Day Nine of NaPoWriMo. *
Today’s prompt:
” write a “concrete” poem – a poem in which the lines and words are organized to take a shape that reflects in some way the theme of the poem. “
As my bathroom remodel drags on, I have spent some sleepless nights worrying about things like p traps and wax ring seals and waterproof caulk. So today’s poem is a reflection of that. Herewith,
Day Eight of NaPoWriMo.*
“Today’s poetry resource is a series of twitter accounts that tweet phrases from different poets’ work… Our prompt for the day (optional as always) asks you to peruse the work of one or more of these twitter bots, and use a line or two, or a phrase or even a word that stands out to you, as the seed for your own poem.”
I chose a line I found on @carsonbot.
“Sometimes a journey makes itself necessary,”
writes poet Anne Carson.
I’ve taken many a journey in my life.
As to which were necessary and
which were not, I do not know.
It took all of them to get me here, though.
Had I not been lured down dark pathways,
tempted into loud, gaudy marketplaces,
gotten lost in the tangles of a petulant brain,
where would I be now?
Would I be necessary?
I won’t bother asking why I’m here, and why now,,.
for what grand purpose am I intended?
That no longer concerns me.
The sun rose this morning.
I am here, now, in this place,
and my journeys continue,
by happenstance, by choice and – yes –
by necessity.
Day Seven of NaPoWriMo.*
Today’s prompt: a poem based on a news article.
Hot off the press:
Day Six of NaPoWriMo.*
Today’s prompt asks us to
“write a poem from the point of view of one person/animal/thing from Hieronymous Bosch’s famous (and famously bizarre) triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights.”
I used a different painting, Franz Marc’s “The Fox” for my poem, but with the same concept of using the subject’s point of view.
Here goes:
As cities crumbled in disrepair,
we watched from forest shadows,
not understanding what forces cause
a species to implode.
As flora died in poisoned air,
we retreated into denser woods,
left to fathom such machinations
that place greed above survival.
With no place left to seek reprieve,
we huddled amidst brambles,
hiding from blind ignorance
that sought to take our lives.
And then the whole world shattered
into a million pieces.
We raised our heads to face our death,
and instead were met with
blue skies free from factory smoke,
waters clear as young fawns’ eyes,
fish emerging from the depths.
plants burgeoning in replenished soil.
We snuggled in comforted embrace
as nature reassembled,
as order rose from chaos
under Gaia’s healing eyes.
dragon’s breath sunset
bare tree limbs in silhouette
ashes drift like snow
NaPoWriMo Day Four. Prompt: “write a poem based on an image from a dream.”
Day Three of NaPoWriMo.*
My offering:
I despise the vile duplicity,
the partisan stupidity,
the rank and file idiocy that
purports to be our polity.
I’m aching for tranquility,
serenity, simplicity,
stability, integrity,
sincerity, morality.
I’ll cease my lame profanities,
I’ll work to restore sanity,
take every opportunity
to dignify humanity.
I’ll learn to live sustainably;
this planet my new deity.
I’ll protect its viability
from human greed and vanity.
I do not know my destiny.
Will I go down in infamy
or die in anonymity?
It matters not one whit to me.
I’ll fight the fight tenaciously
with love and light and empathy.
The world will right inequity,
our fate lies in our probity.
*National Poetry Writing Month, Day Three
I didn’t stay completely true to today’s prompt, except for the part that said, “try to play as much with sound as possible, repeating sounds and echoing back to others using… rhyming and similar words.”
Day Two of NaPoWriMo.*
Today’s prompt:
“write a poem about a specific place — a particular house or store or school or office. Try to incorporate concrete details…”
My submission:
Almost six p.m. Happy hour.
Parking lot is nearly full;
it’ll be jumping inside.
Sure enough, the long, narrow, windowless room is packed.
Folks old and young. Well, not too young.
Drinking age. Mostly.
Most every seat is taken.
I shoehorn in anyway, and
sit near a bleary-eyed fellow,
drink sloshing in trembling hands.
Next to him, a woman, talkative.
Soft, brandy-colored eyes.
Voice smooth as well-aged whiskey.
Men bellied up to the long table,
retelling the day’s events.
Conquests, struggles,
anecdotes about their work mates.
Fellow at the far end checks his watch.
Pats his beer belly. Clears his throat.
Shoves his coffee out of the way.
Picks up a big blue book.
“All right, time to start the meeting.”
The room goes suddenly quiet.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Brian, and I’m an alcoholic.”
A full-throated, “Hi, Brian,” reverberates around the room.
And thus begins the AA meeting
at the Grace Episcopal Church on Second and Main.
It’s Day One of NaPoWriMo!*
Today’s prompt: “write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life – one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances.
My offering:
An odd game, dodge ball.
I learned to play as a child,
in a windowless, cramped gymnasium
that smelled inexplicably like old wet dogs and
burnt rubber.
Unless I missed the finer nuances,
the gist of the game is hit or be hit.
Two teams at opposite ends of the court race to the center line
to acquire as many weapons — er, bouncy balls – as they can,
return to their respective territories.
then lob their missiles indiscriminately at one another.
You try to get out of the way or, if you can,
catch a missile and shoot it back at the enemy team.
Once hit by a ball, you’re “out”
and spend the remainder of the game
on the sidelines.
When all of one team’s players are “out,”
the other team wins.
I have learned, over time, that
the real way to win at dodge ball is to choose
not to play anymore.
Day 30, the final day of the month, and the final day of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month). After today, the goal will be to keep the creativity flowing. We’ll see how that goes.
Today’s prompt:
I’d like you to try your hand at a minimalist poem, … a poem that is quite short, and that doesn’t really try to tell a story, but to quickly and simply capture an image or emotion.
So, here goes. Don’t blink! (Hey, that could be a minimalist poem right there!)
Remember that day when…
Yes, that one.
Day 29 of NaPoWriMo. The prompt, edited for succinctness:
For poet William Wordsworth, a poem was the calm after the storm – an opportunity to remember and summon up emotion, but at a time and place that allowed the poet to calmly review, direct and control those feelings. A somewhat similar concept is expressed through the tradition of philosophically-inclined poems explicitly labeled as “meditations,” …
Today, I’d like to challenge you to blend these concepts into your own work, by producing a poem that meditates, from a position of tranquility, on an emotion you have felt powerfully.
Not completely on prompt, but this is what I came up with:
When finding oneself in the disposition of
being where one does not belong, or perhaps of
not belonging where one finds oneself,
it might be of consequence for one to ponder
how that circumstance came to be.
If, for example, one is where one does not belong
due to a displacement of some nature, one might enquire as to
what compulsion or energy caused such an event,
and whether it is a permanent condition, or whether
one might best prepare for subsequent supplantations.
Alternatively, if one does not belong where
one finds oneself, one may have merely been misplaced,
and may therefore be inclined to wonder
what careless entity committed such a dismissive act,
and whether one might perchance some day
in some manner attain one’s proper placement.
It is imperative, however, that one never allow
one’s emotions to surface and escape their
carefully fabricated confines,
lest one come to realize that the
feeling of not belonging where one finds oneself
is – in fact — excruciatingly painful.
What Rhymes with Stanza? 