bop and napos

Naporhymo #12 is after "I Walk Alone" by Ruth Stone:

I Roam Alone

Curled in my chair at dawn,
sometimes the moon,
its pitiless who-are-you,
laptop hum,
the moon’s crumpled mien.
Nearly the presence of a friend,
as I imitate
his hunt-and-peck fingers
on the caps of my keys
as we write in the spell
of that communion
that now replaces face-to-face,
that makes love on screens
without contact,
in this far zone
where I sit engaged,
undressed, but only by the text.


A bop is a poetic form, note the September 6th, 2004 writeup on the National Poetry Almanac website.

Here's my try at a bop, also naporhymo #11, after "Haunting" by Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon:

Coming Home

Mom grew up in the house by the river.
Fourteen children,
with a few always at home
to feed the other ones visiting.
Lily played piano
and Tommy mandolin.

We cousins learned all the words.

The red, red robin
goes bob-bob-bobbing
along.

After Tommy,
two sisters gave away the canoe,
nursed Mom before she passed.
Now Lily, taken into care,
Mary eats supper alone—
one hot dog, skip the beans.

The red, red robin
goes bob-bob-bobbing
along.

After Mary,
who will feed juncos and finches?
Scare off squirrels and jays?
I hear the gavel
and the Goodwill van.

The red, red robin
goes bob-bob-bobbing
along.