PAD Day 30

I made it!  Thirty-nine poems in thirty days. And while they're not all classics, it felt good to be productive again and have some fun writing.  On the other hand, I'm kind of glad it's over.  Some days it was a real struggle just to produce something as brief as a haiku. I also wish I'd been more successful some days at combining the two prompts I was using. (But then again, if I had, I may not have written more than 30 poems.) It's a good challenge and exercise in writing self-discipline.

The final April prompt from NaPoWriMo is to take a poem from earlier this month and write its "opposite" - in other words, substitute the original words with their opposites. My Day 21 poem, "Fortune Cookie Senryu", which contained inspirational messages, seemed like a good target for this exercise.  What I came up with here could probably be called "dispirational".

Misfortune Cookie Senryu

Measure failure by 
how low you have sunk, and what

you don’t do down there.

Despite how relaxed
and idle you are, take one
thing off your list: work.

Don’t go out today,
ignore your environment,
don’t reflect on it.

Optimism hates
air, pessimism dies worst
in total vacuum.

My divorce account:
squander laziness and joy,
and I’ll go bankrupt.

Poetic Asides' final prompt is to write a "finished" and/or "unfinished"poem.

Junked

A poem is never finished, only abandoned.

- Paul Valery

The poem sits in a meadow,

rusting in spring rain. Once

it carried me to delightful destinations,

but it wasn't perfect. I  tried tinkering

with it - new engine, transmission,

a different rhyme scheme,

tightening the meter,

a fresh coat of metaphoric paint.

Then just  when I  thought

I fixed it up the way it should be,  

someone would walk by and say,

Do you have the right tires? or

Those door handles look clumsy,

or, I don't understand your imagery.

Eventually, it ended up in a drawer,

and later moved to this field.

Today I found it again, a corroded shell

of what it once was.  I sat down

in the April drizzle and begin to write

a poem about an old abandoned car.



I hope you've all had a great National Poetry Month!

PAD Day 29

Today's prompt from NaPoWriMo is to write a poem that uses at least five words or phrases from a foreign language, I took some liberties with this one and came up with what I think is a rather amusing commentary:

This is America, Buddy

So if you want to order real American food
in my diner, like pizza, crepes,
or frankfurters and sauerkraut,
you’d better speak English, capice?
Don’t be a schmuck and give me your lip –
we can go mano-a-mano any time.
So what if I’m gung ho about speaking the language?
If you don’t like it, c’est la vie.
And don’t forget, Friday’s Karaoke Night –
we’ll all be singing “Gangnam Style”.

The second prompt, from Poetic Asides, was to take a line from one of your April poems and make it the title of a new poem. I took it a step further and wrote a poem comprised of one line each from twenty of the poems I wrote this month (including the title). In other words, I wrote a "cento".  All are the original verbatim lines, too, except for one which I broke into two lines.

How Complex You Are

Okay,

I'll tell you unequivocally,

Nature: I love and hate you.

I'm dopey enough to tell you how I feel.

We've breezed through laughter,

slogged through tears,

promises, engagements, hearts,

casting aspersions, doubts, accusations

when you betrayed me. Still I held back rain.

Pessimism loves a vacuum.

The ants are in the peonies again.

Ghost-faced owl dives, curls talons.

Please keep your wrath at bay -

we can't let the dark possibles dictate us.

Sun plus warm equals melt -

then take a walk, admire daffodils.

Let's go on a holiday to the borderline.

Our bodies respond with madness,

like a town crier on Doomsday,

lips puffed beyond the natural,

with fireworks of purple.

PAD Day 28

Today's dual prompts: (1) Write a "color" poem, and (2) write a shadorma.  A "shadorma" is allegedly a form that originated in Spain (though it's more likely an invented contemporary form) of six lines with syllable counts of 3,5,3,3,7 and 5.  As such, it's a similar discipline to haiku or tanka.  So here's a string of shadormas I wrote on the topic of color:

The Color of Azalea

In my yard

an azalea bush

celebrates

my birthday

with fireworks of purple

flowers every year.

Yet "purple"

doesn't do justice

to its hue -

amethyst,

perhaps (that's my niece's name)

or heliotrope.

Maybe plum

(no, that's way too deep),

lavender,

violet

or lilac (those don't work, they're

other flowers' names).

Puce or mauve?

Both are ugly words.

No artist,

just a guy,

I'll be content with "purple" -

it suits me just fine.

PAD Day 27: Happy Birthday to Me

Oh joy. Today I am now officially old enough to collect Social Security.  My prompts for today are (1) Write a "mechanical" poem, and (2) follow along with me now - take the first three words of a popular phrase or "old saying", plug it into a search engine, and use the first three pages or so of results, picking out interesting words or phrases you can use in a poem.  Maybe I'm using the wrong "old sayings", but this exercise just didn't quite work for me.  The first poem I produced came out dark and disturbing, and though it was an entirely fictitious narrative poem, it might have shown up on some homeland-security radar, especially in these sensitive post-Boston bombing times, so I chose not to share it.  I did plug in the beginning of an appropriate old saying for today, and I was reminded of a tired old analogy, which inspired this short and pithy piece:

You're Only as Old as You Feel

"A little age can be a wonderful thing.

Take a fine bottle of scotch for example...."

Okay.

That's it.  And here's my "mechanical" poem:

Birthday Robot

 I need a robot to absorb all my birthdays,

so he will be the one who needs service

and repair, more often every year.

He'll be the one who everyone will tell,

"You look pretty good for your age,"

and "You're only as old as you feel."

He'll get all the snarky getting-older birthday cards. 

and he'll be the one who will worry

what will happen when his warranty runs out.

And while he's fretting about circuits

that don't connect so quickly any more,

blockages in circulation, dimming light sensors,

joints that creak with every movement,

I'll be lounging on an island somewhere,

no older than last year, sipping a piña colada

and sending him a snarky birthday card.

PAD Day 26 Part Deux

So here's my second poem of the day, in response to Poetic Asides' prompt to write a "casting" poem.  I'm posting it separately only because it's so totally different from my other poem today.

O'Reilly Goes Fishing

Took my favorite rod and flies,

waded out hip-deep, where the river

bends to the right, and started casting

aspersions, doubts, accusations,

reeling in my catch, one after another.

Tonight I have bigger fish to fry.

My fans won't even realize that I've

filleted my dish of reason, logic,

and fairness, nor will they notice

when I choke on the bones.

PAD Day 26

Once again, I had a hard time reconciling the two prompts for today.  Poetic Asides' prompt is to write a "casting" poem.  Maybe I'll come up with something by the end of the day, or tomorrow.  Meanwhile I worked on today's prompt from NaPoWriMo, which is to write a "deletion" poem: Take a longer poem and delete most of the words, then use the words you have left - in order - to form another poem.  It is suggested that you even leave the words more or less in their original positions on the page, which makes for a more concrete, post-modern appearance. I tried this with one of Billy Collins' longest poems, "Victoria's Secret", and here's what I came up with.  (The title, "To Rise" is also an excision of the original title.)

To Rise

                   a deeply scalloped

                                           shoulder

cannot hide the shadow of

               

                                organza

Here, the            

                   reclining           

                                         widow

decorated

with       ruffles

                                                mouth

    arching,

as if to say           I am         nothing

but        

                a low sweetheart

                                                a music box

                    will wake         her

                                catlike

in the                                       library

with a   

                                                shimmering

                                                  fireplace

                                her neighbor

 a beautifully shaped

princess

                  displays             

                                                photographic

                ice cream

       a new sofa

peach,                                  rose, and periwinkle

It is

                                                a   swollen

                                                                   garden

Rain is beating on the roof.                          

PAD Day 25

Today’s dual prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a poem with the title “Everyone ________”, and (2) write a ballad (whether an old English-style ballad, a rock power ballad, etc.) I’m not exactly sure why the subject of my poem popped up, other than the fact that it’s been a pet peeve of mine lately – an almost irrational and toxic animosity toward a certain celebrity, and it seemed to be a good fit for the title prompt too. I’ve been writing a lot of humorous and light verse this month for some reason, so why stop now?



Everyone Hates Anne
(The Ballad of Anne Hathaway)

There is a girl in Hollywood,
Anne Hathaway’s her name,
and people seem to hate her guts,
and most resent her fame.

She’s pretty, perky, gifted too,
yet people seem so bitter,
with snarky comments on their blogs
and Facebook posts and Twitter.

She did The Princess Diaries
and Brokeback Mountain too,
but still they call her “theater kid”;
her acting they pooh-pooh.

She’s been Jane Austen, “99”,
a fashion gal in Prada.
How much respect did they give her?
Try, zero, nothing, nada.

She’s played Batman’s Selina Kyle,
and Alice’s White Queen,
Then she brought home her Oscar gold
for playing poor Fantine.

But still the haters had their doubts,
although she shed a tear
when she gave her acceptance speech;
they called her insincere.

So here’s my message to you folks:
please keep your wrath at bay,
for I’ll make no apologies –
I love Anne Hathaway.