NaPoWriMo April 8, 2011

In the Eagle Nest

the fearsome, feathered hunter
wields deadly beak and talon
in swift strikes from the sky,
but in her lofty windswept nest
she is soft and slow and silent
as she shelters chicks in her wings.

(c)2011 Noreen Braman

National Poetry Month 2011 NAPOWRIMO April 7

Maybe It's Not Poetry

Finally the numbers flow in rhythm across the page
lining up like perfect sonnets,
feeding into kaleidoscopic jewel-tone pie charts
rolling as easily off the printer
as pretty words out of my pen
majestically choreographed and inspired
by the all-seeing and all-knowing gods
of the relational database.
maybe it's not poetry to you
but it is epic verse to me.

(C)2011 Noreen Braman

National Poetry Month 2011 NAPOWRIMO April 6

Not My Mother's Daughter

a birthday haiku

my years now equal

her total span of living

but I am still here.

(c)2011 Noreen Braman

National Poetry Month 2011 NAPOWRIMO April 5

Reinvention #3

Two years from that sharp turn
in a road that was rarely straight
yet could still lull the most careful driver
into the rocks and gravel on the shoulder.

Two years from steering so close to the edge
that daylight blinked under the tires
and sand showered down the embankment
the wheel muscled into last minute response.

Two years that started with smoking brakes
on the downhill, desperate hopes for no oncoming traffic
settling at last in the valley of potholes
rough driving but at least no more panic
just a bumpy, slow ride on uneven pavement.



(c)2011 Noreen Braman

National Poetry Month 2011 NAPOWRIMO April 4

MOTTO

Live with an open mind to
see the unseen
hear the unheard
feel the unfelt
learn the unlearned
hope the unhoped
to open the heart to love.

(C)2011 Noreen Braman

National Poetry Month NaPoWriMo April 3, 2011

Blanket

The measured threads
untouched by shears
woven with love
for the one to come.

(C)2011 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2011 April 2, 2011

In Search of Lucid Dreaming

She wants to know where she will live now,
I remind her she is dead.
She talks about the sailing ship
she is supposed to board
I tell her she is meant to go
I remind her she is dead.
Tonight I must grasp her hand
and hold her in my gaze
and ask her to speak plainly
so that we both may rest.

(c)2011 Noreen Braman