by Holly Jahangiri | Apr 8, 2026
Day 8: National Poetry Month
Today’s prompts include, “rhythmic,” “use a simple phrase repeatedly, and then make statements that invert or contradict that phrase,” and “paranoia.” The obvious solution is to write in first person, remember that “just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not all out to get you,” and write the whole thing in iambic pentameter – for the rhythmic qualities, of course.
Insomnia
There is no monster lurking in the dark
I’m told. I’m fairly sure it’s true, and yet…
I hear him breathing there, behind the door.
There is no monster lurking in the dark
though Mother jokes he likes to try on shoes
that smell like sweaty feet and human toes.
There is no monster lurking in the dark —
my brother listens to my whispered fears
and laughs. He won’t walk past my closet door.
There is no monster lurking in the dark.
I think my Father knows; he ventured in
there once. Now all I hear’s the crunch of bone.
There is no monster lurking in the dark
You must forgive the cluttered mess; you know
I cannot use the closet anymore.
Other National Poetry Month Posts
Your Turn!
What lurks inside your closet in the dark? Write a poem about it – feel free to share it here!
by Holly Jahangiri | Apr 7, 2026
Day 7: National Poetry Month
It was that kind of day, yesterday. Don’t get me wrong – my actual experience of the day was terrific! Went to lunch with my husband, did a little shopping (mostly for treats), planned vacations – wonderful and ordinary. All set against the backdrop of collective global stress and anxiety-inducing political strife. Most of it absolutely unnecessary and ridiculous.
Stressful and uninspiring on so many levels, and yesterday’s poetry prompts were no exception, really. Jumped the gun on “G”, screwed up the order of the alphabet, and on the brink of apocalyptic nonsense, the phrases “We’re all in Hell,” and “Hell, Hell, Hell” were the best I could do for the “clapping games” prompt. I wrote nothing, knowing that you, Dear Reader, deserve better – slighty better, anyway – than anything I could muster, yesterday.
Today’s post combines “clapping games,” in flash fiction and bad poetry, and the Featured image is an illustration based on this post plus the prompts “dawn and/or dusk” and “crumpled.” Thankfully, WWIII hasn’t started yet, so moving on, now… to Day 8.
We’re All in Hell
The children sat on the riverbank, playing clapping games while Miss Dread laid out their lunch.
"We're all in Hell, Hell, Hell -
waiting on the bell, bell, bell.
We were bored to death, death, death -
killed by Fred's bad breath, breath, breath!
It smells just like egg tarts -
but that's just Fred's old farts!"
“I did not fart!” yelled Fred, red-faced with indignation.
“Enough, children! Come eat,” called Miss Dread, raising one eyebrow at the little miscreants.
Styx was burning like the Cuyahoga in 1969, but no one seemed to mind. Dispirited souls, unmoored from flesh yet unaware that they were free of its constraints, wandered up and down the riverbank. Jenny shivered as one passed right through her without pause.
Jenny didn’t like it here. It really did smell like Fred’s farts. She wanted to go back to the classroom. “Miss Dread?”
“Yes, Jenny?”
“Why don’t they see us here?” Jenny wasn’t used to being ignored so thoroughly.
Kevin picked up a cooling ember and threw it at one of the lost souls. He got no reaction, either. This was the weirdest field trip ever.
“They are lost, Jenny,” said Miss Dread, reaching out lightning-fast to grasp Kevin by the wrist and instill real dread with a small shake of her head. “They cannot return to the life they remember, but they don’t know yet whether to cross the river or remain here, on this side.”
“But can’t they see us?” She was used to grown-ups staring right through her, but none had ever walked through her without knocking her down. An old lady had done that, once, during a big sale at the mall. But she had noticed Jenny, then, and turned to say, “Impertinent child!” as if Jenny had bowled her over. For some reason, her mother had insisted Jenny apologize to the old bat.
“We are only visiting. Ask Mr. Mott to explain plane geometry to you, later. They are on a different plane.” Jenny wasn’t so sure. She had felt the chill as one of the lost souls passed through her. She didn’t know much about plane geometry, but she was fairly certain it didn’t work that way.
Kevin’s brow furrowed as he tried to work it out. He had been on planes before. Most recently, on a family trip to visit his grandparents in Idaho. “Weirdest plane ever,” he muttered.
Jenny picked up a chunk of fruit from her plate and examined it in the light of the burning river. “What is this, Miss Dread?”
“Pomegranate. Give it a try, Jenny.”
Jenny popped one of the seeds into her mouth and chewed, making a face. “Eww,” she said, spitting it out. “That’s nast–” The darkness that had surrounded the children closed around them like an oily mist, cutting off the rest of Jenny’s sentence, along with her breath.
Swimming out of the thick, inky blackness, Jenny gasped and opened her eyes to a blinding light. She shivered until someone wrapped her in a warm blanket. “Got her back,” said a woman, smiling and shining a tiny flashlight in each of her eyes. “Hi, Jenny. You had us worried for a bit.”
Other National Poetry Month Posts
by Holly Jahangiri | Apr 6, 2026
Day 6: National Poetry Month
Today’s prompts include “a water poem,” “a breezy, conversational poem that includes something that could only be found in a dream,” and “of the Earth.” Did you know that April is also Earth Month? The theme for both Earth Day and Earth Month in 2026 is “Our Power, Our Planet.” This theme is focused on the role of people and communities worldwide in sustaining environmental protections that affect the cost of living, public health, infrastructure reliability, and long-term stability.
13 Ways To Celebrate Earth Month discusses the origins of Earth Month – an extension of Earth Day (April 22) and offers ideas for getting involved and doing something good for the planet we inhabit.
The first poem today, “Future Frittered Away,” combines “a water poem” and “something that could only be found in a dream” – and it is “of the earth.” The title begins with “F.” But it feels too apocalyptic. Evolution leads to devolution, and we are about as permanent as the dinosaurs, but their extinction resulted in the mixed blessing that is us. Ours will likely lead to something. Not better, not worse (for the planet, that is – clearly, it will be worse for us) – just different.
The second poem incorporates most of the prompts. It started out as “I Kill Plants,” but in taking the photo that would become this post’s featured image, I realize that they are healthy in spite of me. They need repotting before they take over the kitchen and strangle me in my sleep, though.
Future Frittered Away
We dreamed
that we were flying fish
unhooked,
unfettered,
to slip the surly bonds
of waves,
inaction
evading consequence.
Big dreams —
long-limbed giants, striding
grateful
continents.
Within our grasp we bent
the light,
bottled it —
sold it as our future.
Physics.
We broke the barrier —
silence —
with our noise
and built a wall of bars,
a jail.
Shortsighted
prison for our children.
A dry creek bed will be
our grave.
Benign Neglect
O, Pothos.
I turn away from you
in shame and guilt because
I know that you are slowly dying
but I’ve seen you,
seemingly immortal, thrive
on artificial light,
break-room eau du tap,
cheap polystyrene pots,
and paper towels. I can’t quite force myself
to make you live on rich loamy soil
and Miracle Gro.
I mean,
the sink’s right there. Help yourself
when no one’s watching. I see
the purple zebrina
sneaking through the slats
in search of sunshine.
You could stretch a vine,
wrap it round the tap-handle,
flood the kitchen. Yet you sit there,
stoic, with your silent accusations
while I neglect the succulents.
They seem to like it, though.
I’m not a sadist.
Heavy arrowhead droops,
surrenders to the suck,
and thrives despite me.
Other National Poetry Month Posts
Your Turn!
Do you have a green thumb? Or do you, like me, kill silk plants? Do you have house plants? A garden? I grow pequin peppers (chili peppers seem to get hotter with neglect, so we’re a perfect fit for one another) and my husband grows kale and mint. His garden thrives. Mine holds grudges.
Please – leave a comment!
by Holly Jahangiri | Apr 6, 2026
Day 5½: National Poetry Month
Earlier, I skipped Sunday’s “being so grumpy you hate everything,” prompt. But by 9:15 PM, I was channeling my inner to Darwin. “I hate myself, I hate clover, and I hate bees.”
That’s not the foundation of good poetry. I was reminded, last year, that one of the functions of poetry is to remind people what it is they’re fighting for, not just venting, protesting, or serving as the rallying cry for what they’re fighting against. I don’t want the poems I leave behind in the world to exude negativity.
But there is something relatably humorous in Charles Darwin’s occasional loathing of everything – he was clearly a man who loved everything enough to study it meticulously. The term “love-hate” didn’t enter the lexicon during Darwin’s lifetime, but it would seem to capture his feelings perfectly. He must have been tired and terribly frustrated when he wrote that.
Easter is an important holiday for Christians. But there was so much hypocrisy online, yesterday, that it was hard to appreciate the intended message. From Good Friday to Easter, I cannot help but think how lucky humanity is that I’m not God. Imagine “giving your only begotten son” as a sacrifice to wipe clean humanity’s sin, only to have them go forth and sin again and again and again – cheating, destroying, murdering, wasting, hoarding, depriving their fellow humans of life, liberty, and happiness – without remorse or contrition? I would not be so forgiving, but then again, I’m a mother – it took me nine months to birth a human and I didn’t do it for them to be killed or to kill another mother’s children. An omnipotent God could simply crush the planet and remake it in a week. Food for thought…
Embrace Mankind, or Shove ’em Off a Cliff?
In the morning, I would lift my voice
and call mankind to sing the sunrise —
weave it into rainbows, cotton-candy
clouds that stretch from shore to shore
and weep as they embrace us all.
By noon, I would lay a feast, inviting all
to rest and eat their fill – break bread
together, singing, “Kum ba yah”
communing with our maker. There is enough —
no need to stuff our pockets full for later.
By evening, I would say, “Look! There
sets the moon a silver streak, shimmering —”
They would lean in, pause their squabbling
for a moment… It would be so easy.
Waste not, want not. Amen.
Voracious fish are waiting patiently below;
with faith that there’s enough to go around.
Other National Poetry Month Posts
Your Turn!
What makes you grumpy? Have you ever tried writing it out in poem form? For me, it’s usually some form of dishonesty or hypocrisy.
Thank you for visiting and reading. I hope you’ll leave a comment – maybe even a poem – below.
by Holly Jahangiri | Apr 5, 2026
Day 5: National Poetry Month
Today’s prompts: “energized,” “safety,” and “being so grumpy you hate everything,” like Charles Darwin hated clover and bees. It is also, conveniently, “E” – happy Easter to those celebrating it. I hope you woke to a beautiful sunrise!
Energized
black sand soil sizzles —
ice-sparkle starlight
on alien hills, craters
dress for the Arctic —
first light will dazzle,
kiss away frost breath
Haleakalā
dawn calls forth purple
silverswords.
ZipOdes
Returning, for just a moment, to my personal “forms challenge.”
Thanks to the poet Jane Honchell, whom I met through The Stafford Challenge, I learned about a poetry form called ZipOdes, invented in 2015 by O, Miami Poetry Festival, and WLRN.
What a great way to celebrate the state in which we live!
First, write out your ZIP code, vertically, down the left side of the page. Each number is the number of words per line – write each line to the right of the numbers. If you have a zero in your zip code, that line is a wild card! You can leave it blank, insert an emoji or symbol, or use any number of words between 1 and 9. If you are coming to this post from a place that uses alphanumeric postal codes, Kris Archie came up with a solution: When the line has a letter instead of a number, that line has one word that must begin with that letter.
An example using zip code 77070:
7 Tropical Cypress hosts magnolia, palm, loblolly pine
7 along creek-border between wilderness and
0 suburbs
7 raccoons, possum, gators, armadillos thrive – coyotes howl –
0 joy.
Give it a try! Post yours – or a link to yours – below.
Other National Poetry Month Posts
I’m going to have to think a bit on the “grumpy” poem. I’m sure one will come to me before the day is out. Darwin is such an inspiration – I have had days like that, and even posted something about hating clover and bees on Facebook, recently. Why, my Day 2 poem might even fit the bill! Go read that and say I merely jumped the gun…
Your Turn!
What makes you grumpy? Have you ever tried writing it out in poem form?
What are you doing, if anything, to celebrate Easter?
Thank you for visiting and reading. I hope you’ll leave a comment – maybe even a poem – below.
