face carved in pumpkin
mocks me—nightfall, shadows dance,
spice up my bedroom
© 2022 Nortina Simmons
Pumpkin…spice
Tag: poetry writing challenges
English #frapalywo: Warrior’s Return
Love Haiku #8
I hear crickets chirp
in the fields as the door creaks
open, and the wind
blows your mint cologne
to my bed. Your boots tread the
carpet—home from war.
© 2017 Nortina Simmons
Written for English #frapalywo. #Frapalywo is a German poetry challenge for Mrs. Paulchen’s poetry week. All this week, we are writing poems about our theme, noise. Today we end the week with one last prompt: “in the night.”
English #frapalymo: Fire of Love
Crack. Pop. Snap. Pop. Crack.
Your lips melt in my mouth
like marshmallows, gooey,
cloying on my tongue. The
fallen tree becomes our bed
before the fire, a soundtrack
to our exploration of one
another. Crack. Your hand
under my skirt. Pop. Kiss
on my neck. Snap. My fingers
through your hair. Pop. Shirt
tossed to the flames. Crack.
Your bare chest press hard
against mine. Snap. Goes
my bra strap. Together we
make delicious s’mores.
© 2017 Nortina Simmons
Written for English #frapalywo. #Frapalywo is a German poetry challenge for Mrs. Paulchen’s poetry week. All this week, we are writing poems about our theme, noise. Today’s prompt is “at the campfire.”
English #frapalywo: Rock. Steady. Love.
Love Tanka #9
He took me to sea
to meet his first love. The salt
in the air, I ask.
No. Kiss of mist on my cheek
in ocean breeze—No. Gleaming
reflection of sun
on rippling waves’ surface—No.
Shhh, he whispers, his
breath a spritz of water—
refreshing. His hands on my
waist, gently rock me,
steady. Listen, soft lips pinch
my earlobe, voice calls
my name in the wind. Nothing.
No – thing. You, my love.
© 2017 Nortina Simmons
Written for English #frapalywo. #Frapalywo is a German poetry challenge for Mrs. Paulchen’s poetry week. All this week, we are writing poems about our theme, noise. Today’s prompt is “at sea.”
English #frapalywo: Living Home
House comes alive
in heat of summer.
Walls creak with
sweat of chipped
paint. Above my
head a rotating
pendulum, a steady
murmur, circulates
thick, humid air.
I shower to cool,
let the water rain
down, kiss away
the stickiness
of skin, slick
with perspiration.
Steam rises, fogs
the mirror. I clear
a path in the
glass. Behind
me a bump—
something falls.
Always when I am
alone, I never
quite feel alone.
© 2017 Nortina Simmons
Written for English #frapalywo. #Frapalywo is a German poetry challenge for Mrs. Paulchen’s poetry week. All this week, we are writing poems about our theme, noise. Today’s prompt is “in being alone.” Ever notice how something always goes *bump* right when you step in the shower?
English #frapalywo: Shop and Repeat
A baby cries.
The bell from
the checkout
register echos,
and a baby cries.
Someone’s dropped,
a bag of apples—
they tumble
bounce and roll
in different
directions, and
a baby cries.
Tennis shoes
slide across
puddles left behind
by sprinklers
that water the
cabbage the kale
the mustard greens
and collards, and
a baby cries.
A sticker label
is peeled from
a banana and an
orange and an
overripe avocado
and a manager’s
special pound of
beef, and a baby
cries. The buggie
wheels squeak,
its metal frame
rattles, and a baby
cries. “Excuse me”
repeats and
“How much?” and
“Where do I find?”
and above them all—
a baby cries.
© 2017 Nortina Simmons
Written for English #frapalywo. #Frapalywo is a German poetry challenge for Mrs. Paulchen’s poetry week. All this week, we are writing poems about our theme, noise. Today’s prompt is “in the supermarket.”
English #frapalywo: A Voice in the Cool Dampness
It’s so cliché—to hear singing in the rain—
but that’s just what I hear, waking me from
deep sleep, the sonorous melody resounding
through torrential downpour beating on my
windowpane. A soprano’s solo—her voice
crescendos to the eighth and highest note
of the musical octave, and the floodgates of
heaven burst open. I’m drenched, red clay
gushing between my toes, my slip translucent;
I wear no bra to conceal my breasts drawing
forward in the cool dampness. By the pond I
catch the canary yellow feathers of a baby
duck. She dips her head under water, webbed
feet splashing with the raindrops. A flip in my
stomach tells me she is my mystery soloist,
and when she comes up for air, beak open, I
part my lips, and a sudden gust of wind sweeps
both
our
breaths
away…
© 2017 Nortina Simmons
Written for English #frapalywo. #Frapalywo is a German poetry challenge for Mrs. Paulchen’s poetry week. All this week, we’re writing poems about our theme, noise. Today’s prompt is “in the rain.”
English #frapalywo: Heartbeat
We lay together under the apple tree
counting the thuds as apples fall,
ripe as my love for him. He seeks the
equation for gravity in the force by
which they hit the ground, digging his
fingernails into the dirt, pulling up
clumps of earth in his palms. Every
living thing has a heartbeat. He
extends his hand, and I plant an
apple into the soil, take a bite as
he holds my head against his chest.
© 2017 Nortina Simmons
Written for English #frapalywo. All this week, we’re writing poems about noise. Today’s prompt is “under the tree.”
English #frapalymo: Play Suspended
Tennis paused—players
exit heavy clay. Rain falls in
northern France—again.
© 2016 Nortina Simmons
Written for Frau Paulchen’s Lyrik Monat, which translates from German to Mrs. Paulchen’s Poetry Month. Today’s prompt is: “write an acrostic with ten”
I write this haiku as I wait for tennis to resume from yet another rain delay at the French Open.
English #frapalymo: Southern Cooking
He calls me weird because I like cheese
on my hotdog, slaw on my burger.
When the fire dies down, I pour lighter
fluid on the charcoal pyramid, blacken
my chicken. He tells me I burn all the
flavor, but he’s never had salmon coated
in butter, a mix of paprika, cayenne pepper,
salt, onion and garlic powder sprinkled on
both sides, charred in a cast iron skillet.
I take him down South where the Spanish
moss grows heavy. We dip our toes in the
bayou, and he says I’m crazy not to fear
the gators, but we catch them and fry them
like chicken, dip in buttermilk ranch and
pop them in our mouths. In the morning,
I’ll show him how to sauté Cajun shrimp,
garnish it over sharp cheddar grits. He’ll
learn cheese goes on everything, and
nothing he’s eaten before ever tasted better.
© 2016 Nortina Simmons
Written for Frau Paulchen’s Lyrik Monat, which translates from German to Mrs. Paulchen’s Poetry Month. The double prompt for yesterday & today is: “normal” and “crazy.”
Nortina's Writing Inspiration Well 