Sunday, April 10, 2022

PAD Day 10: The Taste of Love

 Today's prompts from NaPoWriMo and Write Better Poetry are very basic and direct: (1) Write a love poem, and (2) write a "taste" poem. So here is my very simple response, a senryu (haiku with a human element):

when she finishes
the chocolate I gave her
she gives me a kiss

Saturday, April 9, 2022

Day 9: War vs. Music

Last night I attended my first in-person indoor poetry reading since the pandemic began. It featured a poet I know and admire, J.C. Todd, and her daughter Savannah Cooper-Ramsey. I got to read two poems from my new book plus one newer poem during the open mic. Everyone was masked, and it was an excellent evening.

Today's dual prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "breaking" poem, and (2) Write a "nonet," a none-line form that starts with nine syllables and decreases the number in each successive line down to one syllable. I guess the utter destruction of war can be seen as a kind of "breaking" - in the sense of physical structure, but also, especially in the case of the current war in Ukraine, in the sense of breaking the spirit of the people who are attacked. I wrote a "double-reverse" nonet, I guess you can call it, where the syllables increase again with an additional nine lines. I thought it was a good way of showing a kind of "rising from the ashes." I also wanted to pay tribute to the bravery of Ukranian musicians who have performed for their countrymen sheltering in place, and even in some cases in the open air under the threat of missile attacks. Music has always been witness to history. 

Pathétique
 
They bombed Tchaikovsky's home, a villa
in Trostyanets where he wrote
his first symphonic work. They
levelled the whole city.
Hundreds have been killed,
even children.
But by God
we will
turn
around
this horror
with pianos,
violins, trumpets,
singing in bomb shelters.
Music will be the witness,
all the grief and all the triumph,
a brave anthem against tyranny.

 


Friday, April 8, 2022

Day 8: Spirit Animal

First, I want to bring a new anthology to everyone's attention. The Poet Magazine, a British-based journal, has just published a collection called Poetry for Ukraine, a 300-plus page volume featuring over 250 poets from around the world, writing about the war in Ukraine, or war and peace in general. The book is available directly from them as a PDF, or you can get a paper or Kindle copy through Amazon.com. All profits from the book go to the Ukraine Crisis Relief Fund. I'm proud to be part of this project with a poem on page 84. Here's the link: 

https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/poetry-for-ukraine


Today's dual prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "what they never told you" poem, and (2) Write a poem in the voice of a character that you consider your "alter-ego."

I always wondered what my "spirit animal" would be, and recently I took one of those dumb Facebook quizzes, which told me it would be a deer. "Nah," I said. "Too gentle and graceful." I always imagined myself as a bear - lumbering, grumpy, and prone to sleep a lot. Then a few years ago I discovered the wonderful series of children's picture books by Ryan T. Higgins about Bruce, a grumpy black bear who reluctantly adopts a gaggle of geese who hatched in his presence and imprinted on him.  And I thought, "There he is! My spirit animal!" I love the books every bit as much as my grandkids, as Bruce grumbles and complains through one situation after another, but still looks out for his adopted family. So here is my poem in the voice of my alter-ego, Bruce the bear.


Bruce the Bear
 
All I ever wanted was to sleep all winter
and be left alone, but one day
I stole a nest of eggs for dinner,
and four little goslings hatched.
They imprinted on me, called me "Mama,"
followed me everywhere.
I tried to get them to migrate,
but instead they coerced me into
wintering in Florida -
hot, sandy, sunburning Florida.
 
These birds caused me nothing but trouble -
and while we were away, some mice
turned my house into a hotel.
Then worst of all, some young animals
in the forest thought I was Santa Claus,
and I was forced to wear a stupid red suit
and give out presents.
These geese, teenagers now,
turned my life upside-down.
 
But they're my family,
and what no one ever told me
is that even when you're not looking for a family
sometimes one still finds you.
It's amazing how much they change you,
how much you're willing to sacrifice for them,
and how they never really leave you.
They will always be your kids,
no matter how annoying,
and you will defend them any day
with a swipe of your giant paw. 

But I still could use a nice long nap.



Thursday, April 7, 2022

PAD Day 7: Dissecting a Phrase

 Today's dual prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write an "abundance" poem, and (2) "Write a poem that argues against, or somehow questions, a proverb or saying." I'm not sure if it's because these prompts didn't really speak to me today, or maybe it's other things on my mind. (I had a car accident this morning - I'm ookay, but the caris a mess.) Anyway, I took a phrase rather than a saying or proverb and just mused on it a bit, it's meaning and semantics. Here's the result:


Abundance of Caution
 
We've heard about that a lot lately,
all the steps we take out of
an "abundance of caution."
It seems almost an oxymoron―
 
when did caution ever yield
abundance? On the other hand,
is caution really something we
could ever have in abundance?
 
Maybe we just need a different phrase:
a "plethora of preparedness,"
a "cornucopia of carefulness,"
a "surplus of circumspection."
No, none of those work.
 
Caution seems to run a spectrum
from sheer recklessness
to paralyzing inactivity.
We need just enough caution,
I think, to avoid the consequences
we don't wish to come up against.
 
But what if an abundance causes us
to have leftover caution?
Can we bank it for the next crisis,
or if we come up short,
can we borrow caution from someone
who never takes a risk?
 
I think it's abundantly clear
that we can't throw caution to the wind,
but we can't hoard it either,
unless we aspire to a very boring life.

Wednesday, April 6, 2022

PAD Day 6: On Friends

 Today's dual prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a poem with the title, "________ in the _________," and (2) write a poem that takes a phrase or section from someone else's piece of writing, and uses those words in order as the first word in each line of that poem - "a variation of an acrostic poem," as Maureen Thorson calls it. I look at, especially if I use a poetry source, as a variation on the "golden shovel," a form invented by Terrence Hayes where the last word of each line is taken from the words in another's poem. In any event, I will use this prompt as another opportunity to write a poem for my other project, powm based on the the lyrics of the rock band Elbow. The epigraph of this poem is my source, and as you will see, each line of my poem begins with a word from that epigraph, used in order.


Looking in the Rearview

(A "word acrostic" poem)
 
Dear friends
You are angels and drunks
You are Magi
Old friends
You stuck a pin in the map I was in
And you are the stars I navigate home by
―Elbow, "Dear Friends"
 
Dear departed, dear still there,
friends who have been part of the journey,
you all got me here today.
Are you sleeping, are you awake?
Angels and demons
and graybeards and ghosts,
drunks and teetotalers, scoundrels and saints,
you all are indispensible, you
are worth more than any gift of the
Magi, more than any billionaire's cache.
 
Old days sometimes fade like photographs, but
friends, you are the afterimage in my eyes,
you are the memories that make me smile,
stuck in the brain like
a favorite record, a butterfly on a
pin. I am still driving
in from the wilderness, dust on
the windshield, creases on the road
map, and I don't know exactly where
I will rest, but I do know I
was in the greatest company
in all the towns you found me in,
 
and you have my gratitude,
you clouds in the sunset, you who
are a two-lane highway through the plains,
the rest stop, the last gas, the
stars that knock me back at night when
I gaze overhead, the same ones I use to
navigate toward the last leg of this trip,
home by breakfast, home
by morning.

Tuesday, April 5, 2022

PAD Day 5: Hard Times for the Gods

I'll start today with a shameless plug: Please note the clickable image on the right, the cover of my new full-length poetry collection, The Bungalow of Colorful Aging, published by Kelsay Books and available through Amazon.com, or directly from the publisher at kelsaybooks.com.  If you would like an autographed copy directly from me, leave me a message in the comments and I will tell you how you can get one.

Today's dual prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "makes sense" and/or "doesn't make sense" poem, and (2) write a poem about a mythical person or creature doing something unusual, at least something unusual in relation to that person/creature. My poem gives just a passing nod to the first prompt, I suppose, and focuses more on the second. 


Underemployed
 
What am I doing in this dead-end job?
I have so many talents―I could have been
a rich, successful businessman,
a great public speaker, a communicator,
a travel agent, a casino manager,
a funeral director, guiding souls
to the afterlife. I could have even been
a musician―after all, I invented the lyre.
 
Instead, I deliver flowers. My boss has never
thanked me for saving him a ton of money―
I don't need a delivery van,
just my winged helmet and sandals.
Yeah, that's me on the logo.
 
I'm in a rut. It makes no sense.
I tried one of those job search sites,
but when I entered for experience,
"Ancient God," my computer crashed.
There's not much call for us these days.
The only thing that keeps me going
are the smiles that greet the flowers and me
at the door.  Excuse me a moment―
 
"Two dozen long-stemmed roses for Ms. Williams?"

Monday, April 4, 2022

PAD Day 4: Need Inspiration? Here's Help!

 Today's dual prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1)Write a "catch up" poem, and (2) write a poem about poetry prompts, using as inspiration the surreal Instagram posts of Matthias Svalina.


Poetry Prompts
 
1.
Use the following words in a poem: 
blaspheme, truncate, unctuous, ramma-lamma-ding-dong, blowzy,
armadillo, caterwaul, huggermugger, splunge, sesquipedalian 
Next, delete all the above words. The result is a poem.
 
2.
Take a poem you have already written.
Put it on a leash and take it for a walk in the park.
Once at the park, release it and let it roam.
(Obey local leash laws.)
Run after your poem and catch up with it.
Look at what the poem is rooting for beneath the autumn leaves.
That is your next poem.
 
3.
Write a poem about the darkness of your soul.
Tear the poem into at least a hundred pieces.
Plant each piece of the poem around town, so they will grow
into an overwhelming pall of impending doom.
Write a new poem about sunshine and flowers.
 
4.
Preheat oven to 350°.
Stir 2 cups of words in a large bowl 
with 1 cup each of flour, sugar, milk and hot sauce.
Pour into a 9x12 pan.
Bake 35 minutes or until a knife comes out clean
when poked into the middle stanza.
Cut into 3-inch squares and enjoy!