PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 30: The End

So here is my last daily poem for November. Today's prompt is to write an "end" poem.

Ends of Cheese

It's a tradition that started with her mother,

who used to go to a local deli guy -

"Marty at the Mart", she called him -

and she would ask for ends of cheese,

the heels of five-pound blocks too thin

to go through the slicer. For a good discount,

she'd bring home a plastic bag of all kinds

of cheese scraps - American, cheddar, provolone,

Swiss, gouda, parmesan. It was a good way

to make ends meet. Then she'd whip up

a roux and add random pieces of cheese -

a literal melting pot of international favorites.

And oh, what a fondue it would make,

or a sauce for macaroni and cheese.

Today she carries on her mother's  tradition,

out of preference rather than need.

She makes a killer mac and cheese too,

and says it's good to know that like the cheese,

when we  come down toward our end,

there is still can be a use for us.

I'll be back soon with a synopsis. Hope you enjoyed reading!

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 29

Today's Poetic Asides prompt: Write a poem with the title "Have ________".  Just saying my piece in verse today:

Have Yourself a Merry Little Whatever

If "Merry Christmas" is your choice

I'm cool with that; go celebrate.

If you like "Happy Holidays"

you're not a person I'd berate.

There is no "War on Christmas", folks -

there's no one persecuting you.

But don't assume that everyone

must share your Gospel-centered view.

Good people come in many forms;

in fact, so do their holidays.

If peace and love is their intent

they may observe in different ways.

So understand the world has room

for Hanukkah and Kwanzaa joy,

and even Solstice if you wish;

it's more than just a baby boy.

PAD Chapbook Chalenge Day 28

Happy Thanksgiving! Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "gratitude" poem.  So I noticed a lot of reminders on my Facebook page that the song I reference below, "Alice's Restaurant" by Arlo Guthrie, has become an annual broadcast tradition on many radio stations for Thanksgiving Day. I remember hearing it when it was new - that's how old I am. They're aren't too many songs associated with Thanksgiving, but this has become a quintessential example. (If you've never heard it, it's basically a two-minute song with a 15-minute monologue sandwiched between the verses, and it's very funny and topical.)

Thank You, Arlo

for Alice's Restaurant,

that eighteen-minute ramble

about your hippie days and the

"Thanksgiving Dinner that Couldn't Be Beat",

and taking out the trash

in a red VW Microbus with shovels and rakes

and implements of destruction,

and Officer Obie, and the court appearance

with twenty-seven eight by ten color glossy pictures,

and the draft board, and Group W,

and father-rapers, and "Kill! Kill! Kill!"

and the Anti-Massacree Movement.

It was about Vietnam - back then

everything was about Vietnam,

but for me, and countless others,

there's no Thanksgiving without it,

and we love when you assure us

that you can get anything you want

(exceptin' Alice).

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 27

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "remix" of a poem you have written this month. This can mean any of several things: For instance, take the words of your poem and scramble them to re-assemble into another poem; or write a "response" or an "opposite" to a previous poem; or as in my case, use lines from your previous poems to create a new one. A fellow poet once described this as a "self-cento" I've done this a couple of times and it's kind of fun - it's interesting in which direction the poem ends up going. For this one, I set up two ground rules: (1) I could only use the last lines of previous poems (as many as I could to make a coherent new poem), and (2) I couldn't write more than one new line between the lines borrowed from previous poems. So here is the result:

Post-apocalypse

Glistening morning, 

jacket required -

you watch the wine-colored clouds

put on a Technicolor show,

and think with some irony,

Well done, lads, well done.

I want to know: Who fixes you?

You no longer think about how

peace someday may come.

Hopes roll in like tide and then

pull away into the dark water.

Time, the great leveler of aspirations.

Who's won?

It doesn't matter - you'll still have to watch

over your long-suffering family,

without worrying how their world will end.

You make a vow to

live.

Dark forces will not end you,

leaving nothing but a stump as your legacy.

You'll fight to sail

safely to your bedroom shore,

world without end,

Amen.

And here are the borrowed lines, with the day I wrote each one:

Line 1 - day 2

Line 2 - day 2

Line 3 - day 21

Line 4 - day 13

Line 6 - day 16

Line 7 - day 10

Line 9 - day 18

Line 11 - day 6

Line 12 - day 3

Line 13 - day 19

Line 15 - day 23

Line 16 - day 22

Line 18 - day 11

Line 20 - day 17

Line 22 - day 20 

Line 24 - day 25 

I made only some minor changes in some of the borrowed lines, mostly changes to the second person.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 26

Today's prompt, one that Robert Lee Brewer always offers during each poem-a-day challenge month: Wirte a love and/or "anti-love" poem.  So here's mine:

Hallmark Season

That morning she spills her coffee on him,

she doesn't know he is a prince.

She tells him she works with orphans -

it's enough to make you just wince.

They meet cute, and you know that somehow,

one thing's bound to lead to another.

And the actor who plays her widowed dad

looks familiar - he played someone's brother.

By Christmastime, they're madly in love.

A royal wedding's the closing scene,

with snowflakes and bells and a beautiful gown -

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be mean,

but these movies all look the same to me;

Lacey Chabert stars half of the time.

And they're always presented by Hallmark -

which is why I wrote this poem in rhyme.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 25

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "meal" poem. Without further comment, I offer this gentle satire:

Hipster Grace

Oh Lord,

or whatever higher power I may subscribe to,

bless this cold-brew coffee,

this microbrew IPA,

this kombucha, this green juice in a Mason jar.

Bless these kimchi tacos and tapas,

these sautéed ramps with kale and bacon,

this cauliflower-crust pizza with pancetta and foraged basil.

Bless this artisanal ancient-grain bread,

these matcha green tea donuts,

this blood orange gluten-free birthday cake.

In the name of Twitter, Snapchat and Instagram,

(click)

Amen.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 24

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "dialog" poem. I presume that means a poem containing some dialog rather than once comprised completely of dialog. (I did write a poem in April called "after seeing Star Wars", which was almost completely dialog, between a five-year-old boy and his dad - that was fun to write.) For this once, I added the challenge of using the word bank from this week's Sunday Whirl blog. The words were born, wash, scream, once, lit, beam, dance, chase, bond, found, puzzle, and sit.

Sloth

"I wasn't born to wash the dishes," he says.

"Maybe I'll get them later."

Sometimes she just wants to scream.

Once upon a time his face lit up to see her

and she would beam right back.

Back in the day they would dance

till the band went home,

or chase a sunrise into the morning.

There's still a bond between them,

but sometimes it strains to rip apart

when she feels that she is pulling

much more than her own weight.

He's found the Sunday crossword puzzle,

and sits down to solve it.

"Honey, what's a five-letter word for

'an animal or a deadly sin'?"

"I don't know," she replies.

"How many letters are in your name?"

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 23

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write an "instructional" poem.  This subject came to mind because I officially began to play Christmas music today - I figured, Thanksgiving is late, Christmas is only 32 days away, and I have an extensive holiday music library to get through before then. (By the way, I recommend Los Lobos' new holiday album - sung mostly in Spanish, but it's terrific, as they usually are.)

When to Play Christmas Music

First of all: never, ever, before Halloween.

That should be illegal.

I don't care if you already have

Christmas trees up in your store.

Rudolph was never destined to be friends

with the Werewolf of London,

and you can't do the Monster Mash

with jingle bells.

The two holidays are not meant to mix -

the lone exception being

The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Once you're into November, it's a toss-up:

those soft-pop radio stations

have special dispensation

to play it nonstop from November first,

but you don't have to listen to it.

Thanksgiving is a good benchmark,

although if it snows where you are

before then, all bets are off.

As soon as you've digested your turkey,

you can have free rein -

play the sacred or the secular,

the sublime or the silly,

the Hallelujah Chorus or

Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.

Just promise you won't drive your musical sleigh

crammed with holiday cheer

over your long-suffering family.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 22

Poetic Asides prompt for today: Write a poem with the title "Mr. _______" or "Mrs. _________", "Ms. _______", "Dr. ___________", etc. I'm submitting this without much comment, except to say there are days I am passionate about what's going on, and days I just feel like this:

Mr. and Mrs. America and All the Ships at Sea

don't want to hear your media blitz,

don't want to watch breaking news at this hour,

don't care much for either side of the story,

and the farther out to sea they are, the better.

Mr. and Mrs. America want to take a ship

to some lush remote island

where radio and TV never made landfall,

where burnout is not a thing,

and they'd like to spend one blissful month -

a year, even -

without worrying how their country will end,

without worrying how their world will end.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 21

Today's poetry prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "travel" poem. My wife and I took our first ever river cruise this past summer, and we thoroughly enjoyed it, but so far I've only written one short poem inspired by it. It's high time I wrote another.

River Cruise

Our longship cuts a lazy wake

up the Danube and down the Rhine

with the help of dozens of locks

that fascinate us every time,

raising us up, dropping us down

as we navigate a cultural corridor.

Budapest, Vienna, Cologne -

all jewels on this watery necklace

for us to inspect and admire.

We go topside to watch the passing sights -

little towns with scenic buildings,

and once, the trifecta -        

a church, a lighthouse, a castle.

Vineyards carpet the steep hills,

and soon we pass the Lorelei,

 a looming rock on the right bank of the Rhine,

infamous for its hazardous curve

which brought many ships to their doom.

Legend has it that the murmuring sound

sailors once heard while passing through

was a forlorn lover, a beautiful woman

who enticed them to their demise.

We slip through the snaky strait unscathed,

and continue our journey, relaxed.

For once, we have let someone else

do the driving for us, and the cooking,

the laundry, the washing-up.

From the left bank this evening,

sunset cuts through the trees,

and over chateaubriand and red wine,

we watch the wine-colored clouds.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 20

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "light" poem. I've actually written a couple of poems that deal with light this month, including a persona poem from the point of view of a refracted sunbeam.  I used a favorite alt-rock tune from the 90's at my jumping-off point for this one: But a funny thing happened: I wasn't entirely pleased with the first poem and went in a different direction with the quote, producing a slightly different angle:

Night Light

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you?

                                    - They Might Be Giants,

                                    "Birdhouse in Your Soul"

My granddaughter, who has napped

through November dusk, awakens scared

by sudden dark. I need a night light, she says,

so I promise to get one at the store.

There are many to choose -

Disney characters, Hello Kitty, and so forth -

but I pick a generic model

with a plain translucent cover.

It's enough to soothe her, and now

when she wakes, there is a faint glow

and shadows that have become familiar.

The monsters don't like it,

this lighthouse beacon that guides her

out of the sea of her dreams,

away from rocky fears,

and safely to her bedroom shore.

Night Light (II)

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you?
- They Might Be Giants,
"Birdhouse in Your Soul"

When you get tired of singing your song of light,
when you eventually burn out, who will fix you?

We may all be sleeping, and your beacon that once stood tall
may not protect us any longer from the rocky coasts
and shallow shoals of our dreams.

When your filament goes to black and we wake,
the monsters will slink out of the shadows
and loom like something more than they are.

Maybe you need a night light too, to back you up,
something contemporary like Frozen or Hello Kitty,
innocent enough, but with the strength of ten lighthouses,
and an LED that will last for years.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 19

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "protagonist" and/or "antagonist" poem. This was a pretty good prompt, but I struggled with it all day and late into the evening before coming up with something short and aphoristic:

Manuscript

You are always

the protagonist

of your own story.

The antagonist

is anyone who would keep

you from writing it.

Not until the last page

will you truly know

who's won.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 18

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "music" poem. I've written dozens of them over the years, including one just two days ago, so I thought I'd add another element to the prompt by dusting off another prompt I came up with a few years ago that serves me well from time to time: Take any random list of songs  - a shuffled playlist from your streaming app, MP3 files, CD, radio station, etc. - and take the titles of the next five songs on your list. Then try to incorporate those titles into the language of a poem. Here are the five songs I got from my Amazon Music playlist:


“On a Bright May Morning” by Loreena McKennitt“Trouble” by Coldplay“Walls and Cannonballs” by Sister Hazel“Mercury” by Sufjan Stevens“So Beautiful or So What” by Paul Simon

And here's the poem that resulted:

Rona's Song

On a bright May morning she stands

on the overlook to a desert valley.

She adjusts her bandana

against the wind and sand.

So much trouble, she tells herself -

the centuries of war and struggles,

the walls and cannonballs,

now crumbling and rusted,

the recently-ruined temples,

which stood for thousands of years,

and newer forces pouring like mercury

over the already punished land.  

You can say, So beautiful, or so what, 

she thinks, as she shoulders her weapon

and starts off to rejoin her unit.

On the way, she composes a song in her head

about how peace someday may come.



I actually "cheated" on my own prompt by listing ten song titles and eliminating three that i thought would be a little to hard to use in a poem. But I also used, in a way, two more of them: “Ronnie” by the Four Seasons (a love song about a woman named Ronnie), but changed it to “Rona”, which is an Arabic name, as I imagined the subject as a Kurdish fighter. I also used “bandana” from the title “Turkish Bandana” by J.S.Ondara, but dropped “Turkish” because I doubt a Kurdish fighter would wear something Turkish. It's interesting how the titles suggested the subject, especially "walls and cannonballs" - there had to be something about war. And the Loreena McKennitt title begged to be a first line.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 17

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides: Write a "health" poem. Once again I also used this week's Sunday Whirl word bank for today's poem. The words were: dawn, bring, imminent, rhythm, branches, mince, crack, till, light, single, lick, inner.

Old Oak

Dawn has barely passed to breakfast time

when my neighbor decides to bring down

his tree, a fifty-foot oak in his back yard.

It is sick, he says, brittle and dying,

and an imminent danger to his house,

so he hires tree guys to help him cut it down.

All day I hear the rhythm and crescendo-decrescendo

of those loud, growling instruments, their chain saws;

the clattering, grinding racket of their chipper,

reducing branches to minced-up mulch;

and the occasional crack of a bough or branch

cut mostly through,  splitting and hastening its own

demise, a thump to the ground.  They work

till twilight, and break it all down in a single day.

I, on the other hand, haven't done a lick of work today.

I think I have the flu. My inner hypochondriac, however,

thinks it could be more serious. After all,

it's already November, I've been trimmed and pruned

a few times myself, and I wonder how long it will be

before someone comes to turn me to mulch,

leaving nothing but a stump as my legacy.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Day 16: A Tribute to John

So, I'm finally caught up on the blog. Today's prompt from Poetic Asides was to write a poem with the title "Free ______". I couldn't stop thinking about the great song and amazing video that the surviving Beatles did for their Anthology 1 collection, using an old demo tape that John Lennnon made in 1977.  The poem is based on that, with the images of the video as further inspiration.

Free as a Bird

"...it's the next best thing to be..."

                                - John Lennon

oh, how you can soar now

over the Liverpool rooftops

over your mates, still tramping

the worn-down streets

through the grime and fog

of the city

oh, how you miss her

but she gave them your song

on a tape, and they took it

into their hearts and brought

it out again with harmonies

and his weeping guitar

oh, how you can hear it

wafting through the trees

while you rise above them all

on an updraft to clouds

and if you could you'd say

well done, lads, well done

PAD Chapbook Challenge Days 13-15

I forgot to post three poems yesterday, otherwise I'd be all caught up by today. Anyway, here are three more poems I wrote this month for the "chapbook challenge" at Poetic Asides. (I read the Day 13 poem at a poetry reading just last night.)


[Day 13: Write a "persona" poem]

Pocket Rainbow

All the way from the sun

through the atmosphere,

a concentrated riot of photons,

I've traveled whole, warm and energetic,

down to earth and into a neighborhood,

only to be broken apart as I stream

through a beveled window in someone's front door.

I split into many wavelengths

and  bang up against a gray-upholstered couch

in the living room as a multicolored stripe,

seven colors projected onto fabric.

I delight two little girls, who try to catch me

in their hands and stuff me in their pockets,

but in vain. I want to say, It's just refraction, kids,

it's really no big deal. But they're still too little

to understand the science of it,

and besides, their grandmother says,

You can still pretend, and sometime later today,

reach into your pockets, and pull out a rainbow

to help you smile, so that red, orange, yellow, green,

blue, indigo and violet will color your day,

like a paint box of light.

I'm just glad to be of help.

[Day 14: Write a "myth" poem.]

Why is a Marathon 26.2 Miles?

Legend has it that an ancient Greek messenger,

whose name is lost to the ages,

ran from Marathon to Athens

with news of military victory.

He jogged an astounding 40 kilometers,

or about 25 miles, only to collapse and die

after breathlessly delivering the news.

True or not, it's a hell of a story.

In honor of that sacrifice, the Modern Olympics

established a race in the 1890's,

the same length as his fateful route.

But a few years later at the London Olympics,

on the whim of the British Royal Family,

it was extended another mile and two-tenths,

the distance from Windsor Castle to the stadium,

and that distance has been observed ever since.

Which only goes to show that

a myth is as good as a mile.

[Day 15: Write a "middle poem".]

Sunset on Route 38

In the middle of rush hour,

staring at the bumper three feet in front of me

on this clogged-artery highway,

I glance up and notice the change overhead.

The sun is setting the clouds on fire,

not a forest-eating wildfire,

but more like a winter lodge log fire,

calming me with an ember glow.

I want to grab my phone camera,

get out, abandon my car,

and stand in the middle of the highway

taking shot after shot. But I won't.

In the middle of the noise and fumes

of this flash-mob parking lot,

we are witness to a November sunset,

the best of any time of year.

Why are November sunsets spectacular?

Maybe it's the type of clouds we get

this time of year, or the angle of the sun,

or the colors, echoing the hues of the leaves,

or maybe it's just the timing,

that they happen just as we all

are finishing our day, and we look in awe

at the wash of colors wrapping twilight

like a present, as if the clouds are saying,

Relax, don't worry about the crush of things.

Go home to your loved ones and dinner

while we put on a Technicolor show.

PAD Chapbook Challenge Days 10-12

Almost caught up with posting my daily poems for Robert Lee Brewer's November Chapbook Challenge on the Poetic Asides blog.  Here are three more with the prompts that inspried them:

[Day 10: Write a "Blank of Blank" (_____ of ______) poem, using that phrase as your title]
[This was another poem for which I employed the weekly word bank on the Sunday Whirl blog - the words were thick, brew, milk, salty, card, rights, marching, like, champ, millennials, true, luscious.]

Cup of... Coffee?

Thick, steamy, sweet,

with a heart drawn in foam on top,

a grande cup of brew -

java, steamed milk, and maybe

a shot of salty caramel.

You queue up to the barista

and flash your member card,

demanding  your rights to caffeination

to get you marching through the day

like a champ.

Is this really what coffee has become?

Don't blame it on millennials;

you know what's true -

you think it's luscious too.

[Day 11: Write a "prime" poem. I decided to write a "prime number" poem - kind of like a "Fibonacci poem", except instead of a Fibonacci number sequence, I used the sequence of prime numbers - 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19 and back down again to 1.]

Babble

what

have we

created

this tower of words

building itself on itself

reaching beyond our reach, high into the clouds

till the air gets thin, and we climb stratospheric heights

only to find that we don't understand one another anymore

what's the use in trying to touch the stars when we can't even communicate

pull back from that darkness, look at the darkness in your neighbor's face and

say take my hand, it's all right, climb down with me, and we can

breathe again, we can find something in common

we love, help me take the bricks

apart, build a place

where all of

us can

live

[Day 12: Write a form and/or anti-form poem. I decided to write a triolet.]

Dervish

You troubleshooter, in demand,

I want to know: Who fixes you?

A crying shoulder, helping hand,

a troubleshooter on demand,

a schedule most could not withstand.

Who picks you up when you are blue,

or troubled, shot from all demands?

I want to know: Who fixes you?

PAD Chapbook Challenge Days 7-9

Here are the three poems I wrote for the Poetic Asides Poem-a-day Chapbook Challenge for November 7, 8 and 9, with the prompts that inspired them. (Note that the Day 8 prompt is to write a "pet poem", but all three of these turned out to be about pets.)

[Day 7: Write a "reflection" poem - I took this prompt literally.]

Bad Sister

Who is this cheeky intruder?

Why does she prance around

like she owns the place?

And what is she doing

with my chew toy in her mouth?

I turn and drop it, she does too,

this dog so like myself.

She taunts me, copying

my every move, so I can never

get the jump on her.

BARK BARK BARK BARK

and she just barks back mutely

as if to mock me.

Bad sister, leave this house!

This is MY toy, MY bed,

MY food dish, MY master!

BARK BARK BARK BARK

[Day 8: Write a pet poem.]

Ben

My friend's cat had a unique habit -

he loved to jump on people's backs

like he expected a piggyback ride.

The first time it happened to me

I was startled to say the least -

ten pounds of two-year-old cat weight

dropping on my shoulders, and claws

digging in to keep his balance.

It was his way of being friendly.

Now he is eighteen,

a centenarian in cat years.

He sleeps nearly all day,

his black-and-white fur falls out

in big clumps, and his teeth are so bad

that he yowls when he chews his food.

But he still likes a scratch behind the ears,

he is still amazingly agile for his age,

and he still asks for piggyback rides.

[Day 9: Write a poem about an article of clothing.]

Tanka

an old white cat waits

curled up on a wool jacket

that his mistress wore

for days, snow falls like cat hair

for days, cat hair falls like snow

PAD Chapbook Challenge Days 4-6

Catching up with my poem-a-day products, here are the poems I wrote for days 4 to 6 and the prompts from the Poetic Asides blog that inspired them:

[Day 4: A poem with the title "Night _______"]

Nightswimming (Deserves a Quiet Night)

Michael, you look back in your rearview

at an old photo, at passions, secrets and regrets

and memories that change with you.

As for me, I never skinnydipped,

but there was this evening on the beach

with a girl I'd met in bright sunshine

at a sand castle just hours before.

Here we were, after tramping the boardwalk

and sharing a Chinese dinner,

holding hands in the surf, watching nightbirds

skim the water for food.

We promised to write, and we did a few times,

and though it was centuries ago,

that moment burns like a photo in my brain,

and I see it again when I walk to the shoreline

tonight, under an almost-full moon.

My bare feet suck into the wet sand,

and white foam washes over them,

then pulls away into the dark water.

[Day 5: Write a "pleasure" and/or "displeasure" poem]
[This poem also used the word bank from the Sunday Whirl blog's recent word bank - the words provided were crisis, probe, card, silence, lies, disgust, cover, up, sully, hearings, fraught, resign.]

Burnout

I am tired of the crises

I am tired of the probes,

I am tired of the house of cards

and charlatans in robes.

I am tired of the silence,

I am tired of the lies,

I'm disgusted by corruption

though it's really no surprise.

I am tired of the cover-ups,

the deals behind closed doors

that sully our democracy

and get us into wars.

I am tired of the hearings

and the partisan tirades,

so fraught with animosity

that all decorum fades.

I'm venting my displeasure

at those who would malign

the bedrock we were founded on -

I wish they'd all resign.

[Day 6: Write an "opening" poem]

The Escape

we caught

the cat

in a carrier,

latched its door

after flushing her

with a broom

from under the bed

she'd been adopted

from the wild

by our friend

who was moving now

and couldn't physically

corral the rascal,

a feisty black cat

with one eye

so we helped

and thought the latch

was secure

till we got to the back porch

and she suddenly threw

her weight against

the front of the carrier

thrusting it down

popping the latch

darting through

the cat door flap

and through the back yard

a shadowy blur -

just like that she was gone

PAD Redux: The November Poem-a-Day Challenge

November is the official month for NaNoWriMo  (National Novel Writing Month), and while I've never been ambitious enough to attempt a novel, I do usually participate in a poem-a-day (PAD) challenge from Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides blog. I also write during his April PAD Challenge, and I've already had a poem from that month accepted for future publication. This month, he suggests that poets write with the intent to create a chapbook composed mostly of poems written over these 30 days, so a common theme is recommended. That worked for me well in 2013, when I wrote a series of baseball poems, many of which appeared in my most recent chapbook, Hits and Sacrifices. This month, I haven't found a common theme yet (though I wrote a few "pet" poems), but I thought I'd share my poems as I usually do every April. I have some catching up to do here, so I'll post a few each day on this blog till I'm up to date. So here are the poems I wrote for Days 1, 2 and 3, with the prompt for each one.

[Day 1: A "once upon a time" poem]

Once Upon a Time

Once we thought we were eagles, but

upon reflection, saw we were mere pigeons,

a flock milling on dirty city pavements;

time, the great leveler of aspirations.

[Day 2: A poem of "threes"]

Three Haiku

EF2 monster

slammed a  tree right through our roof -

Happy Halloween

five weeks into fall,

no more wardrobe confusion -

jacket required

cold windless night gives

everything over to frost -

glistening morning

[Day 3: An "alpha" poem]

Alpha-Bits and Omega 3

I don't care one iota

if you're never a knockout like Catherine Zeta Jones.

I'd settle for Delta Burke.

My gamma never had to worry about nutrition,

so why should you? If you eat another yogurt,

you may start to mu.

I guess there's nothing nu

about health-conscious diets,

but I won't tau you what to eat or not.

You love Greek food, for instance,

with lambda die for, or a good gy-rho.

I'd beta fortune you'll live a long life.

So phi upon all of those who shame you,

although with a heavy psi,

you may admit you eta pi.