PAD Day 12: A Haibun for Survivors

Today's dual prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) write a "lament" poem, and (2) write a haibun (a mixed form of prose and haiku). This week we are finally getting weather that really feels like spring, even flirting with summer, so this haibun celebrates that, along with the hardiness of the flora in my neighborhood. You could call this an "anti-lament" poem.

Defiant Ones

The true season has finally decided to show up, after weeks of cruel teasing. The first day of spring gave us heavy wet snow that bowed and split many trees about to bud.  A section of privacy fence collapsed from the weight of the snow and crushed my backyard forsythia. I hefted up the fence and braced it with bungee cords, a temporary fix, but I worried about the fragile bush, squashed almost flat to the ground. As it happened, there was no need to grieve  - today it sprang back with a vengeance.

first swath of color

a vibrant yellow brush stroke

in my back garden

The first mild afternoon in my neighborhood this year demands a walk and I oblige. The cherry trees are coming into full glory, but one that caught my eye is barely standing at an acute angle to the sidewalk and curb in front of a neighbor's house. It looks like a car has hit it, with gouges and stripped bark on one side, yet it has the strength for one last show.

mortally wounded

the blooming cherry tree says

please save your laments

PAD Day 11: Patching Potholes

Today's dual prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) write a "warning" poem, and (2) write  "a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions 'What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?'" Here's my first take on that:

Note to Future Highway Self

Warning:

Infrastructure problems ahead.

You will become more high-maintenance

in years to come. You will damage yourself

without even trying. Potholes will spring up

out of nowhere. Your concrete supports

will start to crumble. Be sure you have

a good road crew, and adequate funds

to keep the drive as smooth as possible.

There will be detours, for sure,

a road closing or two, but in the end,

we hope you have a pleasant journey

overall, till you take that final exit

into whatever utopia you've imagined.

PAD Day 10: Darkness and Light

My poem today was a "triple prompt": I used the NaPoWriMo prompt to write a "simultaneity" poem, about several things happening at the same time. I also used the Poetic Asides blog prompt to write a "deal" and/or "no deal" poem, and I also employed the word bank from the Sunday Whirl blog, using all twelve of the words (stranger, drive, bread, light, on, switch, growl, devil, off, shy, stripe, snatches). Admittedly, The Poetic Asides prompt got the short shrift, as my poem only mentions a "deal" in passing, and the word bank was a relatively easy one to work with, but I guess the result turned out all right, if a bit dark (despite all the "light" references):

Simultaneity

Right now, as I flick on the switch in my bedroom,

someone else in my neighborhood is turning off

the light in theirs. On the next block, a raccoon shies away

from a garbage can when the motion detector light

goes on, but not before snatching a crust of bread.

In the next town, in a room lit only by a laptop screen,

a perfect stranger reads one of my poems online,

while some kid in the dimly lit parking lot of a convenience store

decides whether to hold it up.  A junkie in the nearby city

makes a deal with the devil under a strobing halogen street light,

while in the next state, a man who has been driving

with a broken headlight and two days without sleep

drifts over the middle stripe in the road.

PAD Day 9: Battle of Large vs. Small

Today's dual prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) write a poem with the title "Battle ______", and (2) write a poem in which "something big and something small come together". This isn't the first time I've written about my household nemesis, the ant, and it probably won't be the last.

Battle of the Kitchen

I've brought in the WMDs for a frontal assault

on the advancing line toward my cupboard.

They will not take my provisions.

They will not overrun the countertops.

They shall not pass.

I drove them back from the sugar

but now they're attacking the cereal

and raisins. I need to outflank them

with poisonous buttons and spray,

or even that homemade concoction

of powdered sugar and boric acid.

At first I feel  no remorse for my use

of chemical weapons in this campaign.

This is my domain, dammit, and they

are the invaders. There's no U.N. for ants.

But I must admit there's the smallest pang

of guilt when I seen dozens or hundreds

of tiny black bodies lifeless on the shelves.

I wonder how different it feels from

a bombardier looking through his sights

at everything and everyone

he has just destroyed below.

PAD Day 8: Magic and Family

Just wanted to share something first: I attended the  book launch party for the annual poetry journal U.S. 1 Worksheets today in Princeton NJ. As usual, it was well-attended, and dozens of poets read their poems that are included in the new issue (#63 - it may be one of the longest-running small independent journals in the country - they have been publishing for 45 years!) Anyway, I got to read my sonnet "Dewey-eyed', which I wrote for last year's April PAD challenge. Thanks as always to Nanacy Scott, Dave Worrell, and everyone else involved. 

Today's dual prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) write a "family" poem (that is, about a family), and (2) write a poem where mysterious and magical things occur. I guess both prompts are rather peripheral to what I turned out, but oh well:

Hazel in the Tree House

My granddaughter took the color of her eyes

and made it the name of her imaginary friend.

Hazel lived in a house in the cherry tree.

Hazel would invite her up to play

in the tree house with her pet baby elephant,

and they would all dance a kind of jitterbug.

When she would bring her fairy wings

and magic wand, Hazel turned into

a real fairy and made her one too.

They flitted around the windows

of the houses of the neighborhood

and peeked in. Hazel was the one who made

her tree blossom all pink-white in April.

But eventually imaginary friends move on,

usually to another town, with another name

to be friends with other girls and boys.

So it was after one more spring spectacular

that exploded the cherry tree with flowers,

when Hazel left, practically overnight.

The blossoms faded a few days later,

and the wind caught up the falling petals

into a swirling cascade that to most people

looked like snow, but to Madison

they looked like tears.

PAD Day 7: A Bonus Poem for Baseball Season

So here's the other poem I decided to write, which more directly addresses the Poetic Asides "senses" prompt. It also ties into the NaPoWriMo prompt (see prior entry) because I put "Phillies fan" on both the "powerful" and "vulnerable" lists of my identities. So here you go:

Phillies Fan

It's a blessing and a curse

to root for a team that has lost

more than 10,000 games

in their century-plus existence,

but I have been lucky enough in my life

to witness two World Series titles.

(I can hear you Yankees fans snicker.)

Every year spring brings mixed emotions

of optimism and doubt. This year

there's a new manager, and some

bright new talent: Hoskins, Crawford,

Kingery and Nick Williams,

and some new veterans too,

like Arrieta and Carlos Santana.

But it also brings all the joys

of the ballpark, after a winter

of hibernation: our guys in red and white

trotting onto the field; the Phanatic,

pot-bellied, long-snouted, very green,

performing his usual antics;

the bat cracks, the cheers and boos

(Phillies fans don't hide their emotions);

the fly ball lofting into center field

that you pray will clear the fence;

the smell of popcorn and spilled beer;

the taste of a good beef hot dog;

squirming in a hard plastic chair

when things don't go so well,

and jumping out of it when they do.

PAD Day 7: Not Quite the Pinnacle

Today's dual prompts from Poetic Asides is to write a poem using one or all of the senses. NaPoWriMo's prompt is again, a little more involved: Make a list of "all your different layers of identity, such as husband, father, liberal, football fan, cancer survivor, writer, handyman, etc. "Now divide all of those things into lists of what makes you feel powerful and what makes you feel vulnerable. Now write a poem in which one of the identities from the first list contends or talks with an identity from the second list."  My poem here responds more to the second prompt than to the first, I think, so maybe later I'll try one that focuses more on the senses. Anyway, here's a little dialog with myself.

Not Quite the Pinnacle

I've reached that mountaintop

where I can rest on the ledge

and look down the slope

on all I've done in this life

and plant a flag that says,

"Retiree" and another

that says, "Senior".

There's still much to do

as a husband, as a grandfather,

a poet, traveler, music lover,

and many puzzles still to solve.

Ah, but look at you -

flabby, gray and balding.

Every day is a different nagging ache;

what you see is duller and blurrier,

and there's a ringing in your ears.

Your bladder is weak, and your heart

may have a fatal flaw.

You forget simple things,

and fatigue is a frequent companion.

What's more, it's chilly on that mountain -

the wind whips around your flimsy coat,

and the oxygen is rare.

You still haven't reached the pinnacle,

and perhaps you never will.

Spare me your disparagement!

There's still plenty of me left.

I'll write a few more books,

take a river cruise, keep company

with my college sweetheart
(still feeling that young when I kiss her),

cheer my Phillies to another title,

and God willing, see my grandkids

go to college and get married.

There's a reason that wise old men

populate mountaintops.

So come up and get some wisdom,

but you'll have to work to catch me -

I'm not done climbing yet.