November Chapbook Challenge: Recap

 Well, I've done it again - 30 poems or more in a month of 30 days - 35 to be exact. I must admit it became a bit of a drudge to commit to writing so many poems in the same form all month, but I did get at least a few good ones out of the exercise, and the next step, per Robert Lee Brewer, is to assemble some of them into a chapbook manuscript. I hope that I may have advanced some recognition for the hay(na)ku form. (Thanks again to Eileen Tobias and Vince Gotera for introducing me to the form.) As I often do, I'll use this entry to highlight some of the poems I wrote last month that I consider among my best, or at least my favorites. The form allowed me to get away with writing only 30 words a day and having it count as a poem, but on the other hand, limiting your word count and producing something worthwhile, as in haiku, is harder than it sounds. So for what it's worth, here are ten "hay(na)ku sonnets" that I wrote in November, with the prompts that inspired them. (See my Day 1 entry for my explanation of this variation.)

[Day 2: A poem about the unexpected]

Hard Times in the Arts 

when
COVID closed
the Muppet Show
 
their
theater shuttered -
where'd they go?
 
Piggy
returned to
her chic château
 
but
what about
her handsome beau?
 
alas, poor Kermit
became a hermit

[I may change the title to "It's Not Easy Being Quarantined".]

[Day 5: A "ruin" poem]

Ruins
 
derelict
old barn
behind the trees
 
door
hangs open
hinging on breeze
 
two
wild turkeys
have nested upstairs
 
jumble
down below
skeletons of chairs
 
an old toolbox
rusted shut locks

[Day 6: An "In media res" poem]

Smelling the Roses
 
making
my connection
near New Haven
 
heard
electric piano
play Ain't Misbehavin'
 
busker
in concourse
playing his heart
 
slowed
my bustling
pausing for art
 
love Fats Waller
left a dollar

[Day 8: A "Persona" poem]

Alex Trebek in Heaven
 
Saint
Peter issues
me a quiz
 
I
know what
the answer is
 
but
to get
myself in heaven
 
should
I wager
six or seven
 
to unfetter me
from final jeopardy?

[Day 14: A "memory" poem]

Memories
 
are
sliced bread
in the toaster
 
they
brown awhile
then pop up
 
we
savor them
with some seasoning
 
while
tiny pieces
are left in
 
the crumb tray
then thrown away

[Day 16: A "response" poem]

This is Just to Answer Your Note

I
was saving
those sweet plums
 
to
make you
a fruit tart
 
but
you ate
every last one
 
yet
somehow I
love you anyway
 
incidentally, no one
says "icebox" anymore

[Day 18: A "sea creature" poem]

Iota
 
Thirty
tropical storms
this malignant year.
 
Last
and strongest:
Iota, ironically named,
 
slams
the Yucatan,
already storm-raked.
 
O
Sea Monster
of climate change,
 
one-eyed November behemoth,
maelstrom, deluge, teeth.

Sharknado!
 
waterspouts
suck up
killer ocean fish
 
weather
that thinks
humans are delish
 
twisters
shouldn't have
teeth, dorsal fins
 
storms
make landfall
and nobody wins
 
your big umbrella
is worthless, fella

[Day 22: A "bird" poem]

House Wren
 
little
chestnut neighbor
tail at attention
 
nests
comfortably in
the hanging impatiens
 
on
my porch
until I approach
 
she
chatters rebuke
for my trespassing
 
we'll learn somehow
to get along

[Day 27: A "what's next" poem]

Backup Singers
 
Greek
chorus for
the present day
 
they
echo my
notes and words
 
whether
naive hope
or cynical dismay
 
they'll
repeat it
like warbling birds
 
shoo shoo bop
until I drop

 

 

November Chapbook Challenge Dy 30: Don't Let the Door Hit Your...

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write an "exit" poem. I didn't want to get as political as I did this month, but it's almost impossible not to, with all the heat generated from a historically unique presidential election. particularly a clear loser who refuses to concede. I won't say more, or I'll rant for another hour. I'll just let my poem do the talking.

Exit Strategies
 
hot-air
balloon like
the Magnificent Oz
 
escape
tunnel to
your underground lair
 
donning
handcuffs, jumpsuit
for broken laws
 
granting
a self-pardon
(so very unfair)
 
whatever works, nemesis,
vacate the premises

November Chapbook Challenge Day 29: Happy Holidays?

So many medical experts are saying that our behavior this Thanksgiving weekend - not staying home, traveling to visit loved ones in the middle of a worsening pandemic, and the occasional careless party - will drive up COVID cases just before Christmas, and put many hospitals in jeopardy of being overwhelmed, perhaps even worse than last spring. It's frankly depressing, and it's no wonder all this news has impacted my poetry this year. I thought I'd gotten it out of my system in April when I wrote at least twenty poems related to the pandemic (and I even published a chapbook of them - Aprilcalypse, from Four Feathers Press), but I'm still writing them now in the end of November. 

Anyway, today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a poem with the title "Wanting _______".

Wanting a Merry Christmas
 
please
understand that
I love you
 
but
stay away
for the holiday
 
don't
be careless
because it would
 
break
my heart
on Facetime if
 
I see you
in the ICU

November Chapbook Challenge Day 28: Remix!

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "remix" poem. That is, take a poem (or poems) you have writtent this month and change it/them in some way. For instance, turn a sonnet into a haiku, jumble up the words of a poem and re-order them, or as i did, takes pieces of several poems and re-assemble them to form a new poem. I've done this exercise before by creating a new poem from the last lines of several poems I wrote earlier in the month. I tired it today too - it's a somewhat different challenge because due to the nature of the form I've been writing in, all the last lines of my poems have had exactly three words. Also, have to break up those three-word lines to get them to fit into the form of the new poem. I used the last lines from poems I wrote on Days 3, 4, 8, 11, 12, 17, 18, 20, 22, 23, and 27 (including the title). I'm not sure how much sense it makes, but here it is: 

Our Flawed Creation
 
your
echoed voice
is worthless, fella
 
we're
all dying
to get along
 
save
the planet
from final jeopardy
 
it's
gonna rain -
I'm sunlight refracted
 
I need cheer
until I drop

November Chapbook challenge Day 27: Another Two-fer Day

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "what's next" poem. I wrote two today - the first one was not directly related to the prompt, while the second one was. 

Backup Singers
 
Greek
chorus for
the present day
 
they
echo my
notes and words
 
whether
naive hope
or cynical dismay
 
they'll
repeat it
like warbling birds
 
shoo shoo bop
until I drop

The Future
 
We
either pull
out of this
 
or
we don't -
odds are even
 
fiction
is truth
magic is science
 
change
our ways
right now or
 
we roll toward
a slow apocalypse
 
 

November Chapbook Challenge Day 26: Happy (and Safe!) Thanksgiving

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer, is of course, to write a poem of thanks. I hope anyone reading this has a safe and healthy holiday. Don't forget to protect your loved ones as much as possible from this horrible disease, even if it meand skipping that visit for Thanksgiving dinner. As I've heard several people say, better to have Thanksgiving on Zoom than Christmas in the ICU. Here's my poem:

Grace 2020
 
thanks
for abundance
but without greed
 
giving
to others
sorely in need
 
thanks
for health
in dangerous days
 
giving
of yourself
so many ways
 
thanks for living
smart this Thanksgiving
 

November Chapbook Challenge Day 25: Blowing Up the Sky

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write an "exaggeration" poem. I interpreted the prompt by exaggerating the images and metaphor a bit in this poem - not sure how well that works, but here it is. (It's also a nod to November sunsets, which in my opinion seem to be the most intense of the whole year.)

End of Day
 
sunset -
nuclear explosion
in the west
 
sky
ablaze in
red, purple, blue
 
blood-orange
ball slips
behind the mountain
 
firestorm
subsides, wavelengths
disappear in shadow
 
the world ends
till tomorrow morning
 

November Chapbook Challenge Day 24: Snuggling Up

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Wrate a love and/or anti-love poem.  In this one, "storm" can be read as a metaphor....

Haven 

times
like these
make us huddle
 
keeping
the storm
outside our door
 
but
we two
prefer to cuddle
 
safe
inside from
cold wind's roar
 
tending the fire -
warm quilt, desire

November Chapbook Challenge Day 23: COVID on My Mind

 So what else is new? I'm not going to rail on about it, just write a short poem. Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write an "explanation" poem.

Unmasked
 
please
explain why
you won't wear
 
something
so simple
on your face
 
you
look like
you don't care
 
what
happens to
the human race
 
no, don't explain -
it's gonna rain

November Chapbook Challenge Day 22: Bonus!

 A bonus political poem for today, again based on Robert Lee Brewer's "bird" prompt:

White House Turkey
 
don't
pardon me
from Thanksgiving dinner
 
I
don't want
to live anymore
 
in
a world
where you're president
 
put
my head
on the block -
 
what? he lost?
never mind then

November Chapbook Challenge Day 22: Feathered Neighbors

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "bird" poem. My first thought was of a certain type of bird that frequents my back yard, and earlier this year took up housekeeping in the hanging planter of New Guinea impatiens on my back porch. They're cute little birds, but they can make quite a racket when they're upset, like when you get too close to the nest. 

House Wren
 
little
chestnut neighbor
tail at attention
 
nests
comfortably in
the hanging impatiens
 
on
my porch
until I approach
 
she
chatters rebuke
for my trespassing
 
we'll learn somehow
to get along
 
 
 

November Chapbook Challenge Day 21: Another Two-fer

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a poem with the title "Tell ________".  I used the line as though it was a line of dialog, and the poem is the response. It expresses something I have missed since this pandemic began: the experience shared with a large audience at a concert, play, sporting event, even a movie. The last concerts I attended where an outfoor musical festival in Massachusetts in June 2019 and a couple of classical concerts in early 2020, by the Philadelphia Orchestra, and the student orchestra of which our former international student was a member. The last plays were "Frozen" on Broadway in December, and a high school's production of "Mary Poppins" about a week before everything started to shut down in March. I'm afraid we're headed into darker times again, but I hope that things get brighter next year.

Tell Me What You Want
 
a
concert hall
standing room only
 
our
favorite band
cranked to eleven
 
no
more distance
no more masks
 
they've
returned onstage
for an encore
 
we're on our
feet and screaming

And here's a bonus poem!

Tell
 
(after a Tweet by Edward Norton)
 
you
clutch cards
in tiny hands
 
probably
hiding aces
up your sleeve
 
but
it's reflected
in your eyes
 
your
hand holds
nothing but junk
 
we're all in
calling your bluff

November Chapbook Challenge Day 20: Into the Fringe

 Todays' prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "target" poem.

Target Audience
 
click -
go down
the rabbit hole
 
to
rooms you've
never seen before
 
where
people there
confirm your soul
 
skewed,
upside-down,
a zealous corps
 
a lonely choice
your echoed voice

November Chapbook Challenge Day 19: On Cats

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "confession" poem. Here's a light little number I dashed off for today. It's in second person but could have been just as easily in the first.

Mixed Felines
 
you
confess you
don't like cats
 
you
find them
furry little brats
 
aloof,
demanding ,
full of themselves
 
knocking
things right
off the shelves -
 
until they nap
upon your lap

November Chapbook Challenge Day 18 Bonus: Thank You, SyFy Channel!

 Here's a bonus poem, again using Robert Lee Brewer's prompt to write a poem about a sea creature. Anyone who has seen those deliberately goofy "Sharknado" movies on SyFy Channel will appreciate this one. 

Sharknado
 
waterspouts
suck up
killer ocean fish
 
weather
that thinks
humans are delish
 
twisters
shouldn't have
teeth, dorsal fins
 
storms
make landfall
and nobody wins
 
your big umbrella
is worthless, fella

November Chapbook Challenge Day 18: The Year of 30 Sea Monsters

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "sea creature" poem. I used the prompt as more of a metaphor today, since this has been probably the most active hurricane season in recorded history, with thirty named storms, so many that the National Weather Service ran out of alphabetical names and are now about halfway through the Greek alphabet. The latest, Iota, has been the strongest yet, briefly getting to Category 5 before making landfall. I don't remember a hurricane this late in the season in my lifetime, at least one this strong. On top of that, it hit the Yucatan penisula about two weeks after the last storm made landfall in almost exactly the same place. Those poor people in Central America - the devastation must be staggering. Don't tell me that climate change isn't a thing. It's already here in a big way. 

Anyway, here is my "sea creature" poem:

Iota
 
Thirty
tropical storms
this malignant year.
 
Last
and strongest:
Iota, ironically named,
 
slams
the Yucatan,
already storm-raked.
 
O
Sea Monster
of climate change,
 
one-eyed November behemoth,
maelstrom, deluge, teeth.

November Chapbook Challenge Day 17: A Plea II

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "mean" and/or "nice" poem. With the current political situation and the pandemic starting to rage out of control, it's hard not to write topical poems. When I think of "mean", my first thought is of a certain person, so today's poem is addressed to him.

A Plea
 
extract
yourself from
your office bunker
 
stop
sulking like
a three-year-old child
 
virus
is rampant
inside we hunker
 
you're
having tantrums
delusions run wild
 
please stop lying -
we're all dying

November Chapbook Challenge Day 16: Mrs. Williams Answers the Note

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "response" poem. I chose to "respond" to William Carlos Williams' "This is Just to Say", his famous short poem written as a note to his wife about eating the plums in the refrigeator: 

This is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in 
the icebox

and which 

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet 

and so cold

I've riffed on and parodied this poem several times over the years, just because I love its simplicity so much. But I don't think I ever wrote a "response" to it, and I thought one in the voice of Mrs. Williams might be fun, using the short form I've been employing all month.

This is Just to Answer Your Note

I
was saving
those sweet plums
 
to
make you
a fruit tart
 
but
you ate
every last one
 
yet
somehow I
love you anyway
 
incidentally, no one
says "icebox" anymore

November Chapbook Challenge Day 15: The Quantum Theory of Car Keys

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a poem with the title "Meaning of _______". This is a slightly silly interpretation of a famous scientific paradox used to expalin quantum theory - how a particle can exist in two realities simultaneously. I thought it might help explain the phenomenon of lost things, or maybe not. Also, I think I like the title of my blog entry better as a title for my poem than the one I came up with. 

Meaning of Schrödinger's Cat
 
when
I lose
my car keys
 
I
look under
the sofa cushions
 
and
they're there
or not there
 
but
when
I'm not seeking them
 
they are everywhere
I don't look

November Chapbook Challenge Day 14: A Metaphor on Memories

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "memory" poem. Rather than write about a specific memory, I offer a metaphorical observation:

Memories
 
are
sliced bread
in the toaster
 
they
brown awhile
then pop up
 
we
savor them
with some seasoning
 
while
tiny pieces
are left in
 
the crumb tray
then thrown away

November Chapbook Challenge Day 13: Just Numbers

Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "luck" poem. I used the expected rhymes for "twenty" and "seven" here, but there so few that are even close to rhyming those words, so no apologies. 

Numerology
 
Friday
13th November
the year 2020 -
 
more
bad luck?
we've had plenty!
 
too
much misfortune
has become routine
 
but
crunching numbers,
twenty minus thirteen,
 
yields lucky seven -
feels like heaven!

November Chapbook Challenge Day 12: A Nod from the Creator

 First of all, thanks to hay(na)ku creator Eileen Tabios for citing me on her Facebook page! Our mutual friend Vince Gotera alerted her to my poem-a-day project of all hay(na)ku poems, and she posted my opening day poem, "Election Season", on her page. I also told her about the hay(na)ku contest back in 2011 on Robert Lee Brewer's blog, of which I was one of the winners - she wasn't aware of it till now.

Today's prompt from Mr. Brewer: Write a poem with a number in its title. There's only one number that dominates this year, and that's the year itself:

2020
 
entering
we had
no perfect vision
 
looking
in hindsight
that brutal judge -
 
we
should have
been more careful
 
we
should have
seen the injustice
 
we should have
saved the planet

November Chapbook Challenge Day 11: A Two-fer in Dark and Light

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "color" poem. So here are two poems - one a bit somber and the other more light-hearted.  

Gray
 
gray
showery day
when I pick
 
up
her ashes
all that's left
 
gray
like her
face and fur
 
sometimes
I'd complain
when she'd need

 

a walk in
heavy gray rain

Roy G. Biv
 
I'm
spectrum mnemonic
a household name
 
red
orange yellow
always the same
 
green
blue indigo
hue-ordered arch
 
violet
wraps up
a colorful march
 
awestruck, you've reacted -
I'm sunlight refracted
 
 

November Chapbook Challenge Day 10: On Tolerance

 Today's double prompt from Robbert Lee Brewer: Write an "easy" and/or "difficult" poem. Hope this one isn't too preachy:

Free
 
easy
to hate
those who differ
 
manufacture
unfair fictions
and attach labels
 
difficult
to love
everyone the same
 
break
your preconceptions
and embrace strangers
 
the word "free"
is in "forgiveness"

November Chapbook Challenge Day 9: A Plea

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer is to write a poem with the title "Our _______". I took, as an additional prompt, this week's word bank from the Sunday Whirl blog. The words were family, team, passing, owe, progress, rural, soul, back, power, act, joy, those. I usually try to use all twelve words in the bank when I use it as a source, but since I'm writing short-form poems this month, I didn't try to get all twelve into this poem - I did use nine of them. The message here is deliberately a bit vague, because 2020 has been such a bitch of a year, and I wanted the poem to be able to fit many of the crises we've been dealing with this year: the pandemic, racial injustice, natural disasters of increasing frequency from hurricanes to wildfires, and a stressful election season which appears not to be over just yet. You'll also note that for the first time this month I didn't use my usual rhyme scheme - I wanted this poem to capture a more serious tone. (There is, however, some unintended internal rhyme: back, racked, act - poetic serendipity.) 

Our Soul
 
has
been challenged
by malignant powers
 
progress
driven back
by reckless disregard
 
families
racked by
their beloved's passing
 
please
let's act
as Team Humanity
 
to regain normal
reclaim our joy
 

November Chapbook Challenge Day 8: R.I.P. Alex

 I was sad to hear that long-time "Jeopardy" host Alex Trebek passed away today from pancreatic cancer, a terrible disease that almost never comes to a good end. (I had a close friend who died from it, and it was heartbreaking to see him waste away.) But he was one of the best TV hosts of all time, and gave us over 35 years of great game show moments.

Anyway, today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer is to write a "persona" poem. I hope this isn't too soon, and it's a bit lighthearted, but I'd like to think that Alex would have enjoyed it.

Alex Trebek in Heaven
 
Saint
Peter issues
me a quiz
 
I
know what
the answer is
 
but
to get
myself in heaven
 
should
I wager
six or seven
 
to unfetter me
from final jeopardy?
 

November Chapbook Challenge Day 7: Turn, Turn, Turn

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "this time" poem. I initially misread it as just a "time" poem, but what I wrote still seems to fit. It's based, of course, on the Book of Ecclesiastes, and also on a very recent and very significant event in the news.

To Everything
 
time
to heal,
time to sew
 
time
to plant
let things grow
 
time
to build
with new stones
 
time
to knit
our broken bones
 
this new season
rebirth of reason.

November Chapbook Challenge Day 6: In Media Res

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write an "in media res" poem - in other words, a poem that begins in the mddle of something like an action, conversation, etc. I tweaked the prompt a little and wrote about someone pausing in the middle of their action to appreciate something.

Smell the Roses
 
making
my connection
near New Haven
 
hear
electric piano
play Ain't Misbehavin'
 
busker
in concourse
playing his heart
 
slowing
my bustling -
pause for art
 
love Fats Waller -
leave a dollar

November Chapbook Challenge Day 5: A Rural Snapshot

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a "ruin" poem. This is about a barn I discovered on a late friend's property.

Ruins
 
derelict
old barn
behind the trees
 
door
hangs open
hinging on breeze
 
two
wild turkeys
have nested upstairs
 
jumble
down below
skeletons of chairs
 
an old toolbox
rusted shut locks

November Chapbook Challenge Day 4: In Need of Cheer

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a poem with the title "______ Myself".

Cheer Myself
 
I
play Christmas
tunes in November
 
put
up my
tree before December
 
bake
cookies warming
home with scents
 
hang
lights outside
with more ornaments
 
this dark year
I need cheer
 

November Chapbook Challenge Day 3: Election Day!

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: Write a dream and/or nightmare poem.

United
 
in
my dream
we stayed alive
 
fought
plague and tyranny
this land survived
 
sky
was blue
the sunset red
 
and
we moved
all together, ahead
 
still one nation
our flawed creation

November Chapbook Challenge Day 2: It's Not Easy Being Quarantined

 Today's prompt from Robert Lee Brewer: "Write an 'unexpected' poem." I played a bit loose with this one - it's about the pandemic, whose impact on us was somewhat unexpected, you might say. And the characters affected by it in this poem may be a bit unexpected as well.

Hard Times in the Arts 

when
COVID closed
the Muppet Show
 
their
theater shuttered -
where'd they go?
 
Piggy
returned to
her chic château
 
but
what about
her handsome beau?
 
alas, poor Kermit

became a hermit

(For this poem I actually used the rhyme scheme xxA xxA xxA xxA CC.)

November Chapbook Challenge Day 1: Hay(na)ku, Y'all!

 Hello! I'm embarking on another poem-a-day challenge courtesy of Robert Lee Brewer, editor for Writer's Digest magazine, on his blog Write Better Poetry (formerly Poetic Asides). The objective is to write at least one poem a day every day for the month of November, and to have enough poems by the end of the month to create a chapbook manuscript. Robert provides daily prompts, just as he does during his other annual challenge in April. It's a good idea to work with a theme of some kind, as chapbooks (which are shorter than full-length collections) often have themes. Three of my seven published chapbooks have had themes: one was all sonnets and similar fourteen-line poems; one was a collection of baseball-themed poems, and the latest book collected poems I wrote last spring on the developing pandemic situation. This month I decided to write all my poems in a form called the "hay(na)ku sonnet". What's that, you ask? Well, I'm glad you asked.

The "hay(na)ku" is an invented form created by poet Eileen Tabios around 2000. It is a three-line (tercet) word-count form that is basically very simple: one word in the first line, two words in the second, and three in the third, a structure reminiscent of the haiku. My friend Vince Gotera, a Filipino-American professor and poet in Iowa, coined the name "hay(na)ku" (pronounced ay-nahkoo), which is derived from a Tagalog word for "Oh!" Vince also created a variation which he calls the "hay(na)ku sonnet" - a chain of four hay(na)ku tercets followed by a couplet - two lines of three words each. It's a type of "sonnet" in that it consists of fourteen lines, including a two-line closing "envoi".

I thought it might be fun to take the concept a step further, by introducing rhyme and meter into the form. So I've written several hay(ka)nu sonnets in which the last words of the first and second tercets rhyme, as well as the last words of the third and fourth tercets, and the last two closing lines rhyme as well. So the rhyme scheme, line by line, would be:

xxA xxA xxB xxB CC

As far a meter goes, I'm a little loose with it, but generally prefer iambic, though I won't guarantee perfect "scansion". I may write all my poems this way during the month, or maybe not. I may play with rhyme scheme, or may not rhyme the poem at all - we'll see how it goes. Anyway, a tip of the hat to Vince for introducing me to this fun form, and to Eileen Tabios for inventing it.

Okay, enough with the long-winded exposition. Here's my first poem of the month, based on Robert's Day 1 prompt: "Write an 'enter' poem."

Election Season 

we 
enter November
full of stress
 
these
campaign ads:
full-court press
 
telling
us why
their opponent sucks
 
when
TV's on,
we're sitting ducks
 
so much proclivity
for crass negativity

Post PAD: The Weekly Prompt

After the daily Poem-a-Day Challenge in April, the Poetic Asides blog continues their poetry prompts on a weekly basis every Wednesday. I've been participating on a sporadic basis in the weekly challenge, but I did write a poem this week, their first weekly challenge since April ended. The prompt was to write an "unsettled" poem, one that seems inspired by our current times. The Poetic Asides blog is undergoing a transformation this month, and presently we participants are not able to share our results in the comments section, so I thought I would do that here.

I also enlisted the word bank once again from the Sunday Whirl blog. Their bank of a dozen words was: singe, virus, spread, death (pretty uplifting so far, eh?), left, fly, stroke, call, lose, mask, lock, sell. Obviously, this list was inspired by our current situation as well. So what else could I write about? How about another threat, maybe not as widespread, but no less troubling? As usual, I used all twelve words from the bank, and this poem just happened to fall into a loose sort of sonnet structure - a "free verse sonnet", it you will.

As If There Wasn't Enough Bad News

Add to these unsettled times the murder wasp,

a hornet-sized predator with a sting

like the singe of metal, who swoops in like

a virus, spreading death through whole colonies

of honeybees, decapitating them with huge mandibles,

nothing left but their heads, as it flies their bodies

to its nest and masticates them,

food for its young.  In one fell stroke, the hive

is a ghost town, and the wasp will come to call

another day, to kill another community,

little citizens we cannot afford to lose.

Meanwhile, we masked humans in lockdown

try to avoid another predator's sting,

and the news feeds us anything it can sell.

PAD April 2020: A Recap

So, to sum up, I wrote 38 poems in 30 days, including:
22 free verse
5 haiku
3 triolets
2 tanka sequences
2 "hay(na)ku sonnets"
2 light verse
1 curtal sonnet
1 concrete poem
Of those, twenty have at least a passing mention of the current pandemic and its effects, and two more could be construed to refer to it. Maybe theirs a chapbook in there somewhere - my friend Anna Evans wrote pandemic-themed tritinas all month and is planning to assemble a chapbook of them.

I always like to pick my favorite poems that I wrote during the month and showcase them at the end, so here are my "top 5", at least in my opinion. (Feel free to browse my daily posts if you prefer to form your own opinion of which are my "best".)

Day 2: 

Civic

A round rubber foundation that moves

with a simple key turn, a shift of a lever

and a pump on a pedal.

My new safe space. Not living in it,

but in a sense, living through it.

No crowds in here, few germs (I pray)

and a decent sound system.

The dark gray dashboard is fuzzy

with a film of dust, and random papers

litter the floor, but it's my mess.

I'm not too far from anything here -

my favorite takeout is 1.6 miles

down the road. They open their window,

and I open mine, the bagged transfer

of victuals - minimum contact.

A turbaned guy pumps my gas

(Jersey is still full-service),

and we pass my card back and forth.

If I have to exit this steel-glass bubble,

I don my gloves and mask,

stay a person-length away from anyone

avoid chit-chat, get my necessities,

and walk out into an invisible haze

of particles that look like tiny golf balls

studded with tees.

Many, but fewer, of us are moving like this,

self-isolation on the highway, keeping

a safe distance, just as they always told us

in Driver's Ed, so we don't crash

into one another and die.



Day 8:

The Future of the Hug

I was not ready for anything to happen.
- Sylvia Plath

The first thing they said was Don't shake hands.

Soon after that, they banned intimacy.

Stay apart, the length of a person's body.

Wash your hands. Don't leave home.

If you do, wear a mask. Wash your hands.

Don't let anyone in your house. Wash your hands.

Wash your hands.

I watch my first-grader talk to her teacher

from a laptop screen.  At the end, she leans in

and wraps her arms around herself, a virtual hug.

The teacher should be inside those arms.

I can see her tears welling.

None of us were ready for this.

A kiss, a handshake, a hug -

these days any could be deadly.

Those closest to us at home still get them -

the reward outweighs the risk.

But when we come out the other side of this,

how much warmth will we resurrect

in those social gatherings that right now

are called death traps?

Some of us have already adopted "Namaste" -

the pressing of our own palms together.

It feels wonderfully sincere, but

it is not the same as pressing  another's flesh -

hand to hand, lip to cheek, arms

around another whose arms enwrap you.

The hug will not become extinct.

When we come out again, blinking in the light,

we will see those whose absence was an ache,

and we will seek their comfort.

We will dissolve our personal space,

become blankets in each other's arms

and squeeze.

Day 10:

The Man Who Went to the Supermarket During a Slow Apocalypse

donning

battle gear -

wipes, gloves, mask -

clusters

of humanity -

cart snaking past

standing

six feet

apart in queue -

victuals

on conveyor,

card swiped through -

the only issue:

no toilet tissue

Day 22:

Go Bite the Bed Bugs

Our grandmother used to tuck us in and say,

Good night, sleep tight,

don't let the bed begs bite.

It was a quirky little rhyme, one that didn't

make a lot of sense to us - What's a bed bug?

Then they made a comeback, popping up

in unexpected places like luxury hotels,

so we had to address them again,

just like we're addressing an invisible bug

today, a hundred years after the last

such bug killed so many in the world.

I can thank my Jewish college friend

for the gift of another quirky idiom,

one that turns my grandmother's around:

In Yiddish, it's Gai strasheh di vantzen -

literally, "Go threaten the bed bugs,"

meaning, "I'm not afraid of you!"

Her bubbe actually translated it,

"Go bite the bed bugs,"

such a colorful reversal.

It comes in handy today, as I

strap on a mask to enter this world that has

so radically changed in these few months.

I must take precautions, but I can't let

the times dictate my fears.

I want to use it like a mantra,

shout it through the cloth on my face

over and over till I actually believe it,

Gai strasheh di vantzen,

Gai strasheh di vantzen.

Day 26:

Aprilcalypse

A light spring rain falls on Sunday morning

and the dandelions on my lawn.

I am here, not far from Independence Hall,

while democracy shakes like a leaf,

just as shaking hands is going out of style.

Squirrels dart across deserted streets

and tornados, my childhood nightmare,

rip through the South. This world can turn

on a dime, a dirty dime like the one I found

by the curb yesterday. From cornfields

to tenements, change is rattling the husks

and window panes. Some have spray painted

anarchy symbols and swastikas anonymously

in the alley by the trash cans; others boldly

brandish them on protest signs.  My wife and I

watch the news looking for facts, while others

eat up Pizzagate and the Deep State,

jumping into a chasm of disinformation.  

They fear Spanish and Chinese like I fear heights.

I grew up in a pink split-level, wear jeans

like Springsteen, build a playhouse for my grandkids

and read them Goodnight Moon.  Now I have

a President who asks if we can inject disinfectant

to kill the virus in us, and I think of the film

Idiocracy. (Dear Mr. President, please sit down -

you're not helping. Very truly yours, a citizen.)

I wish I could just fly away from here, mount

a poetic Pegasus and lift us both into the clouds.

But solace will have to come from the real world,

like the empty boulevard lined with cherry trees
that bloom in the rain in my home town.

Honorable Mentions:
Zombie Moment (Day 5)
Spirit (Day 12)
PM (Day 18)
Give and Take (Day 19)
Parenting in the Plague (Day 21)
Somewhat Cynically after Listening to James Schuyler's "Hymn to Life" (Day 25)
Total Blank (Day 29)

PAD Day 30: Tribute to a Health Care Worker

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a poem of praise, and (2) write a poem about something or someone returning. This is not about a person that I know, although I did have my niece in mind, who is a nurse, and whom I learned recently is working the COVID-19 units. So as a tribute to her and all the health care workers literally putting their lives on the line every day, I offer this tribute:

Warrior

All praise to you, nurse,

medic on the battle lines.

Every day you suit up in PPE,

shuttle from ER to ICU,

and tend to the suffering.

You save many, but watch some die.

For those whose families

are not allowed to come,

you hold their phone for face time

so they can say goodbye.

It's all you can do

to keep from crying yourself.

It's all you can do

to strap on the mask again

and push yourself forward.

You are exhausted.

you say hello to your kids

through the storm door glass

on your back patio.

Then you go out again.

You finish another long shift,

strip your mask and face shield,

gloves and gown,

take a long shower

and try to sleep a little.

Day after day,

you pass gurneys in the hall,

beeping monitors,

ventilators pumping,

and you soldier on.

You've been doing it for a month

or longer, then one morning

you're not feeling well

and take your temperature -

one hundred and one.

Luckily, it's a mild case -

a few days in bed, then

two weeks in quarantine,

and you're ready to return.

Once again, you dress for work.

A row of colleagues claps you in.

Back on the floor,

in PPE battle gear,

you shuttle from ER to ICU,

and tend to the suffering.

PAD Day 29: Writer's Block and an Old Dog

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a poem with the title "Total ______", and (2) write a "paean toyour pet". I didn't combine the prompts today, so I have two poems to offer. As for the first, I thought "Total Blank" was already a great title, so I wrote a triolet with that title:

Total Blank

I want to write but draw a total blank.

My mind's on hold; my inspiration's shot.

My muse plays hide-and-seek - a cruel prank!

I want to write but draw a total blank.

I rummage my vocabulary bank -

A doodle in the margin's all I've got.

I want to write but draw - a total blank.

My mind's on hold; my inspiration's shot.

Regarding the second, I've always been a dog lover, and had family dogs off and on from the time I was very little until I went off to college, but never since, until about a year ago when we adopted a dog from a friend who was no longer able to care for her. We had known the dog for years, and she is one of the gentlest, sweetest dogs we've ever met, but she is now quite old. Still, she has some spunk left in her, as this poem, written in tanka form, relates. (It's not quite a "paean", but it will do.)

World's Oldest Puppy

all of sixteen years

she's a centenarian

by human measure

totally deaf and half-blind

sleeping through most of the day

yet her head perks up

anytime the door opens

and she stands up straight

or straight as old hips allow -

watches me through clouded eyes

I put on my coat

and she scampers for the door

with metronome tail

then bounds down the two front steps

seeking some new adventure

PAD Day 28: Storm Clouds

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "looking back" and/or "looking forward" poem, and (2) inspired by a brief reminiscence by Emily Dickinson's niece of visiting her aunt's bedroom: describe a bedroom from your past. These two prompts mesh almost perfectly, and though I've written about my favorite childhood bedroom in the past, I thought I'd visit it again with a new poem:

Weatherman

I'm sitting in my bedroom at twelve.

My parents have just redecorated the room

for my birthday, a more mature look.

White painted furniture includes a new desk;

nautical flags and sailing ships grace the wallpaper.

But my pride and joy is the other birthday present -

a junior weather station just outside my window.

I've always loved science, and think of myself

as a budding meteorologist. The anemometer spins,

catching the wind in its pinwheel  cups.

The hygrometer tells me the humidity in the air

with a simple calculation. The max-min thermometer 

registers highs and lows, and the barometer

is the oracle, predicting incoming weather

with the augury of air pressure - a downward tick

in the needle today means rain is on the way.

I document everything in a red notebook

on my bright white desk, but soon something else

will take over these pages - random musings

and thoughts set to poetry, as I begin

to chart the storms of adolescence.

PAD Day 27: Happy Birthday to Me

Yeah, it's my birthday, and this year it's hard to get excited about it, but I did have a nice brunch at home with my wife, son and daughter-in-law and two grandkids, and my other three sons and my sister-in-law attended via Zoom. Today was a more normal day (by current standards, anyway), and I got a lot of nice birthday wishes via Facebook (the first coming from India and Australia, where the day of course starts much earlier). I also got a nice personal greeting from my poet friend Marge Piercy. I usually write a poem about my birthday each year, but this year one just wasn't forthcoming. Maybe later.

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "massive" poem, and (2) write a poem in the form of a review, specifically, something that would not normally be reviewed. Well, I wrote a pretty "massive" (as in long) poem two days ago (massive for me, anyway), so I wasn't going to let the first prompt dictate the length of the poem itself, but I did work in the word "massive". One of the suggestions for the second prompt was a review of this year, 2020, so I ran with that, trying to mimic one of those scathing, vindicative but sometimes clueless reviews that you find on Yelp, TripAdvisor, Amazon, and the like. Kind of satirical but tongue-in-cheek too, I guess.

Yelp Review of Year 2020

This is the worst year I've ever been in!

You can't find a restaurant that will seat you!

There are no movies playing,

no concerts, no sporting events -

you can't even visit a park

or get a tattoo or a haircut!

This place is dead, and the people

walk around wearing masks

and act like they're trying to avoid you!

Even going to a grocery store is a chore -

I had to wait outside in line for an hour!

And then they were out of everything -

I mean, who doesn't stock toilet paper?

The only good thing I can say is

the traffic isn't bad, and the air

is pretty clean, and gas is cheap.

But zero nightlife! I might as well stay home!

This year has been a massive disappointment!

I'm never coming back to it again!!!

(One star)

PAD Day 26: More Musing on Our Times

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "change" poem, and (2) write a poem based on an "almanac" prompt. Using the following list, fill in your answers in 5 minutes or less - in other words, don't over-think them, just answer with the first thing that pops into your head. Then use your answers as the basis for the poem.

The first prompt is a no-brainer: What hasn't changed in our world in the past few months? The second one is more challenging, but not as much so as yesterday's NaPoWriMo prompt. And, as with yesterday's, it resulted in a kind of freewheeling, stream-of-consciouslnes poem from me. So here's the list, with my answers, followed by my poem. I tried to use my answers to the list in the same order in the poem, but gave that up about midway through, although they still generally move from the beginning to the end. I used them all, though a few are kind of indirect references.

Almanac Questionnaire

Weather: Light rain
Flora: dandelion
Architecture: Independence Hall
Customs: handshake
Mammals/reptiles/fish: squirrel
Childhood dream: tornados
Found on the Street: dime
Export: corn
Graffiti: anarchy symbol
Lover: my wife

Conspiracy:  Pizzagate

Dress: jeans
Hometown memory: pink split level house
Notable person: Bruce Springsteen
Outside your window, you find: playhouse
Today’s news headline: Trump suggests disinfectant injection
Scrap from a letter: Very truly yours
Animal from a myth: Pegasus
Story read to children at night: Goodnight Moon
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: trash
You walk to the border and hear: Spanish
What you fear:  heights
Picture on your city’s postcard: cherry trees           

Aprilcalypse

A light spring rain falls on Sunday morning

and the dandelions on my lawn.

I am here, not far from Independence Hall,

while democracy shakes like a leaf,

just as shaking hands is going out of style.

Squirrels dart across deserted streets

and tornados, my childhood nightmare,

rip through the South. This world can turn

on a dime, a dirty dime like the one I found

by the curb yesterday. From cornfields

to tenements, change is rattling the husks

and window panes. Some have spray painted

anarchy symbols and swastikas anonymously

in the alley by the trash cans; others boldly

brandish them on protest signs.  My wife and I

watch the news looking for facts, while others

eat up Pizzagate and the Deep State,

jumping into a chasm of disinformation.  

They fear Spanish and Chinese like I fear heights.

I grew up in a pink split-level, wear jeans

like Springsteen, build a playhouse for my grandkids

and read them Goodnight Moon.  Now I have

a President who asks if we can inject disinfectant

to kill the virus in us, and I think of the film

Idiocracy. (Dear Mr. President, please sit down -

you're not helping. Very truly yours, a citizen.)

I wish I could just fly away from here, mount

a poetic Pegasus and lift us both into the clouds.

But solace will have to come from the real world,

like the empty boulevard lined with cherry trees
that bloom in the rain in my home town.

PAD Day 25: Another "Two-fer"

Today's prompt from Poetic Asides is to write a "remix" poem - i.e., take a poem or poems you have written this month and "remix" it/them to create something new - write it in a different form, or change the lines around, or mix lines from different poems, or write a response to a previous poem, etc. It's one Robert Lee Brewer's used several times before, and I usually have some fun with it.

The second prompt from NaPoWriMo is much more daunting, I think: Listen to and/or read the long poem by James Schuyler called "Hymn to Life" and then respond with at least 20 minutes of free writing, using a number of prompts from poet Hoa Nguyen. The audio of the poem is 34 minutes long, and at first I thought, "How will I have time to listen to that, and how boring will it be?" Well, I actually had about an hour drive ahead of me today, so I patched the audio file from Poets.org through my car stereo, and I must say, I really got drawn into it. I was most impressed with how the poet jumps almost seamlessly back and forth from objects in his room, to the new spring growth outside, to childhood memories, the sites of Washington, D.C., various shades of purple, and many other subjects. I was unexpectedly hooked.

I wasn't able to reconcile the prompts today, so here is the first poem, the "remix". I used the last lines (with a few minor changes) from my poems for Days 1, 4, 6-7, 9-10, 12-17, and 19-21. (The title is a line from Day 17.)

Lockdown Rush Hour

"My jigsaw puzzle -

it's perfect."

It's early Sunday -

We have all the time in the world,

and no toilet tissue.

In times like these, we need it most.

It means so much more these days.

Minutes become years in a dream,

just as we are trapped here forever,

and so many are being taken from us

by stopping clocks,

by jets overhead.

For a short while through this cosmic race,

we hope we'll be even more full of life

with poetry,

and repeat as necessary.

And here is the second one - not sure how successful it is, and it didn't incorporate a lot of Nguyen's prompts, but it was rather liberating to write:

Somewhat Cynically after Listening to James Schuyler's "Hymn to Life"

I am putting everything aside for you today, James,

and I hope you appreciate it. The laundry room hums

with the circular motion of washer and dryer drums,

thumping unbalanced from time to time. I am in the basement,

drumming my fingers on black plastic letter-labeled keys,

and looking for my metaphorical Madeleine. I did have some

mocha flavored cake a little while ago, and the coffee aftertaste

is not unpleasant, despite my dislike of coffee. I listened to you

on a one-hour journey up a highway, starting near the Jersey shore,

in a little town on a tidal river where the houses are crumbling,

where roofs are starting to cave in, where a bathroom disaster

has left one porcelain facility nearly in ruins and we are now

gutting it for renovation. I'm leaving that behind for now,

zipping up Route 55 past long stark forests mixed with maple,

birch, and oak, not quite ready to leaf, and I wonder how many

will come back this year, and how many will echo this plague in the air

and remain dead brown wood. Silhouette signs warn of crossing deer.

I have never hit one before, but I am waiting for it to happen.

This is all too bleak for a sunny day sandwiched between two soaking rains,

and the clouds are just starting to insinuate the next ingredient

of that sandwich.  Trees whiz by, and a few cars do as well,

though fewer than in a normal world. Digital sign boards flash

the strong yellow suggestion to stay at home, avoid the spread,

but I defy that, at least for today, yet I am not a complete rebel.

There's a mask at my side. I will stop at the pharmacy

and hand my over-the-counter pills to a young man masked like me -

he doesn't suspect a holdup, and I don't suspect a face deformity.

He is behind Plexiglas. We gingerly pass merchandise, credit card

and receipt back and forth. My perfunctory "thank you" should have

been more sincere. The washer has stopped. It's a newer model

with one of those annoying electronic melodies to indicate

it's done. I haven't been listening to a lot of music these days -

maybe it's depression, maybe distraction. My wife calls, "Honey,

what do you want for dinner? " The dog is pacing again -

she sounds like my mind, tick-tacking her nails on the wood floor

over my head. I am not humming anymore either, running out

of steam, my head drawn to the sun outside, the kids next door

playing street hockey, the guy in the back with a leaf blower,

my fingers running full tilt while my brain watches them and says,

"Are you pounding out more of that nonsense?"

It's not Shakespeare, James - it's not even Bukowski. But

it loosens the senses just a little, relaxes the tension a little more,

and maybe with the most extraordinary stroke of luck,

someone will read it. Does anyone have a little time on their hands?