You know how I get all prosey sometimes?

Well, I used to do it weekly.  (poetry that is, keep up now.)
But I have been slacking off lately.

As some of you may be aware, November is normally National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo as it is more commonly known), and many blogs will be participating.   However, in this case, the blogger/author does not normally share what they are writing.   Hopefully, one day, you'd buy their book.

I like sharing.  Sharing is my favourite.
So I was thrilled when my muse Janice over at Mommy's Lounge, found this great Poem A Day Challenge for the month of November 2012.   

You can see the challenge Details Here.

Basically, you write a poem a day, as per the prompt provided, and then at the end of the challenge you submit your poetry in a book format to the host.   A winner will be chosen in early 2013.    I suppose you could possibly have individual, or even a collection of poetry published.   And since I am on a publishing role lately (Huffington Post Blogger profile HERE), I figured  "why not?"

Mostly, I don't know about you....but I find these winter months are often a case of the uninspiring dull-drums.   I need some writing inspiration y'all!
So if rhyme and meter is not your thing, I hope you will beg my pardon over the next month as Time Out gets its prose on.   If I normally participate in your weekly meme, I hope you will forgive my temporary absence.

But you know, poetry can be a lonely task at times, so I do hope that you will join me on this lyrical journey.   Comments and feedback -- don't worry, I can handle the truth -- would be most helpful and appreciated.

So, Welcome to Day One:  MATCHES

Today’s prompt comes from Mariya Koleva (click her name to learn more about her)
The matches could be sticks that make fire. Or it could be matches from a game. Or the verb of “to match.” Or as in the phrase “He’s not a good match for you.” Or whatever other match you can make.

 Words Aflame

soundless I suffer with
thoughts unspoken; hidden
like matches unlit
while the darkness encroaches
once my words started fires
igniting inspiration, illuminating truth
brilliant rhymes flowing through time
with breath exhaled; I strike the box
a book of words briefly lit
'till the moments' snuffed
poetic stirrings both birth'd
and lost to flames;
and all I can do:
is watch them burn.

That wasn't too painful, was it?

 Poetry Corner