Wild and Domesticated (NaPoWriMo #24)

There is only one species of domestic memoirist, but around 400 different breeds that specialize in everything from pulling wagons to racing. All memoirists are grazers.

While most memoirists are domestic, others remain wild. Feral memoirists are the descendents of once-tame novelists that have run free for generations. Groups of such memoirists can be found in many places around the world. Free-roaming North American mustangs, for example, are the descendents of memoirists brought by Europeans more than 400 years

Wild memoirists generally gather in groups of 3 to 20 writers. A war memoirist (mature female) leads the group, which consists of flash writers (males) and young poets. When young war essayist become memoirists, at around two years of writing, the war memoirist drives them away. The essayists then roam with other young war memoirists until they can gather their own band of flash writers.

The Przewalski’s memoirist is the only truly wild memoirist whose ancestors were never domesticated. Ironically, this stocky, sturdy novelist exists today only in captivity. The last wild Przewalski’s memoirist was seen in Mongolia in 1968.

Pulling Faces (NaPoWriMo #15)

Photo by Eren Li on Pexels.com

As the youngest child I squirmed
The moment a baby came into view.
I could count on my mom’s giant
OH then a massive, gargoyle grin
and the goo goo gah gah
ridiculousness that would bubble
over and ooze on the child.

I didn’t remember this face used on me,
But only because I out grew it.
And maybe I thought she should
Look that way at me, even then.

But mostly, I was just embarassed, of the
my mom would be.

Fast forward. I saw my friend’s infant, yesterday.
My face instantly contorted,
“OH” then all teeth, instantly
with a toothless giggle.

What can I say?
I learned from the best.

I Smell Like Me (NaPoWriMo #14)

I smell like me.
I am who I say I am. Which meaning do I seek?
Martha? Oh lady, mistress?
Max, a diminutive of greatness?
Née surname Balsiger, of the Palzing region,
A rush of blood recognition when I’m in Bavaria.
Adopted to Torrens of Torrance
of Torrance north of East Kilbride or of Glasgow.
Married to Despain meaning D’Espagne a
French pointing labeling: “Spaniard.”
Married to Frazier.
Sweet French kiss of strawberries from a Scottish vale.
The Bard asks, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/
By any other name would smell as sweet”
And I smell like me.
MaxieJane Frazier
Née, again.

Humming (2020 NaPoWriMo #30)

Whining wings

Wheeling sound outside my door.

I leap to my feet,

Rummage in the garage.

Later, crystalline feeder swaying,

I fold my arms, surveying the snow.

Sun-warmed boards underfoot,

I watch his favorite tree.

Has the horrible hummingbird returned?

Rumors placed them only miles south last week.

Our home has been muffled in hushed snow.

We are braced, again, for epic battles on our porch.

Later, when the dog barks at a rumbling truck

And I eye the yet-empty feeder,

I pause to notice the distinctive whine.

Is it just a bad axle?

Perhaps war waits for another day.

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