PAD Day 14: Paging Dr. Bill

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) write a form poem and/or an "anti-form" poem, and (2) "write a poem that deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems. "  I've written on previous occasions about one of my favorite poets, William Carlos Williams (or "Dr. Bill" as I like to call him - he was a family physician). He was a big influence when I wrote poetry in college. Williams also created a modern form called the "variable foot", which is rather elusive to define, but is characterized by a staggered or step-like three-line unit on the page, each line broken up generally in beats or breaths. You could even call it a sort of "anti-form" - a semi-structured reaction to the strict forms of classic or romantic poetry. Anyway, here is my take on it:

WCW Redux

So here I am

                again, Dr. Bill

                                singing your praises

like you sang about

                asphodel,

                                that greeny flower,

or red wheelbarrows,

                Breughel's peasants,

                                refrigerated plums.

You kept your day job

                but still had time to

                                change the poetry world

and turned the heads of

                malleable young students

                                                like me.

You invented

                the variable foot,

                                that elusive animal

that trips

                down the page

                                like a mountain goat

or drips down it

                like the cascading

                                                Paterson Falls.                  

I don't know if

                I have it right,   

                                but maybe there's no                   

right or wrong to it.

                So here's to you,

                                who taught me I could

have a  life and still

                bother the world

                                with poetry.

PAD Day 13: "A Furtive Glance"

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "purpose" poem, and (2) write a non-apology about stealing something. I enjoyed writing yesterday's triolet so much that I thought I'd try another one:

A Thief

Today I stole a look at you;

I don't regret that furtive glance.

Hypnotic beauty shone right through

my day.  I stole a look at you,

and did it quite on purpose too.

Will I return it? Not a chance.

Today I stole. Oh, look at you!

I don't regret my furtive glance.

Happy Passover and Easter!

These are strange and trying times. Passover and Easter coincide this year, but families and worshippers are being told that they shouldn't get together because of this insidious virus that has all but shut down most of the world. It's all a bit scary, but people are making the most of it, helping their neighbors with food and little uplifting gifts. On the news last night, a local florist delivered a pot of spring flowers to just about everyone in their small town. As far as celebrating the holidays, people are getting together with family virtually for seders and Easter dinner, and churches and temples have their services online from empty houses. But the spirit is still there, and in the homes, and that's what I wrote about today. The prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo are (1) Write a "spirit" poem, and (2) write a triolet.

Spirit

We talk about our human spirit -

in times like these, we need it most.

This day is dark, but we won't fear it -

we'll talk. About our human spirit,

we know it when we see and hear it -

we help each other, coast to coast.

We talk because we're human. Spirit?

In times like these, we need it most.

PAD Day 11: The Language of Flowers

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1)Write a "control" poem, and (2) write a poem based on the "language of flowers". The latter refers to a glossary, from Victorian times, of many kinds of flowers and plants and what kind of sentiment, characteristic, or message each of them conveyed when sent to another person. It's quite long, and one publication of it can be found here:
I decided to take a number of "negative" qualities and messages from the list and work them into the following politically satirical verse. (Note: Before anyone gets bent out of shape, I don't say which president is the subject of this poem - you can draw your own conclusions.)

Say it with Flowers

They request a bouquet for the President.

What arrangement? I must decide.

I'll start with an amaryllis,

a symbol of his pride.

For his boasting, perhaps some hydrangea;

some lavender for distrust,

and xanthium for his rudeness,

his treatment of others unjust.

Barberry for his sour temper,

for falsehoods, a  yellow lily;

For his foolishness, a pomegranate,

his errors both shocking and silly.

St. Johns wort for animosity,

for disdain, some yellow carnation,

flowering laurel for being untrustworthy,

and for what he has done to our nation.

Misanthropy earns him some wolfs bane,

and lettuce for being cold-hearted.

For his hatred, I'll finish with basil,

though I feel that I've barely started.

In the center, a Venus flytrap,

a giant one for his deceit.

He's thinks that he's the one in control?

Just wait till it's time to eat.

From my little shop to you, sir,

Oh, you will be in for a treat.

I'm Seymour, the flytrap's named Audrey,

and to her I say, "Bon Appetit"!

PAD Day 10: Hay(na)ku!

Today's dual prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a poem entitled "The _______ Who _______", and (2) write a "Hay(na)ku". The latter is a poetic form created by one Eileen Tabios and coined by my poet friend Vince Gotera. It's very simple: line one contains one word, line two is two words, and line three is three words - short and sweet like a haiku. You can also string them together for a longer poem, like Vince has for a form he calls the "hay(na)ku sonnet". It's four hay(na)ku put together stanza style, with two three-word ending lines as a sort of envoi. Thus, fourteen lines. Here is my stab at one - I even tried to set up rhyme scheme in it:

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

PAD Day 9: Something Concrete

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) write an ekphrasitc poem, and (2) write a concrete poem. These two prompts are a bit tough to reconcile, but not impossible. Robert Brewer of Poetic Asides offered five photographs that we could use as inspiration, and I chose the one of an hourglass, then used its shape for my concrete poem. Another reason I picked the houglass is that I'm pretty bad at HTML coding, which is often necessary for formatting text into designs or shapes. An hourglass is pretty easy. This is untitled, but I'm calling it "the glass between..."

the glass between me and the world

where danger is more miniscule

than sand keeps me from

hazards, but every day

feels more cramped,

squeezed in, as

if I am a grain

that sifts

down

a

tiny

passage,

and one day,

out the other side

where things open up

and all the other grains and I

slip into a larger place, fall into

a space where everything is clear

and we have all the time in the world

PAD Day 8: The Argument for Intimacy

Today's prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "future" poem, and (2) write a poem using a line or phrase from another poet. NaPoWriMo offers links to some Twitter "bots" that regularly and randomly issue lines and phrases from various poets like Plath and Shelley. I chose the Plath one, which had a pinned quote that was so appropriate for the times, and used it as an epigraph.

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.