later this month.
Today, I wanted to write about the Boston tragedy, as a tribute to those who fell and the heroes who stepped up to help.

Phoenix in Boston
By: Amanda K. Fowler

237 years ago
amidst gunfire and parchment,
our country was born.
Today, in one of those revolutionary cities,
amidst explosions and pain,
our country was wounded
but did not die.
From outstretched hands
to the fallen,
Boston will rise again.

It is the kindness of strangers
made family by tragedy,
the bravery of our officers and bystanders
running into danger
to help the wounded—
these are the strengths,
the invisible glue
that holds our people together.
Out of the ashes of destruction,
a phoenix will rise in Boston,
and it will be beautiful again.








If you’d like to lend aid to the victims, here is info on how you can help, besides prayers, of course. My thoughts and prayers are with all the victims and their loved ones, and God bless the heroes who have risen to help.