I learned about National Poetry Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo) recently and decided to join the fun. I’ve admired NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - for many years but have never dared to take that leap. But a poem-a-day is definitely something i can manage. So, for the month of April I will use my Poetry on Sundays posts to share the poems I write for NaPoWriMo. Each day Maureen Thorson recommends a participant’s website, shares a poetry resource, and posts an optional writing prompt, some of which I use. I have read so many delightful (thoughtful, whimsical, and more) contributions. As some of you know, I have spent years writing daily poems relying on a few short forms. Thus using the prompts offered for this project is a new approach for me and, while I may resort to my usual practice of one or more familiar forms, I am not limiting myself to such here. Though I am limiting the time I devote. I keep myself to as short a time as possible under 30 minutes. A lot of spontaneity. Enjoy my wee efforts.
March 31, 2024
The Ocean
Summers swimming on the Grand Banks
warm waters that kept fear far away
and though all waters spend time there
exiled to a wetland I wept for that now distant shore
wondering if the mighty St.Lawrence
might take me and my tears back to the sea
Early-bird prompt: "Pick a word from the list below. Then write a poem titled either “A [your word]” or “The [your word]” in which you explore the meaning of the word, or some memory you have of it, as if you were writing an illustrative/alternative definition: Cage; Ocean; Time; Cedar; Window; Sword; Flute
April 1, 2024
A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin
The boy, being bigger on the inside
became a wizard who was no more foolish than most
and foolishly released a shade
for heroes need their nemesis
thief, secret keeper, crafty pickpocket
chased down and vanquished by a secret name
Prompt: without consulting the book – a poem that recounts the plot, or some portion of the plot, of a novel that you remember having liked but that you haven’t read in a long time.
April 2, 2024
l'appel du vide
Alone
in my dream last night I
turned, turned searching
for the source
of the pull on my heart or
was it my stomach
the ache to follow felt like hunger
felt like the answer
to a question lost to the dream
still it pulled and i followed
through the dark
alone
it was calling calling
then
is this life what you had hoped
no
do you still want to carry on
i remembered the cliff edge
the bullets flying overhead
the lives I refused to abandon
i remembered the beast's lair
the tyrant's throne
the crumbling tower
yes, I said
and I would do it all again
Prompt (unused): write a platonic love poem. In other words, a poem not about a romantic partner, but some other kind of love – your love for your sister, or a friend, or even your love for a really good Chicago deep dish pizza. The poem should be written directly to the object of your affections (like a letter is written to “you”), and should describe at least three memories of you engaging with that person/thing.
April 3, 2024
Imagine my surprise upon waking from a dream about an endless library in which I found a book I had been longing to acquire only to see by the morning light that very book on my bookcase, jutting out for attention. I lit a fire and watched as the flames licked higher coming to resemble a small dragon cavorting amongst the flames. I reached for the book and pinched the top of the spine and felt a sensation of heat and flight. I pulled the book only to find its base anchored and hinged. The book tipped forward in place and I heard a deep-pitched click and a thump and the bookcase swung toward me. It was a door behind which was a dark corridor lined with books. This was most unusual since this bookcase was on the north wall of the house on the other side of which is an alley between this and the next house. I leaned forward and stared into the darkness. A small golden dragon swirled out of the fireplace, hovered above my head, and cast a honey-coloured light into the darkness. To the right was a stairway which descended and which I followed to a floor of countless aisles of books. The little golden dragon landed on my shoulder, wrapping its tail around my neck. It was warm and silken. I smelled cigarette smoke which made me choke. But i followed the scent to an opening amongst the aisles where a woman sat in a comfortable chair smoking a cigarette and reading a book, a small ashtray to her right. "You are Hannah Arendt, aren't you? What are you reading?" I coughed and took the chair opposite this unexpected reader. The wee dragon inhaled sharply and drew all the smoke out of the air. "Nice pet," Hannah Arendt said. "I am reading dead letters," she said. "They clutter the world and must be resurrected." That's when I noticed the piles and piles of letters around Hannah Arendt's chair, spilling from the shelves around us, splayed into the aisles. "How can I help?" I asked while picking up a letter that had a short poem written on it.
Prompt: write a surreal prose poem. For inspiration, check out Franz Kafka’s collection of short parables (my favorite is “The Green Dragon”).
April 4, 2024
Wonderful Strangeness
"The wonder is all mine." (spoken by Hatter Madigan in Hatter M: The Nature of Wonder by Frank Beddor & Liz Cavalier and art by Sami Makonnen, 2010.)
What strangeness brought earth
sun and moon together
to nurture pulsing breathing
life?
Four billion years is
time enough
for much
to proliferate and die
forgotten under a mute sky
stubbornly returning
to this eccentric, oblique
precessional ball of night
and day, solstices and equinoxes
and then the birth of wonder
as something looked up
then around
until it thought to look within
too late? too late?
will all this wonder
be consigned to the archive
of the forgotten...
only strangeness
once again?
Prompt: write a poem in which you take your title or some language/ideas from The Strangest Things in the World. First published in 1958, the book gives shortish descriptions of odd natural phenomena, and is notable for both its author’s turn of phrase and intermittently dubious facts. Perhaps you will be inspired by the “The Self-Perpetuating Sponge” or “The World’s Biggest Sneeze.” Or maybe the quirky descriptions of luminous plants, monstrous bears, or the language of ravens will give you inspiration.
April 5, 2024
alone in the silent dark
father and child wept
the owl stepped forward
with blessed compassion
racing to meet deadlines
and buy groceries enough
the mastiff leaned in
with blessed calm
despairing over a boy's sadness
fearing rent day
the cardinal sang
with blessed laughter
optional prompt! Today we’d like you to start by taking a look at Alicia Ostriker’s poem, “The Blessing of the Old Woman, the Tulip, and the Dog.” Now try your hand at writing your own poem about how a pair or trio very different things would perceive of a blessing or, alternatively, how these very different things would think of something else (luck, grief, happiness, etc).
April 6, 2024
How I Learned Astonishment
We wake our senses
through encounter
Trying and falling
a lot we learn
walking, running, balance
Eating and gagging
a lot
we learn taste and smell
But what did I learn
from 20 years
of silence and darkness?
Well, perhaps "learn"
is not the proper verb
What did I steal from 20
years of silence and darkness?
Just as Inanna got her uncle drunk
to steal the stuff that made us us
so i waited 'til no one
was paying attention
to steal thunder and lightening hiding it
in a word
i fled
"You will live to be 102"
said the gentle man
who grabbed my hand
in a coffeeshop
to give me a gift
I'm still not sure I wanted
"Wear your braid down your back,"
advised the Mohawk elder as she
gently put my dark brown hair in place
"It is a shield against harm."
"Look for a grave in the US South
where you died fighting in the civil war"
said the psychic, his eyes closed
was he awake or sleeping?
"You will have three children
you will save your sibling's lives"
said the Indian guru as he read
my palm
I am still far from 102 though
my hair is grey now
I never found a grave in the South
I do have 3 children in a most
unexpected way
my sibling's are fine
The first crocus
a falcon screeching
a wobbly child
eyes searching the ground
toddling
behind his mother
Astonishing!
Optional prompt: Today[...] we’d like to challenge you to write a poem rooted in “weird wisdom,” by which we mean something objectively odd that someone told you once, and that has stuck with you ever since. Need an example? Check out Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “Making a Fist.”
April 7, 2024
Wish You Were Here
I followed the clues
and survived the perils
the loss of your company
to the long rest
Now I stand
before the ultimate mystery
in one hand the silver apple
in the other, the golden
I have found
the deepest heart
Our journey
is not over
(obviously) i like your poem from April 3rd...! Wonderful work, all.
Good work! A very worthwhile venture. Poems beget poems.