Day Twenty-Six on APRIL 26, 2024
Happy final Friday of Na/GloPoWriMo, everyone!
Our featured participant for the day is Words With Ruth, where we get a dating profile in response
to Day 25’s Proust Questionnaire prompt.
Our daily resource is the video archive of the Silo City Reading Series, hosted by the
Just Buffalo Literary Center in Buffalo, New York.
And now for our (optional) prompt. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Alliteration is the repetition of a particular
consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words. Consonance is the repetition of consonant
sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds. Traci Brimhall’s
poem “A Group of Moths” provides a great example of these poetic devices at work, with each line
playing with different sounds that seem to move the poem along on a sonorous wave.
Your poem doesn’t have to be as complex as all that, though. Just pick a consonant or two and a vowel
and dive right into the wonderful world (hey, there’s some alliteration/consonance/assonance right there)
of sound.
Happy writing!
So This Is Corozal
On the unpaved road by the cemetery
I pass through in a slow gallop—
the telephone lines do not get this far;
neither does the tarmac.
The pull cart and donkey make
a billow of gold dust and
far, far ahead of me, I hear it
—a discordant parliament of crows.
Under tree shades of the last of the
houses sit owlish old ladies,
with curtain-sized needlework
for their little windows.
At their feet, the chickens cluck
and peck at the dulled flattened earth.
Each lady looks up, wipes her glasses
on her apron, and waves gaily.
So this is Corozal on a
late Sunday afternoon in May.
Everyone still siestas here—well,
almost everyone. The cemetery
is far from the seafront scramble;
here, the quietly quelled part of town.
Even birds respect the somnolence,
well, all but the cocksure crows.
I relax my grip on the whip to
squeeze the dullness from the air,
and soon my nostrils surrender to
the scent of Flor de Mayo.
Behind a belt of tall trees comes a
breeze with a dilemma of spring scents,
but too soon a pickup truck zooms past,
shifting the pleasant scents with diesel.
I save my hat from flying off and think
of the little gay ladies’ spryness.
Did the truck that flew out of nowhere
toss more cobwebs or cataracts in their eyes?
It’s no fault of theirs that they think of
siestas as fusty—that they’d rather
sit in the shade to watch the cemetery
road, waiting for someone to wave to.
© selma
…Thanks
for being here as I worked on these first drafts this month.
It’s been amazing!! Thanks, Maureen.
Happy last days of NaPoWriMo 2024.
God willing, I’ll see you all here again next year.
- Share The Wealth: Joy is Our Natural State - May 6, 2024
- NPM Scavenger Hunt – Poems from Around the World - April 30, 2024
- Day 30: NaPoWriMo 2024–Mary Magdalene At The Doctor’s - April 30, 2024
I can picture it — and feel the dry heat. It’s a wonderful piece, Selma. Thank you for taking me to Corozal.
Wow! Such a vivid scenario painted with your words Selma.
This is one of my favorites of yours.❤️
Serious? Aww… Thanks so much dear Melissa. I liked it too. Happy weekend.
Happy weekend!🤗
This is a delightful story poem, Selma.
I am over the moon happy you liked it Robbie. Thanks most dearly.
💗
This is is brilluant Selma 🤗✍️
I’m not so sure the requirements worked but I liked the poem that resulted. Bless you. and thanks.
My pleasure always xo
lovely, lovely poem, selma
thank you, thank you, Beth.
What a lovely visit to Corozal! I feel as if I’m riding along in your donkey cart, Selma, and waving to the old(er) ladies 😀 Let’s explore the cemetery…please?!