Tagged Poem-a-Day

Poetry prompts from National Poetry Month

Greensburg Back Roads

 

Hey, all! I told you I’d recap all the prompts and so here we are.

Yeah, I attempted to inspire the Facebook masses with a somewhat lofty goal of writing a poem a day in April. Did I accomplish that goal? Not quite. 23/30. But I’m not giving up. I plan on responding to these prompts. Soon. (Maybe once I’m done with a Doodle A Day May…. someone smack me.)

 

// NATIONAL POETRY MONTH – POEM A DAY PROMPTS //

DAY 1: Write a poem of firsts.

DAY 2: Write a poem en media res, or a poem that begins in the middle of things.

DAY 3: Write a sonnet. It can be modern, not necessarily rhyming or in meter.

DAY 4: Write a poem about a lie you told. Don’t be afraid of looking bad, though. Be vulnerable and honest and get to your guts.

DAY 5: Write a poem about the street you grew up on and title it as such. For example: “East End Avenue, 1992.”

DAY 6: Write a teeth poem.

DAY 7: Write a blackout poem.

DAY 8: Write a cliché poem using some overdone words, but make it fresh. (Here’s a list supplied by posters on Dan Shapiro’s wall: loam, tongue, crepuscular, moon, impossible, cicada, crow, bird, body, blood, map, ghost, specter, pearl, alone, silver, cerulean, azure, scrim, dream, starling, wolf, milk… Choose a few of these or make up some of your own.)

DAY 9: Write an unexpected poem presented in an unexpected way.

DAY 10: Write a confessional poem. Spill them beans!

DAY 11: Write a poem about another (possibly hidden) side of you.

DAY 12: Write an instructional “how to” poem.

DAY 13: Write a poem about feeling awkward, small or uncomfortable.

DAY 14: Write a haiku. 5/7/5 syllables. You know…

DAY 15: Write a tattoo poem or a “I don’t want to…” poem. Life is for options.

DAY 16: Write a silence poem.

DAY 17: Write a changes/transitions poem.

DAY 18: Write a poem titled, “Dear _____.”

DAY 19: Write a triptych poem, or a poem of threes. Bring together three events or images. (This courtesy of Melissa E.)

DAY 20: Write a recipe poem. Get creative without the kitchen time.

DAY 21: Write a poem centered around one word. Make it the title. Definition? Maybe.

DAY 22: Write a poem in couplets. Be a hero.

DAY 23: Write a Craigslist poem, inspired by findings therein. Personally, I like browsing Missed Connections. Typical.

DAY 24: Write a poem of or about colors. Be a painter of words!

DAY 25: Write a stolen text poem. Grab the nearest book or pamphlet. Flip through it and point to a place on a page at random. Write a poem centered around that word, phrase or image. Maybe even use it as the title?

DAY 26: Write a poem titled, “When I Stopped _____.”

DAY 27: Write a tarot poem. Use the image or idea of a tarot figure or minor arcana card to tell a story in verse. Have you ever picked which major arcana card best represents you?

DAY 28: Write an ekphrastic poem using album art as inspiration. Not just ANY album art, but the art of your favorite high school album.

DAY 29: Write an ode poem. It can be to your lover, your favorite sweater or a bottle of Ketchup. Make us feel the love.

DAY 30: Write a sestina… BOOM! (Easily my favorite form!)

 

Any hey… I’d love to see any of these, so feel free to share—here in the comments or my email!

 

 

Hung up on holidays and poetry scribbling

Besides re-watching the episode where House and Cuddy finally get together and downloading the Sims 3 Seasons Expansion Pack, I might say tonight was uneventful. Hah! God, I’m lame. I also excitedly ordered the 2014 AP Stylebook, dined and gabbed with my wonderful aunt and aimlessly walked around Target staring shiny-eyed at the Christmas decor.

Before we go into Christmas… Halloween went swimmingly. Our Red Neck/White Trash Bash was a blast. I slipped seamlessly into that character, the hillbilly grandpa, and nearly didn’t come out of it. I’m pretty sure my roommate and I were annoying the shit out of everyone with our banter.

“Eh, Jeb, whyonchu hand me that there fancy beer (a Yuengling) and put somethin’ on the tube.”

You’ll have to check out my Instagram for some snaps of that.

In other news, I am once more attempting November’s Poem-A-Day from Writer’s Digest. It’s not easy. This time around, I’m allowing myself to produce small bits, to produce anything without hacking it away then and there. I’ve been feeling awfully inspired, poetically speaking. I’ve been reading more, which helps. What are you reading? Does what you read ever change the shape of your day, your thoughts? It’s powerful to get into a book too deeply. You might live there for awhile.

3 Books of the Moment

Along with these three, A and I have been reading Margaret Atwood’s trilogy beginning with Oryx and Crake. I have read two of the three long ago, so it’s a refresh for me. Even now, years after I first fell in love with them, they (and her writing) blow me the hell away. She really is my hero.

Ok, and here’s the riot-inducing exclamation of the eve: I had to stop myself from bringing up my little two-foot Christmas tree from the basement. I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore. Ever since D, I just… I want it to be winter/Christmas all year long. Prior to this, I didn’t hate Christmas, but it felt like a cold stranger. It was sad mostly, nostalgic. In fact, I think I just made a lot of grumpy grumbles about it and everyone around me agreed.

And yes, I did listen to that damned Rosie Thomas song, “Christmas Don’t Be Late,” already. It’s the saddest song I’ve ever heard, Christmas or otherwise. I don’t know how it could be, as it’s a Alvin and The Chipmunks tune. As one friend put it, “Don’t listen to that alone!” My plan is to master it on the uke this season. We’ll see.

“If anyone of us could write the saddest song ever, it’d be you,” I’ve been told. Hmmm.

The sky might, indeed, be falling…

Yesterday, I told D: “I think the world is trying to kill me.”

It’s nearly the end of March and besides meeting someone lovely, 2013 hasn’t been so kind. I have come to realize, perhaps just admit aloud, that this year is just the lame sequel of 2012—and it’s getting old. An extension of the shit storm, as it stands.

I could depress myself with the tally, the list of nasties I’ve encountered thus far, but I’ll spare us all. But first, not without dump-trucking on you poor folk a brief synopsis of my weekend:

It began Friday with my work computer crashing, finding out that all is lost hard-drive-wise, and then my Gram’s passing. The weekend ended with me pulling something in my back and becoming a near-invalid, twinging on the floor.

Loss isn’t something I yet know how to process. I thought… maybe since I was hit with it early on that I’d have learned the ropes or something. But I haven’t. I wish I could describe the way it feels in a way that makes it tangible, easier to choke down in the night when it hovers above me like a wet memory. But I don’t have anything to strangle. Not yet.

There are bright things to look for—one of which being April, National Poetry Month. And guess what time it is again? Poem-a-Day Contest. I’m gearing up to get busy.

I thought it might be cool to share some poems on my blog, each day. We’ll see! Maybe form poems [not mine.]

Anyone else doing anything for National Poetry Month? If not, try it out? It’d be a great way to start writing something. Even if they’re haikus!

Wednesdays feel like hope,
sweltering and nondescript—
get over the hump.

There’s my Wednesday poem. Enjoy! hahah.. feel free to share your haiku!
mt

Verse-fil & “Things”

Ever since the dawning, or near-dawning of Livejournal [y’all remember that one?] I’ve been following a Poem-A-Day blogger by the name of exceptindreams. While I don’t check-in every day, I catch myself going there for inspiration often. It’s always good to get a mix of words—words you might not find sifting through your typical venues. Get outside of your little world, you know?

What I love about this particular poetry blog is that most posted poems seem more modern than not, which, for a hep cat like myself, is sort of a breath of fresh air. It’s not that I don’t dig the classics, but it’s like music, you know? You want someone to show you something fresh, new. After you’ve had the same song on repeat for lifetimes, you want a new beat to dance to.

What prompted this post is my coming across a poem there. For my love of Mars and this simple, yet stunning, idea of looking from the outside in—I’m posting this nugget by Wyn Cooper. I’ve been fascinated with space for forever, but only within the last 5 years have I been so… consumed? Mars is one of my favorites. I fell in-love with Mars after happening upon a National Geographic photo: a tiny white sun setting in blue hues. How small the sun was! I promptly taped it to my wall, rising and falling near it for years.

But those aren’t the only reasons for this post. That poem stirred something in me for other reasons. About a week or more ago, I was having quite the conversation with a friend’s husband. We were all out to dinner waiting to stuff our yaps at Max & Erma’s when I asked:

“So, let’s say you didn’t have any kids or anyone dependent on you that way… would you travel the world’s first mission to Mars, knowing that you wouldn’t be coming back? You would be—hopefully—gleaning tons of insight about space and helping advance our knowledge and technology, but… it’s a suicide mission. You can’t come back when it’s all over.”

I got quite the look for this one.

“What, am I stupid?” he blasted from across the table. “What a stupid question! Why in the hell would I want to do that?!”

I tried to explain that it would probably be incredible, even just the experience: sites and sounds and feelings. Still, he had a pretty cross look on his face.

“Well, would you?” he asked, turning it around on me.

“Yes.” And then I mumbled something sarcastic about having a football field named after me or something.

This isn’t the only fight we’ve had over a dinnertime discussion. In fact, we spent days arguing, stopping then picking back up at our next encounter, about why “I don’t want to be rich.” Once more, I got the what-are-you-stupid? face.

“The only people you ever hear saying that they don’t want money are poor people!” he spat.

“Not true. There is more to life than money. Yeah, it would be nice to be more comfortable and less stressed come bill time, but I know myself well enough to know that kind of excess would depress me.”

“Then you buy drugs to make you happy! You can afford it!” was his answer.

I’ve got a whole diatribe in me. Trust me. And I want so badly to calm this indignant heat in me over his stereotypical “male” response, but just explaining it here has me all fiery again. Spare me the lecture about being an ignorant and sexist ass for blaming it on his “maleness,” because there are reasons that stereotypes are stereotypes, as my roommate would say.

Cliche as it is: there’s more to life than things. This isn’t to say I don’t enjoy “things”; however, I know my limits. I know that my want of things—whether they are gadgets, careers or personal goals—keeps me determined and pushing. I need to have “want.”

That said, anyone who’d like to help pay for my mountain-sized debt from school, please find me on PayPal. I’ll repay in doodles and kisses.

Best,
mt

“Mars Poetica”
Wyn Cooper

Imagine you’re on Mars, looking at earth,
a swirl of colors in the distance.
Tell us what you miss most, or least.

Let your feelings rise to the surface.
Skim that surface with a tiny net.
Now you’re getting the hang of it.

Tell us your story slantwise,
streetwise, in the disguise
of an astronaut in his suit.

Tell us something we didn’t know
before: how words mean things
we didn’t know we knew.

Poem-a-Day: Letting go

Lunch break poem for today’s prompt: a “gathering” AND a “letting go” poem. Here’s a little guy…

LETTING GO
Liftoff; loose change drops
in copper [remains]; last squeeze to
splatter gritty brown mustard from
its plastic container; shrug of each
November elm on its hilltop steed
[dismount]; lollipop crunch
between raspberry-blue teeth [relief];
deliberate as the delete key without
rerun or epiphany; your dull ghosts in
a razor-rip of my bones in this
bed; [pillowcased] your quiet promises
asleep with iron eyelids; a sneeze;
not soft enough.

streaky-sky drive into work this AM. [Instagram]

Lions, Warriors & Poetry—OH MY!

I received this in my inbox today (via Poets.org) and promptly made me pee my pants.

Iscariot Rising Sutra
by Ben Kopel

Someone went away / but once they were here / so I don’t die / instead I see a movie / the one about a boy / falling into / the green screen / sky lit up / phosphorescent / spiders and chandeliers / like that one time / near an island / out on the lash / I fell out of you / you laughed / your eyes closed / spread wide / standing open / I asked you / who are you / pretending I am / I did / you said / I’m pretending you / are you / drawing a jacked up heart / across my hand / in every airport / rocking this depression electric / I dry swallow / a video pill / we smoke glitter / until my suit sounds good / I long to be alive / when the world ends / so in love / with someone / I end up / ending everyone

Did you know that you can sign up to get a poem a day in your e-mail? Well. Let me tell you—somedays it hits me just right. Shiiiiittttt.

Still toiling with the Poem-a-Day November Challenge via Writer’s Digest, headed up by Mr. Robert Lee Brewer and his blog. I’ll finally share one with ye peeps. Makes me nervous—sharing in such an open forum—but mostly it makes me laugh. Can one get more dramatic than an Instagram-ed photo of a poem? I believe Shakespeare would find this hilarious, himself.

Thanks to Instagram for this one.
Look at him get that guy! (mbostrom2/wordpress)

I think it’s great, also, that I can find a way to turn a “veteran poem” into something celestial. Always. And Orion seems to make many appearances in my work. In my pics I found online, he’s killing a lion. Coincidence? It just so happens I’m a Leo. RAWR!

Are you into mythology? Personally, I never got into it as a young one; in fact, I believe it was my 12th-grade English teach who had to jam mythology down my throat. Well, then, I just coughed it back up. Ick. She was waaayyyy into it, too. Sorry, Ms. Schank. I didn’t understand before. Now, as it relates to the sky, I love it. I love making a connection between myth/sky/underlying meaning. Hm. Big metaphor, yo. It’s a beautiful thing.

On that note, time to go finish up a few things and lunch. In my car. Grading papers, I’m sure. Yay!

Happy Thursday, y’all!
mt

To the moon. One shot.

The poem-a-day gig is leaving its indent on my days. In fact, I spend much of my time determining a suitable time slot for versing it up. Sunday: between grabbing dinner and visiting with a friend [Walking Dead time]—I pulled into a Baptist church lot to pull a poem from me. Felt odd. Sadly it didn’t end there. I spent another hour later trying to hone it in, just touching noses with the midnight “deadline.”

Alas, a poem is born. I’ll share one soon. The prompts have been pretty accessible. I’m sure something, at least, will come of it. (:

I thought, in spirit of my doodle madness, I’d share some squiggles with you all. And namely, there is this master toy-maker (aka A-Fred) to whom I’ve been promising a post!

Not much on this gadget, but…

<3
mt