never mind the white chickens

 

so much depends

upon

 

my reserve dark

chocolate

 

you don't even know

 

 

© 2025 jennifer wagner

 

 

it’s been one of those days--Day 8

NaPoWriMo

a senryu play on WCW’s “The Red Wheelbarrow,” of course

 

cinnamon peal

we like cinnamon

and teal

here in the desert—

 

warm and bright

skies

with a sugar cube cloud

or two

with our spice—

 

like Mexican hot cocoa,

a cup, a flame,

 

as like Ball,

like Burnett,

 

enchan

-tressed

 

in cinnamon, chili,

cayenne—

for squeal-appeal

delight

 

 

© 2025 jennifer wagner

 

dVerse q44:  enchant

NaPoWriMo Day 7

 

*Ball and Burnett:  the red-tressed masters of comedy Lucille Ball and Carol Burnett.

Also, some Cinnamon Teal ducks winter in the southwestern region of Arizona.

 

Mint

-ed

freshly—

 

pOp-hatching open

like a tin, new—

from speckled

blue—

 

with a

boing-bOunce,

songbirds’ primitive sweet breath

bugles

the crisp-fresh

 

reveille

after winter greens

spring.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

NaPoWriMo Day 6 challenges us to write a poem by choosing a number which corresponds to a word from one column (A) and then use the words that appear in the columns (B) and (C) to describe the taste of your column (A) word.  Bonus if you don’t use your (A) in the body of your poem but use it as your title only.  Mine: (A) mint, (B) boing, and (C) primitive.

 

The songbird Swainson’s Thrush lays speckled blue eggs.

 

Fitz

 

The Fitzgeralds

were aptly named.

 

Shiny and red-faced

on the pickleball court—

 

he, with red bandana,

she, in red bows.

 

He, throwing his weight around,

she, throwing her racket down.

 

Fitzi’s stomping around

in a big red huff

 

like cardinals, territorial,

entitled—

 

in a tiff,

in a fuss

 

after the game—

us, smirking, victorious.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

PAD Day 5:  write an “After (blank)” poem.  I followed the prompt, except for using it for my title.

NaPoWriMo 

 

Cardinals are territorial and pugnacious and have even been known to fight their own reflections. 

The above poem is loosely based on a mini-pickleball tournament my husband and I surprised ourselves, and the reigning champs, by winning…smirk.