Tag Archives: poem a day

Amaneció / Day Broke

6 Apr

(English quasi-translation below)

Llegó el alba
tocándonos el hombro y
como cuando jóvenes ignoramos
la vieja chaperona
del amanecer

sentí tus caricias
tus manos en mi pelo
mientras tus labios piadosos
devolvieron mi aliento, poco a poco
regresándome al presente

fueron los pájaros
quienes nos delataron
sonando la alarma
mi cabeza en tu pecho
el sol amenazándonos a través de la persiana

llegó el alba
desvaneciendo mi sueño
pero aún siento
el sabor exquisito
de tu boca.

Sunrise on the south end of Pawleys Island

Sunrise on the south end of Pawleys Island

I woke up in the most tantalizing way this morning, and that blissful dream is the basis for my poem today. I am writing it in response to the prompt for Day Six for NaPoWriMo, which is to write an Aubade, or a poem about the morning. Mornings are special to me, I love their freshness, their promise, and the newness of day. I love experiencing the morning with the birds singing brightly, and a stillness that is almost palpable as the trees wake up to start their day.

I wrote it in Spanish originally and the quasi-translation is below. I call it a quasi-translation because there is an extra line and some variations that I think work better in the English than in the original Spanish. This is another example of how the English counterpart of  verses originally composed in Spanish complements and completes the poem. In a true translation, I would never do this and just keep the lines as close to the original as possible. [Last edited June 13, 2017]


Day Broke

First light arrived
tapping us on the shoulder
and like teenagers we ignored
the elderly chaperone of dawn.

I felt your caresses
your hands in my hair
as your merciful lips
restored my breath, bit by bit
returning me to the present

It was the birds
who sounded the alarm
my head on your chest
sunlight slicing through the blinds

Dawn broke through
it scattered my dream
yet, alone on this bed
I can still sense the exquisite taste
of your mouth.

Down with the Sails

5 Apr

Wild nights Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Down would come the sails
Naked in the moonbeams we
As our Wild nights should be
Our secret luxury!

Futile the calling winds
My Heart seduced in your port
Done with the Compass
Done with the Chart!
My Q flag a flying
My wheel lashed up short.

Rowing in a blissful Eden
Ah rocking in time with the Sea!
My heart tugs at the anchor
Open your arms to harbor me
Might I but moor tonight
Dear sir, In thee!


It’s a poetic arts & crafts project for day five of NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt is to choose a poem by Emily Dickinson, then deconstruct and reconstruct it. I chose Wild Nights – Wild Nights! (no surprise there). I incorporated a little bit more of the ‘sailboat in port’ metaphors. I was never fully satisfied with her original poem to begin with, so this was a nice chance to doctor it up a bit.

Paint by Numbers

19 Aug

1 mighty ocean
3 million grains of sand
11 towels dotting the shoreline
30 feet from the lifeguard stand

2 lifeguards, gabbing
1 expectant mother, resting
2 prayers said for husband at
1 interview that morning

1 brand new cell phone
15 times checked
0 calls or messages
from 1 husband, delayed

1 engine roaring
8 beeps while backing up
2 tires crunching
2 victims, surviving

1 mighty ocean
3 million grains of sand
11 witnesses, yelling
1 ambulance, wailing
all prayers, answered.

My lifeguard stand.

My lifeguard stand.

Night at Sea

11 Oct

At sea at night
we smell hulking ships
miles before
we see their lights.

Are they coming or going?
Will they cross our path?
Green and red and white
dance against the black
while rushing velvet water
against the hull, slaps.

Radar screen
glowing green
offers little support
and radio silence
fails to report.

I grab the mouthpiece
to hail the captain,
across the airwaves I repeat:
“This is SV Fellowship
northbound vessel to your starboard.”

“Do you see us?”
“Do you copy?
Over …”

We sleep in our life vests at night
because the ocean is a serious thing

and there is a reason why
I avoid rollercoasters.

Bedtime stories at sunset offshore

Bedtime stories at sunset offshore


5 Jun

It was in a dream
in a low-light room
in a box of matches
from a pocket

It was a rapid friction
a flare of passion
reflected in dark eyes

It was in a dream
I sometimes tell myself
where nothing I touched
could touch me back

It was in my skin
in the evidence of
the scars, the burns,
the scratches

In a crying moment
in a chosen fashion
that a game of arms
struck like matches

in the beating heart
of a dream
pleasure & pain
are the same muscle.



I wrote this poem in 1993. I was taking an Environmental Science class in college and it was so boring, and so long, that I would write poetry to help myself stay awake. It was inspired by a friend, and I was trying to write a poem from his perspective. This poem was originally published in the Garnet & Black Quarterly, 1994. Copyright Lupita Eyde.

Daily Prompt – Sensitive

Oxford Blues

3 Jun

A poem about my Dad.

You had a closet full of English Leather.
A smell I still remember,
because when I was sixteen,
I would raid your collection
of blue oxford shirts,
hanging, starched and cleaned.

Allen Solly, Brooks Bros., et al
were my favorite uniform.
To my mother’s chagrin,
I refused to conform
to the current fashions
and teenage norms.

When I was sixteen,
your hand-me-down shirts
were way too big for me,
but I aspired to grow into them,

I still do.



17 May

Tree limbs reaching to the sky.
Children laughing-out carbon dioxide.
Birds singing the leaves awake,
who, in turn, make oxygen for our sake.
Ants working diligently,
Grass releasing dew,
Clouds gathering patiently,
Sunshine bathing us, anew.
Bees dancing from flower to flower,
A slight breeze sowing the seeds;
This cathedral of invisible motion
is all my soul needs.

Testimonium ad infinitum.

Gardenia by Lupe Eyde-Tucker

Look around, there is evidence everywhere.

What does nature mean to you?

Ultra Marine

29 Apr

Once upon a time I spent 10 days on a sailboat in the ocean, sailing north. The blue water has been calling me back ever since.

Ultramarine Gulf Stream
liquid conveyor belt, carry my dreams
let me skip along your surface
don’t let me get too deep

Each periwinkle morning
turns to a turquoise blanket of hope
entreating us to sail boldly
past the continental slope

And in the afternoon
a bluefin tuna of iridescent azure
is plucked from the waters
with a silver spoon lure

Sir, we royally salute you
and your noble fate
served up, shimmering,
upon a sapphire plate

Herculean cerulean
yet effortlessly triumphant
we scan for the next horizon
to grasp the earth’s circumference

until we rest our heads
under a diamond indigo shawl
the blue will fuel our reveries-
sailors, explorers, dreamers, all.

Ultramarine is the color of the Gulf Stream.

Ultramarine is the color of the Gulf Stream.

Check out the blog “A Life Nomadik” – a living example of my poem.

Beach Nap

27 Apr

The terry cloth
has got my back.
Salt air fills my nose.
The children play in stereo sound.
Waves crash from ear to ear
in the background.
Parts of my skin
feel warmer than others.
The fresh breeze mitigates the burn.
The words dance before me,
and are all topsy-turvy
on the page
I have no strength to turn.
My eyelids feel heavy,
my arms go slack,
as I slip,
I surrender,
to the inevitable
beach nap.


Children running on the beach.

In the Kitchen

22 Apr

You were in the kitchen
and I was upstairs

I could hear you clanging
mixing and sizzling

opening and closing
the fridge, but

what made me
the happiest girl

were the garlic and onions
wafting up the staircase

promising dinner
to my nose

who promptly whispered it
to my stomach

as I finished my homework
on the old Smith Corona

you bought me
at a yard sale

for two dollars
all of which

made me feel
incredibly warm and loved.


Mom & I


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