Phone calls from an old friend
stopped coming years ago.
Photos fade from black&white
to grey. Something happens when we die
but when a friendship ends, lost time
is hard to comprehend.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Friday, July 03, 2009
Gnats are easy
I’m brave with gnats, crush them
quick on my LCD. But when
some frantic long-winged thing,
comes by, I squirm like I do
when you tell me you’re angry
and you don’t want me to fix it.
quick on my LCD. But when
some frantic long-winged thing,
comes by, I squirm like I do
when you tell me you’re angry
and you don’t want me to fix it.
Sijo- Summer Orange
On summer nights I keep
an orange near my bed
to fingernail a plume of mist.
The scent is like the sun on rainy days.
I palm the world, dream the Taj; white sand,
I and thou in sweet repast.
an orange near my bed
to fingernail a plume of mist.
The scent is like the sun on rainy days.
I palm the world, dream the Taj; white sand,
I and thou in sweet repast.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Returning to the River
Returning to the River
I wanted to return to that place,
the small boat club on the river
where my father’s Saturday sails
slapped their mooring in a gentle breeze.
To orient myself between home
and that low place, where sunsets
beam off the rippling water-
signaling the end of day.
I’ll listen for the train,
the iron line my father rode
all week into the sea of city
traffic and blinking lights.
Then I’ll drive the winding hills
like we did a thousand times.
I’ll point the car and let my spirit
find the way. But most of all
I want to return to the secret places
my father never knew, tucked high
in the old estates, land that was never
mine, but always felt like home.
There I’ll stand on the hilltops,
where the valley shimmers
like a bowl of silver, on the day
when I return to the river.
I wanted to return to that place,
the small boat club on the river
where my father’s Saturday sails
slapped their mooring in a gentle breeze.
To orient myself between home
and that low place, where sunsets
beam off the rippling water-
signaling the end of day.
I’ll listen for the train,
the iron line my father rode
all week into the sea of city
traffic and blinking lights.
Then I’ll drive the winding hills
like we did a thousand times.
I’ll point the car and let my spirit
find the way. But most of all
I want to return to the secret places
my father never knew, tucked high
in the old estates, land that was never
mine, but always felt like home.
There I’ll stand on the hilltops,
where the valley shimmers
like a bowl of silver, on the day
when I return to the river.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
challenge at Wild for May 10
Wearing Orange in Reading, Pa.
The line of stragglers
down the hall has already heard the clink
of the keys on the chain. The sound is vulgar
to your ear, even though you claim you’ve never been to Reading
in your life. It'll be years before your sundown,
yet you wonder if your number
is up and all your hopes have faded like oranges to apricots.
You blame the strange solar
wind that keeps you wearing
that t-shirt look-a-like from Ocean Park.
They say New Jersey is as far from California
as hope is from freedom, yet you’re bound in the same sandwiches
you were last year, even though you hate being between pig’s ears.
Don’t look now, but you’ve turned as gray
as the windows where you used to walk.
I’ve heard of some ragged felonies
before, but this one takes the cake, your cadence
in the orange line is the same. They all say it’s inconceivable
that this little episode
is the last time you’ll have to walk this Berks County Property line.
~~~~
This is the result of a challenge that required the use of each of these last words except for the last line last word which we could choose. It got an honorable mention at Wild Poetry Forum in May 09.
The line of stragglers
down the hall has already heard the clink
of the keys on the chain. The sound is vulgar
to your ear, even though you claim you’ve never been to Reading
in your life. It'll be years before your sundown,
yet you wonder if your number
is up and all your hopes have faded like oranges to apricots.
You blame the strange solar
wind that keeps you wearing
that t-shirt look-a-like from Ocean Park.
They say New Jersey is as far from California
as hope is from freedom, yet you’re bound in the same sandwiches
you were last year, even though you hate being between pig’s ears.
Don’t look now, but you’ve turned as gray
as the windows where you used to walk.
I’ve heard of some ragged felonies
before, but this one takes the cake, your cadence
in the orange line is the same. They all say it’s inconceivable
that this little episode
is the last time you’ll have to walk this Berks County Property line.
~~~~
This is the result of a challenge that required the use of each of these last words except for the last line last word which we could choose. It got an honorable mention at Wild Poetry Forum in May 09.
Friday, May 01, 2009
End of Poem a Day
Below are 30 poems written to prompts, one for each day of April. To view all the poems in the series go to the archives on the right-hand side and open "April".
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Prompt #30 Say Farewell
For today's prompt, I want you to write a farewell poem. After all, we are saying farewell to another wonderful National Poetry Month. Say farewell to this month; say farewell to a vacation spot; say farewell to a bad relationship; say farewell to work; say farewell to school; say farewell to saying farewell even. Hopefully, I won't be saying farewell to you; please stay in touch and let me know of your successes as we keep poeming toward the horizon.
Saying Farewell
Farewell- from the Middle English faren wel (‘fare’)
N. a wish of happiness or welfare at parting.
I resolve to forget the time you yelled,
that face you made.
From the merger of Old English fær (‘journey,’ ‘road’)
and faru (‘journey,’ ‘companions,’ ‘baggage’).
May the road be kind and forgiving
without the slamming of breaks, dirty looks.
Especially a permanent departure:
a good-bye, adieu; leave-taking.
May we be united again one day soon;
with proper maps, reasonable plans.
Etymology; Fare- from the Middle English fearh-
farrow- to birth a litter of pigs.
May we find much pork behind the squeal,
and prosperity in every litter.
5/1/2009 11:01:15 AM #782
Saying Farewell
Farewell- from the Middle English faren wel (‘fare’)
N. a wish of happiness or welfare at parting.
I resolve to forget the time you yelled,
that face you made.
From the merger of Old English fær (‘journey,’ ‘road’)
and faru (‘journey,’ ‘companions,’ ‘baggage’).
May the road be kind and forgiving
without the slamming of breaks, dirty looks.
Especially a permanent departure:
a good-bye, adieu; leave-taking.
May we be united again one day soon;
with proper maps, reasonable plans.
Etymology; Fare- from the Middle English fearh-
farrow- to birth a litter of pigs.
May we find much pork behind the squeal,
and prosperity in every litter.
5/1/2009 11:01:15 AM #782
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Prompt #29 Never...bring donuts to a deposition
For today's prompt, I want you to title your poems "Never (blank)" with you filling in the blank with a word or phrase. Then, write a poem based off your title, which could be "Never look both ways when crossing the street" or "Never blush in public" or "Never ever" or "Never write a poem with the word never in the title." You get the idea, right?
Never bring donuts to a deposition
unless you’re a witness for the opposition
and you don’t agree with their position
and figure you can recondition
the lawyers who are feeling imposition
for a lady with a sullied reputation
after loosing her well earned commission
from the territory that was given her, in contradiction
to the claims of the plaintiff in the petition.
But if you want the inquisition
to become and intervention
to guarantee the rights of independent sales associations
then surly do bring donuts to the deposition.
5/1/2009 1:41:00 AM #728
Never bring donuts to a deposition
unless you’re a witness for the opposition
and you don’t agree with their position
and figure you can recondition
the lawyers who are feeling imposition
for a lady with a sullied reputation
after loosing her well earned commission
from the territory that was given her, in contradiction
to the claims of the plaintiff in the petition.
But if you want the inquisition
to become and intervention
to guarantee the rights of independent sales associations
then surly do bring donuts to the deposition.
5/1/2009 1:41:00 AM #728
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Prompt #28 Sestina- This thing might earn me a trip to the emergency room
For today's prompt, I want you to write a sestina. (Click here to find out the rules for sestinas.) So start figuring out your 6 end words and get writing.
But wait! Today is Tuesday, so you have one other option. You can write a poem about the sestina (your love, hate, frustration with, etc.).
Whether you decide to write a sestina or write about sestinas, remember to have fun. We're almost done!
This thing might earn me a trip to the emergency room
There will be pain
that’s the first thing
you have to realize
it isn’t easy to change
or it wouldn’t be worth
all the time and trouble
I found trouble
was in the pain
of feeling unworthy
It was a thing
I needed to change
If I would ever realize
just how much is realized
when one sees trouble
and wants to change
I located the pain
in this thing
of little worth
but it was worth
a scar to realize
this hanging tag thing
on my skin was more trouble
than the pain
of trying to change
the way changes
take place in this world
a doctor can’t see pain
he hasn’t realized
he only sees trouble
if it isn’t his thing
to remove this kind of thing
when he hasn’t seen a change
or doesn't understand the trouble
a thing like this is worth
that’s when I realized
I had to bear the pain
and cut this thing
myself because change
will only get me in trouble
if he thinks I’m not worth
the time to realize
I need to end this kind of pain
So in this pain I leave the thing
behind and realize a little change
is always worth a little trouble
4/29/2009 1:19:07 AM #413
But wait! Today is Tuesday, so you have one other option. You can write a poem about the sestina (your love, hate, frustration with, etc.).
Whether you decide to write a sestina or write about sestinas, remember to have fun. We're almost done!
This thing might earn me a trip to the emergency room
There will be pain
that’s the first thing
you have to realize
it isn’t easy to change
or it wouldn’t be worth
all the time and trouble
I found trouble
was in the pain
of feeling unworthy
It was a thing
I needed to change
If I would ever realize
just how much is realized
when one sees trouble
and wants to change
I located the pain
in this thing
of little worth
but it was worth
a scar to realize
this hanging tag thing
on my skin was more trouble
than the pain
of trying to change
the way changes
take place in this world
a doctor can’t see pain
he hasn’t realized
he only sees trouble
if it isn’t his thing
to remove this kind of thing
when he hasn’t seen a change
or doesn't understand the trouble
a thing like this is worth
that’s when I realized
I had to bear the pain
and cut this thing
myself because change
will only get me in trouble
if he thinks I’m not worth
the time to realize
I need to end this kind of pain
So in this pain I leave the thing
behind and realize a little change
is always worth a little trouble
4/29/2009 1:19:07 AM #413
Monday, April 27, 2009
Prompt # 27 Longing
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem of longing. You or someone (or something) else should be pining for someone or something. Maybe a cat is longing to get outside the house. Maybe a teenager is longing to get away from his or her small town. And, of course, there's always the longing poem of love.
Longing for a Homecoming
All houses left alone beseech their owners
to come home. They ache to mend a broken
gutter trail, or see to weeds that flourish
in the quiet yard beside the fallen trellis.
I’ve heard the mocking shouts of crows
that pick the scars of houses lost in yesteryear.
They are fond of scolding lonely homes
whose windows morn their broken shades.
They perch atop such chimneys in the cold
whose prayers to bring back fires go
unanswered. Some empty homes
will crumble in the waiting, they can’t
hang on when dreams are what a household
makes of planks and stone and lace.
4/30/2009 12:00:47 PM #650
Longing for a Homecoming
All houses left alone beseech their owners
to come home. They ache to mend a broken
gutter trail, or see to weeds that flourish
in the quiet yard beside the fallen trellis.
I’ve heard the mocking shouts of crows
that pick the scars of houses lost in yesteryear.
They are fond of scolding lonely homes
whose windows morn their broken shades.
They perch atop such chimneys in the cold
whose prayers to bring back fires go
unanswered. Some empty homes
will crumble in the waiting, they can’t
hang on when dreams are what a household
makes of planks and stone and lace.
4/30/2009 12:00:47 PM #650
Prompt # 26 One Day at the Breast Health Clinic
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem involving miscommunication. It can be miscommunication between two people or misinterpretation of some sort. I will leave it up to you guys to deal with it however you want.
One Day at the Breast Health Clinic
At the front desk the nurses seemed alarmed
about some patient. I tried not to notice,
HIPAA laws being the bane of conversations
in the medical profession these days.
So I ignored their shaking heads until I heard
in the waiting room outside the voice of a man
say, "Oh yes, I’m back, is it alright then, no problem?"
No problem! I think there is a problem! Like,
why do you need a mammogram, Dude!
So I’m lead to the little undressing rooms they devised
where us ladies go to don our capes, breasts afloat
in folds fabric with airy ventilation at the sides.
But I’m not too keen on exiting.
I don’t want to see a man in this predicament.
I look around the corridors before I leap,
but he’s not in the special sitting room, or down
the hall. I sit alone, contemplate the facts, decide
I’m open minded, tolerant, I’ve never had a solid
notion of normality; it’s fine if he’s a she,
or she’s a he, I’m fine with any sort of body
he might be. So when a tall and lanky lady
saunters in, I see her smile is kind, and her eyes
are deep and friendly. She’s old enough
to be my aunt and very fit. I reply a smile
and we pass the time in silence. Then she’s called
away by name, and as the nurse leads her away
I hear his voice again! Was he her?
I’ll never know. I had to leave soon after,
my tests all done, and all results come out
just fine. Hey, thanks for asking!
4/30/2009 1:31:16 AM #670
One Day at the Breast Health Clinic
At the front desk the nurses seemed alarmed
about some patient. I tried not to notice,
HIPAA laws being the bane of conversations
in the medical profession these days.
So I ignored their shaking heads until I heard
in the waiting room outside the voice of a man
say, "Oh yes, I’m back, is it alright then, no problem?"
No problem! I think there is a problem! Like,
why do you need a mammogram, Dude!
So I’m lead to the little undressing rooms they devised
where us ladies go to don our capes, breasts afloat
in folds fabric with airy ventilation at the sides.
But I’m not too keen on exiting.
I don’t want to see a man in this predicament.
I look around the corridors before I leap,
but he’s not in the special sitting room, or down
the hall. I sit alone, contemplate the facts, decide
I’m open minded, tolerant, I’ve never had a solid
notion of normality; it’s fine if he’s a she,
or she’s a he, I’m fine with any sort of body
he might be. So when a tall and lanky lady
saunters in, I see her smile is kind, and her eyes
are deep and friendly. She’s old enough
to be my aunt and very fit. I reply a smile
and we pass the time in silence. Then she’s called
away by name, and as the nurse leads her away
I hear his voice again! Was he her?
I’ll never know. I had to leave soon after,
my tests all done, and all results come out
just fine. Hey, thanks for asking!
4/30/2009 1:31:16 AM #670
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Prompt #25 Planning to Attend My High School Reunion
Only 5 more days left to go! For today's prompt I want you to pick an event and make that event the title of your poem. Here is my attempt for the day (which will give you a pretty good idea about what I have planned for the day):
Planning to Attend My High School Reunion
I stand, contemplating a life not quite done.
Though my platform is strong, the legs
are weak. I pose slightly askew,
patched and scared in places where I waged
battles with my family’s demons. I won,
the proof is that I stand at all.
Above the base I’m built from remnants;
a degree in collage, two marriages, an attempt
to start a family. The spikes are unexpected
falls, jobs lost, faith in myself too.
The long beams are what held
me together under pressure.
These were supplied by the heart’s need
to find release. I’m crowned with a garland
because love strings me from above.
4/30/2009 10:55:16 AM #714
Planning to Attend My High School Reunion
I stand, contemplating a life not quite done.
Though my platform is strong, the legs
are weak. I pose slightly askew,
patched and scared in places where I waged
battles with my family’s demons. I won,
the proof is that I stand at all.
Above the base I’m built from remnants;
a degree in collage, two marriages, an attempt
to start a family. The spikes are unexpected
falls, jobs lost, faith in myself too.
The long beams are what held
me together under pressure.
These were supplied by the heart’s need
to find release. I’m crowned with a garland
because love strings me from above.
4/30/2009 10:55:16 AM #714
Prompt #24 Snow Birds
For today's prompt, I want you to write a travel-related poem. It can be human travel, the migration of swallows, the trafficking of drugs, etc. Some sort of movement from point A to point B.
Snow Birds
The last time we returned
from Florida we passed
a flock of Snow Geese
about a thousand feet below us.
They flew into the setting sun
their black tips like dashes
across a pale white sky.
4/28/2009 3:41:02 PM #701
Snow Birds
The last time we returned
from Florida we passed
a flock of Snow Geese
about a thousand feet below us.
They flew into the setting sun
their black tips like dashes
across a pale white sky.
4/28/2009 3:41:02 PM #701
Prompt #23 Rising Above the Dandelions
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem of regret. Get creative with this one, but there should be some form of regret either expressed or hinted at (even if ever so slightly). You do NOT have to use the word "regret" in the poem, though it's fine if you do.
Rising Above the Dandelions
I regret cutting the dandelion heads
when they were high and not
the root when I had the chance.
Now they sit lower than the blade
on their nail-like stems and mock me
in the golden yellow robe of the Manipura
Chakra. They remind me that power
is only a perceived notion
gathering its essence from the powerless.
I would rather move beyond the lion
of fear, that knaws upon a stubborn
morsel of meat, to knowing
that my own head will rise higher
when the blades come at me
in an effort to reach beyond the white.
4/28/2009 3:13:43 PM #754
Rising Above the Dandelions
I regret cutting the dandelion heads
when they were high and not
the root when I had the chance.
Now they sit lower than the blade
on their nail-like stems and mock me
in the golden yellow robe of the Manipura
Chakra. They remind me that power
is only a perceived notion
gathering its essence from the powerless.
I would rather move beyond the lion
of fear, that knaws upon a stubborn
morsel of meat, to knowing
that my own head will rise higher
when the blades come at me
in an effort to reach beyond the white.
4/28/2009 3:13:43 PM #754
Prompt #22 This house needs me:
For today's prompt, I want you to write a work-related poem. Work doesn't have to be the main feature of the poem, but I want you to "work" it in somehow. And remember: There are different types of work. Of course, there are the activities that gain you fortune and fame (or not), but then, there's also housework, exercise, volunteering, etc. I'm sure you'll "work" it out.
This house needs me:
to open the shades in winter on the west side of the living room
close the windows in summer when it goes above 95
open the windows when the sun goes down
switch the ceiling fans in the day to counterclockwise
switch them back to clockwise to let the night air in
make sure the front door is closed all winter
let down the windows in the door in spring
close the door against the heat in summer
without me this house wouldn’t be fit to live in.
4/28/2009 4:21:52 PM #765
This house needs me:
to open the shades in winter on the west side of the living room
close the windows in summer when it goes above 95
open the windows when the sun goes down
switch the ceiling fans in the day to counterclockwise
switch them back to clockwise to let the night air in
make sure the front door is closed all winter
let down the windows in the door in spring
close the door against the heat in summer
without me this house wouldn’t be fit to live in.
4/28/2009 4:21:52 PM #765
Prompt #21 Haiku- Buds of green blanket
Here are the two prompts for the day (you only need to choose one, unless you're all about pushing yourself to the limit):
1. Write a haiku. The haiku is not just a form but a genre of poetry. (Click here to read more about the haiku.) People sometimes go into writing a haiku and end up with a senryu or a faux-ku, but it's all good (and all poetry).
2. Write about the haiku. I know there are some poets (in this very group even) who are anti-form. So, I'm giving them the option to write their anti-haiku manifestos. Of course, if you pay attention to this 2nd prompt, it doesn't need to be anti-haiku; your poem could be questioning or even praising the haiku. Or something.
Buds of green blanket
tree branches, white light insists
they remain silver.
4/25/2009 2:16:14 PM #973
1. Write a haiku. The haiku is not just a form but a genre of poetry. (Click here to read more about the haiku.) People sometimes go into writing a haiku and end up with a senryu or a faux-ku, but it's all good (and all poetry).
2. Write about the haiku. I know there are some poets (in this very group even) who are anti-form. So, I'm giving them the option to write their anti-haiku manifestos. Of course, if you pay attention to this 2nd prompt, it doesn't need to be anti-haiku; your poem could be questioning or even praising the haiku. Or something.
Buds of green blanket
tree branches, white light insists
they remain silver.
4/25/2009 2:16:14 PM #973
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Prompt #20 Symbiosis
Day 20 For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem of rebirth. There are many different types of rebirth available, including the changing of the seasons, the beginning of the day, religious or spiritual rebirth, a reconfirmation of good in people, re-learning how to love, etc. So think on it a bit, and create a stellar rebirth poem.
Symbiosis
Does the tree in my yard know
the shade comes
just when it’s needed?
4/27/2009 11:34:57 AM #753
Symbiosis
Does the tree in my yard know
the shade comes
just when it’s needed?
4/27/2009 11:34:57 AM #753
Prompt #19 Buzz Kill
Day 19 I apologize for the problem some people were having yesterday with posting their poems. I think it is fixed now, because I was just able to successfully leave a comment on Day 18.
Perhaps appropriately, today's prompt is to write an angry poem. That is, a poem about someone or something that gets angry. Could be a person, animal, or even them there angry clouds. As usual, I'm excited to see which unexpected directions y'all take with this prompt.
Buzz Kill
He picks me up at the airport
we say what we have to say
then he starts telling me
about the show he saw
about how the orcas are disappearing
PCB’s are in the food chain
and chicken shit is in the Chesapeake
I start thinking maybe we are just a cancer
growing across the planet
I’ve been looking down at tumors
spreading out their tentacles
now I want to die
so I don’t have be part of the carnage
what a way to kill the buzz
of a perfectly good holiday
4/25/2009 1:32:19 AM #744
Perhaps appropriately, today's prompt is to write an angry poem. That is, a poem about someone or something that gets angry. Could be a person, animal, or even them there angry clouds. As usual, I'm excited to see which unexpected directions y'all take with this prompt.
Buzz Kill
He picks me up at the airport
we say what we have to say
then he starts telling me
about the show he saw
about how the orcas are disappearing
PCB’s are in the food chain
and chicken shit is in the Chesapeake
I start thinking maybe we are just a cancer
growing across the planet
I’ve been looking down at tumors
spreading out their tentacles
now I want to die
so I don’t have be part of the carnage
what a way to kill the buzz
of a perfectly good holiday
4/25/2009 1:32:19 AM #744
Prompt #18 Interaction
Day 18 For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem with an interaction of some sort. The interaction does NOT have to be between people, though it can. For instance, you could write about the interaction between a bee and a flower; or an owl and a field mouse. Or just write about a traffic cop getting into an argument with a speeder. Just as long as there is some sort of interaction going on.
Push Mower
The push mower
grooms the grass
where it’s heavy
like I shave his neck-
steady strokes
so as not to pull the hairs.
The blades whir
when they spin,
flying shavings
land in a neat path.
4/25/2009 2:24:33 #751
Push Mower
The push mower
grooms the grass
where it’s heavy
like I shave his neck-
steady strokes
so as not to pull the hairs.
The blades whir
when they spin,
flying shavings
land in a neat path.
4/25/2009 2:24:33 #751
Monday, April 20, 2009
Prompt #17 All I want is the page to load
April PAD Challenge: Day 17
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem with the following title: "All I want is (blank)," where you fill in the blank with a word or phrase of your choosing. Some example titles, then, could be: "All I want is to eat fried chicken"; "All I want is world peace"; "All I want is for everyone to tell me I'm beautiful"; or "All I want is a handful of quarters."
All I want is this page to load
page to load
page to load
page
to
load
P
a
g
e
to
L
o
a
d
are we moving so fast
the wheels are spinning backwards?
4/25/2009 1:48:49 AM #793
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem with the following title: "All I want is (blank)," where you fill in the blank with a word or phrase of your choosing. Some example titles, then, could be: "All I want is to eat fried chicken"; "All I want is world peace"; "All I want is for everyone to tell me I'm beautiful"; or "All I want is a handful of quarters."
All I want is this page to load
page to load
page to load
page
to
load
P
a
g
e
to
L
o
a
d
are we moving so fast
the wheels are spinning backwards?
4/25/2009 1:48:49 AM #793
Friday, April 17, 2009
Prompt #16 Aquamarine
April 16 For today's prompt, I want you to pick a color, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem that is inspired by that color.
Aquamarine
On the plane before touchdown
out the window on the right
if the sun is still high
the color of my mothers eye’s flattens
and elongates to the horizon
while I in my comma shape
white sand and blank page
border her like a question.
Are we really the same?
Or is my hazel more my father
than my mother?
4/25/2009 1:51:19 AM #804
Aquamarine
On the plane before touchdown
out the window on the right
if the sun is still high
the color of my mothers eye’s flattens
and elongates to the horizon
while I in my comma shape
white sand and blank page
border her like a question.
Are we really the same?
Or is my hazel more my father
than my mother?
4/25/2009 1:51:19 AM #804
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Prompt #15 The Elder Brother
For today's prompt, I want you to take the title of a poem you especially like (by another poet) and change it. Then, with this new altered title, I want you to write a poem. An example would be to take William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow" and change it to "The Red Volkswagon." Or take Frank O'Hara's "Why I Am Not a Painter" and change it to "Why I Am Not a Penguin." You get the idea, right? (Note: Your altered poem does NOT have to follow the same style as the original poet, though you can try if you wish.)
The Elder Brother
After The Elder Sister by Sharon Olds
He was born to be impatient
with instructions, puts the bicycle
wheels on backwards, breached
himself, this would be natural.
Being well informed he knows
the thud of an axe in the shin,
the mind numbing pain of a dropped
railroad tie on toes. I envy his reckless
going forth, the must-haves that came
so easily to us, must have been
his albatross. Then there are the musts;
how to fill the shoes of the old man
at the age of twelve after he was gone.
He looks after us like a wild dog
from a distance, chooses his moments
of generosity the way weekend Christians
find their way to church. But when he gives
he gives everything and it shines
like the widow’s mite, worth more
than anything you ever expected.
4/24/2009 1:54:35 PM #796
The Elder Brother
After The Elder Sister by Sharon Olds
He was born to be impatient
with instructions, puts the bicycle
wheels on backwards, breached
himself, this would be natural.
Being well informed he knows
the thud of an axe in the shin,
the mind numbing pain of a dropped
railroad tie on toes. I envy his reckless
going forth, the must-haves that came
so easily to us, must have been
his albatross. Then there are the musts;
how to fill the shoes of the old man
at the age of twelve after he was gone.
He looks after us like a wild dog
from a distance, chooses his moments
of generosity the way weekend Christians
find their way to church. But when he gives
he gives everything and it shines
like the widow’s mite, worth more
than anything you ever expected.
4/24/2009 1:54:35 PM #796
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Prompt #14 Hands in Pockets
Today is Tuesday, which means two prompts.
First prompt: Write a love poem.
Second prompt: Write an anti-love poem.
Simple as that.
Hands in Pockets
I used to put my hand in his pocket
thinking it was our secret
and nothing anyone had ever tried,
but it was all over our faces
when the teacher walked by.
Love is good when you’re young
and reckless.
1:44:03 am #589
First prompt: Write a love poem.
Second prompt: Write an anti-love poem.
Simple as that.
Hands in Pockets
I used to put my hand in his pocket
thinking it was our secret
and nothing anyone had ever tried,
but it was all over our faces
when the teacher walked by.
Love is good when you’re young
and reckless.
1:44:03 am #589
Monday, April 13, 2009
Prompt #13 The Art of Napping
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem that incorporates a hobby (either yours or someone else's). That's right: Now is the perfect opportunity to write about your comic collection or your scrapbooking activities. And for the purposes of this challenge, I also think activities such as fishing, running, bowling, photography, birding, and gardening count as hobbies.
The Art of Napping
There is a world that enters in
with all the nuts and bolts of the day-
it is good to listen, then ignore that world,
in favor of the river that runs like an underskin
of complex elements blending and falling
out of their cups into
the phosphorescent seas that speak
of the connections of all things.
It is possible to tease out a few strands
so that they flow like current-grass and point
in the direction of events farther down
the mouth of the delta
full of things known, like a phone call
that might be heard before it arrives.
But such things are given up only
if you truly let go
until the breath becomes aware
of the breather and a walk through
a veil of warm snow welcomes you back to the world
which has tipped a little farther out
but not so far you can’t find the road
to go forward.
2:07:39 #509
New post:
11:47:31 #254
The Art of Napping
There is a world that enters in
with all the nuts and bolts of the day-
it is good to listen, then ignore that world,
in favor of the river that runs like an underskin
of complex elements blending and falling
out of their cups into
the phosphorescent seas that speak
of the connections of all things.
It is possible to tease out a few strands
so that they flow like current-grass and point
in the direction of events farther down
the mouth of the delta
full of things known, like a phone call
that might be heard before it arrives.
But such things are given up only
if you truly let go
until the breath becomes aware
of the breather and a walk through
a veil of warm snow welcomes you back to the world
which has tipped a little farther out
but not so far you can’t find the road
to go forward.
2:07:39 #509
New post:
11:47:31 #254
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Prompt #12 So we decided to wire her the money
For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "So we decided to (blank)" and fill in the blank. Make that your title and write a poem. Some possibilities include "So we decided to plant a tree" or "So we decided to burn a hole in the sky."
So we decided to wire her the money
to come home on a Greyhound
thinking five days on a bus might
be enough to figure out how far off track
she was but he followed and we found out
they were married and anything good
we wanted to happen wasn’t going to happen
not with him in the picture so we decided
she had to leave until she was clean again
and he was out of the picture and we
changed the locks but after a month
of living on her own we decided to let her
come back home if she promised to keep
her room clean and get herself into a program
but nothing ever changes so we decided
to admit her when the doctors said
they didn’t know what else to do.
4-13-09 10:27:55 #516
So we decided to wire her the money
to come home on a Greyhound
thinking five days on a bus might
be enough to figure out how far off track
she was but he followed and we found out
they were married and anything good
we wanted to happen wasn’t going to happen
not with him in the picture so we decided
she had to leave until she was clean again
and he was out of the picture and we
changed the locks but after a month
of living on her own we decided to let her
come back home if she promised to keep
her room clean and get herself into a program
but nothing ever changes so we decided
to admit her when the doctors said
they didn’t know what else to do.
4-13-09 10:27:55 #516
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Prompt #11 Ode to the Purse
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don't have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem. One of the more famous poems of contemporary literature does this wonderfully in William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow."
Ode to the Purse
It’s commonly known that purses
are a female invention, to have,
to hold, to save for later-
these are feminine obsessions.
Man walks with hands free
palms inward, concealing
his plans from the world. Woman
keeps her daily needs secure in a sack-
food for a long journey, tools for finding
food, mementos and enhancements to keep
her safe and always beautiful in the presence
of angry gods.
4-12 11:56 #519
Ode to the Purse
It’s commonly known that purses
are a female invention, to have,
to hold, to save for later-
these are feminine obsessions.
Man walks with hands free
palms inward, concealing
his plans from the world. Woman
keeps her daily needs secure in a sack-
food for a long journey, tools for finding
food, mementos and enhancements to keep
her safe and always beautiful in the presence
of angry gods.
4-12 11:56 #519
Friday, April 10, 2009
Prompt #10 Good Sabbath
In some circles, today is known as Good Friday. In other circles, every Friday is good (mostly because the weekend has begun). For the rest, Fridays aren't anything special.
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about Friday. Do you like Fridays? Despise Fridays? Of course, you can also write about something that happened on a Friday--or write an ode to Fridays. Or, as you know, I'm all for seeing you attack this from an angle I haven't thought of yet.
Good Sabbath
God’s work
was finished on
Friday, the seventh day
of the week when Jesus said “it
is done.”
2:01:55 #503
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about Friday. Do you like Fridays? Despise Fridays? Of course, you can also write about something that happened on a Friday--or write an ode to Fridays. Or, as you know, I'm all for seeing you attack this from an angle I haven't thought of yet.
Good Sabbath
God’s work
was finished on
Friday, the seventh day
of the week when Jesus said “it
is done.”
2:01:55 #503
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Prompt #9 The Day She Learned How Not to Bounce
For today's prompt, I want you write a poem about a memory. The memory can be good or bad. The memory can be a blend of several memories. I suppose it could even be a memory that you're not sure you remember correctly. Take your time finding a good one (or good ones).
The Day She Learned How Not to Bounce
A girl sets out from her home
in jeans and a light sweater
on a warm spring day.
She walks the back roads
the same as always, bouncing
along in sneakers, the wind
in her long hair, her face
warmed by the sun.
When she reaches the light
at the main road she begins
to feel strange. A car stops
and some older boys lean out.
She follows their eyes down
to where they are pinned and sees
two round mounds have appeared.
She can’t cover them with her hands
so she looks straight ahead and walks on
trying not to bounce.
2:46:85 #586
The Day She Learned How Not to Bounce
A girl sets out from her home
in jeans and a light sweater
on a warm spring day.
She walks the back roads
the same as always, bouncing
along in sneakers, the wind
in her long hair, her face
warmed by the sun.
When she reaches the light
at the main road she begins
to feel strange. A car stops
and some older boys lean out.
She follows their eyes down
to where they are pinned and sees
two round mounds have appeared.
She can’t cover them with her hands
so she looks straight ahead and walks on
trying not to bounce.
2:46:85 #586
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Prompt #8 Not Quite Routine
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about either a specific routine or routines in general. Maybe something related to taking out the trash each week or washing the dishes every night--or something more bizarre (yet still a routine).
Not Quite Routine
In the exam room the nurse showed me
each step in the process, her delicate fingers
held the gauze lightly against his shin
as she wrapped and taped, wrapped
and taped, and I thought, I can do this
for him. On the first morning
I fumbled with all the novel packages
and grew hot with embarrassment
over his difficult socks. On the second
day I procrastinated, forgetting it had to be
“before his feet hit the ground.”
When I came in I saw he had been lying
in bed awhile, quietly waiting. It was another
difficult morning, but tomorrow, maybe
it become routine for both of us.
1:18:40 #565
Not Quite Routine
In the exam room the nurse showed me
each step in the process, her delicate fingers
held the gauze lightly against his shin
as she wrapped and taped, wrapped
and taped, and I thought, I can do this
for him. On the first morning
I fumbled with all the novel packages
and grew hot with embarrassment
over his difficult socks. On the second
day I procrastinated, forgetting it had to be
“before his feet hit the ground.”
When I came in I saw he had been lying
in bed awhile, quietly waiting. It was another
difficult morning, but tomorrow, maybe
it become routine for both of us.
1:18:40 #565
Calming the Fluctuations of the Mind
or How to Find Samadhi After Yoga
Settle your body into the floor
fans rotate, tire the eyes
feel the air in the small of your back
darkness looms under a bridge
let your tailbone release all tension
stones on the ground, too big to lift
let your hips open, legs fall gently apart
trees sway above a ridge
wiggle the toes and fingers
juncos dip and rise, dip and rise
open the chest and let your arms go
clouds roll by a paper sun
Move your head from side to side
colors spread from the sunrise
let your mind wander
trees outline the sky
watch your thoughts empty
there is no sky
1:32:06 #674
or How to Find Samadhi After Yoga
Settle your body into the floor
fans rotate, tire the eyes
feel the air in the small of your back
darkness looms under a bridge
let your tailbone release all tension
stones on the ground, too big to lift
let your hips open, legs fall gently apart
trees sway above a ridge
wiggle the toes and fingers
juncos dip and rise, dip and rise
open the chest and let your arms go
clouds roll by a paper sun
Move your head from side to side
colors spread from the sunrise
let your mind wander
trees outline the sky
watch your thoughts empty
there is no sky
1:32:06 #674
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Prompts #7 Calming the Fluctuations of the Mind or How to Find Samadhi After Yoga
Today is our first "Two for Tuesday" prompt of the month. On these days, I offer two prompts. Don't worry: You don't need to write a poem for each prompt (but you're more than welcome to if you feel up to the challenge).
Prompt #1: I want you to write a clean poem. Take this however you wish. Clean language, clean subject matter, or cleaning the dishes. Of course, some twisted few will automatically link "cleaning" with hired hitmen. That's okay, as long as your poem is somehow linked to clean.
Prompt #2: I want you to write a dirty poem. Take all that stuff I wrote in the first prompt and twist it upside down. The opposite of clean is dirty; so, do what ya gotta do to produce a dirty poem. (Gosh, I hope this challenge doesn't get too messy as a result.)
Calming the Fluctuations of the Mind
or How to Find Samadhi After Yoga
Settle your body into the floor
fans rotate, tire the eyes
feel the air in the small of your back
darkness looms under a bridge
let your tailbone release all tension
stones on the ground, too big to lift
let your hips open, legs fall gently apart
trees sway above a ridge
wiggle the toes and fingers
juncos dip and rise, dip and rise
open the chest and let your arms go
clouds roll by a paper sun
Move your head from side to side
colors spread from the sunrise
let your mind wander
trees outline the sky
watch your thoughts empty
there is no sky
1:32:06 #674
Prompt #1: I want you to write a clean poem. Take this however you wish. Clean language, clean subject matter, or cleaning the dishes. Of course, some twisted few will automatically link "cleaning" with hired hitmen. That's okay, as long as your poem is somehow linked to clean.
Prompt #2: I want you to write a dirty poem. Take all that stuff I wrote in the first prompt and twist it upside down. The opposite of clean is dirty; so, do what ya gotta do to produce a dirty poem. (Gosh, I hope this challenge doesn't get too messy as a result.)
Calming the Fluctuations of the Mind
or How to Find Samadhi After Yoga
Settle your body into the floor
fans rotate, tire the eyes
feel the air in the small of your back
darkness looms under a bridge
let your tailbone release all tension
stones on the ground, too big to lift
let your hips open, legs fall gently apart
trees sway above a ridge
wiggle the toes and fingers
juncos dip and rise, dip and rise
open the chest and let your arms go
clouds roll by a paper sun
Move your head from side to side
colors spread from the sunrise
let your mind wander
trees outline the sky
watch your thoughts empty
there is no sky
1:32:06 #674
Monday, April 06, 2009
Prompt #6 I Don't Miss My Virginity
For today's poem, I want you to write a poem about something missing. It can be about an actual physical object or something you just can't put your finger on (like "love" or "the spirit of Christmas" or something).
I Don't Miss My Virginity
At least, I never missed it until it was gone. People say that all the time about things that go, but how can you loose something and gain something at the exact same time? I never even knew what it was worth, if it was marketable. It was a thing I’d heard about from a girl on a swing. She said it wasn’t any big deal. The boys made her seem like she’d really been somewhere, but she reminded me of a road-tested car that they’d thought about buying and then changed their minds. She didn’t even care about the boys and their come-ons. She said it would happen to me too and it wouldn’t change anything, it wouldn’t feel bad or good. I didn’t think anything like that would happen to me, not because I was smart or good, but because I never attracted that kind of attention. I wasn’t girly; I didn’t even carry a purse or wear makeup. I didn’t see why the boys made such a fuss about it. I got birth control before anything happened because I was too smart to end up pregnant, that’s for sure, and then a boy I liked finally showed me exactly what it was he wanted our bodies to do, and I was drunk enough to let him, and then it was gone.
I Don't Miss My Virginity
At least, I never missed it until it was gone. People say that all the time about things that go, but how can you loose something and gain something at the exact same time? I never even knew what it was worth, if it was marketable. It was a thing I’d heard about from a girl on a swing. She said it wasn’t any big deal. The boys made her seem like she’d really been somewhere, but she reminded me of a road-tested car that they’d thought about buying and then changed their minds. She didn’t even care about the boys and their come-ons. She said it would happen to me too and it wouldn’t change anything, it wouldn’t feel bad or good. I didn’t think anything like that would happen to me, not because I was smart or good, but because I never attracted that kind of attention. I wasn’t girly; I didn’t even carry a purse or wear makeup. I didn’t see why the boys made such a fuss about it. I got birth control before anything happened because I was too smart to end up pregnant, that’s for sure, and then a boy I liked finally showed me exactly what it was he wanted our bodies to do, and I was drunk enough to let him, and then it was gone.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Prompt #5 The Cliffs of Briarcliff Manor
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about a landmark. It can be a famous landmark (like Mount Rushmore or the Sphinx) or a little more subdued (like the town water tower or an interesting sign).
The Cliffs of Briarcliff Manor
The Cliffs of Briarcliff Manor don’t like
fancy talk because they are down home. They are
Indian brothers. They are a place to get away
from fancy talk. They are quiet during the day
and dark at night and they don’t think
about the passage of time because they were here
before everything. They were here when
the roads came in and didn’t change.
They were here when the houses were built
and didn’t change. And when the new highway
was built right under their feet they didn’t care
and kept on looking out at the traffic lights,
saying nothing. Every time I pass by them
on my way home they see me and don’t care
one bit where I’ve been. And when I go away
they see me leaving and never ask me where
I’m going. I love the Cliffs in my home town
because they never change. They are still there today,
and even though the earth is swallowing them
and the sides are sliding in on themselves
they are still the same, holding on like a bald man
to a windblown hat, refusing to let it go.
~~~~~
1:04:01 #567
I'd love to add a good picture of the Cliffs, but I havent' found one yet.
The Cliffs of Briarcliff Manor
The Cliffs of Briarcliff Manor don’t like
fancy talk because they are down home. They are
Indian brothers. They are a place to get away
from fancy talk. They are quiet during the day
and dark at night and they don’t think
about the passage of time because they were here
before everything. They were here when
the roads came in and didn’t change.
They were here when the houses were built
and didn’t change. And when the new highway
was built right under their feet they didn’t care
and kept on looking out at the traffic lights,
saying nothing. Every time I pass by them
on my way home they see me and don’t care
one bit where I’ve been. And when I go away
they see me leaving and never ask me where
I’m going. I love the Cliffs in my home town
because they never change. They are still there today,
and even though the earth is swallowing them
and the sides are sliding in on themselves
they are still the same, holding on like a bald man
to a windblown hat, refusing to let it go.
~~~~~
1:04:01 #567
I'd love to add a good picture of the Cliffs, but I havent' found one yet.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Prompt #4 Pollywog
For today’s prompt, I want you to pick an animal; make that animal the title of your poem; then, write a poem. You could be very general with your animal title (“Bees” or “Lion”) or specific (“Flipper” or “Lassie”). You could even be very silly with something like “Tony, the Tiger,” I guess (that tiger on the cereal box).
Pollywog
I am the in-between, a soft link in a soft
chain. My large head protrudes like sperm
but most of me is fin and possibility.
I revel in the chance to come to life
out of a bed of mud, out of sky
because I am from air and water,
a mineral, like this planet circling
the universe. Touch my colors,
light and poison run through me.
But be warned, you of the less-soft
uprights! My fate is written
in the sands, though I come apart
in stride and can regrow my limbs,
I can not put back the glisten
that is leaching from this earth.
#353 at 6:56:04
Pollywog
I am the in-between, a soft link in a soft
chain. My large head protrudes like sperm
but most of me is fin and possibility.
I revel in the chance to come to life
out of a bed of mud, out of sky
because I am from air and water,
a mineral, like this planet circling
the universe. Touch my colors,
light and poison run through me.
But be warned, you of the less-soft
uprights! My fate is written
in the sands, though I come apart
in stride and can regrow my limbs,
I can not put back the glisten
that is leaching from this earth.
#353 at 6:56:04
Friday, April 03, 2009
Prompt #3 The Problem with Fire and Brimstone
Today's prompt: Take the phrase "The problem with (blank)" and replace the "(blank)" with a word or phrase. Make this the title of your poem and then write a poem to fit with or juxtapose against that title. For instance, you could have poems with the titles of "The problem with government," "The problem with advanced mathematics," or "The problem with bipolar penguins." You know the drill: have fun, be creative.
The Problem with Fire and Brimstone
Go back thousands of years- to Lot
in the center of the navel, alchemy
on the fringes, and Exxon Mobile
standing on the diving board, ready
to plunge into a climate pocked by scientific
enthusiasm. But even if the sulfuric promise
arrives tomorrow, haven’t we taken electrons
apart, seen into the molten past and future?
Organic chemicals have their uses,
but where is God’s wrath?
#395 at 3:57:5
The Problem with Fire and Brimstone
Go back thousands of years- to Lot
in the center of the navel, alchemy
on the fringes, and Exxon Mobile
standing on the diving board, ready
to plunge into a climate pocked by scientific
enthusiasm. But even if the sulfuric promise
arrives tomorrow, haven’t we taken electrons
apart, seen into the molten past and future?
Organic chemicals have their uses,
but where is God’s wrath?
#395 at 3:57:5
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Prompt #2 Fleeting Thoughts
Today, I want you to write an outsider poem. You can be the outsider; someone else can be the outsider; or it can even be an animal or inanimate object that's the outsider. As usual, get creative with the prompt and don't be afraid to stretch the limits.
Fleeting Thoughts
A field of grackles will not stay
and neither do the thoughts of lovers.
For all their racket and stature they are
shy birds that will flee at the slightest
provocation. I shift my weight, generate
waves of unrest. My heart, already pounding,
isn’t ready to see them go, but the exodus
has begun, first to the trees, then like lines
of a song you can’t quite remember,
they erase every vestige of themselves
from the day like they were never there.
Fleeting Thoughts
A field of grackles will not stay
and neither do the thoughts of lovers.
For all their racket and stature they are
shy birds that will flee at the slightest
provocation. I shift my weight, generate
waves of unrest. My heart, already pounding,
isn’t ready to see them go, but the exodus
has begun, first to the trees, then like lines
of a song you can’t quite remember,
they erase every vestige of themselves
from the day like they were never there.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Prompt #1 The Origin of Love
All right then! Let's get started!
For today's prompt, I want you to write an origin poem. It can be the origin of a word, person, plant, idea, etc. Have fun with it.
The Origin of Love
I held her hand as we emerged
out of the long stalk of bamboo.
She said seeing the leaves flicker
against the sky made her skin tickle
and her heart race faster than it ever had.
Then she walked off in the direction
of the moon.
For today's prompt, I want you to write an origin poem. It can be the origin of a word, person, plant, idea, etc. Have fun with it.
The Origin of Love
I held her hand as we emerged
out of the long stalk of bamboo.
She said seeing the leaves flicker
against the sky made her skin tickle
and her heart race faster than it ever had.
Then she walked off in the direction
of the moon.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Beginning a Poem a Day Challenge for April 2009
Just thought I'd rev this up for use during the poem a day challenge at Poetic Asides. http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/Login.aspx
I'll probably work from here at times becuase I have a vacation in the middle of April to navagate in the challenge.
I'll probably work from here at times becuase I have a vacation in the middle of April to navagate in the challenge.
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