Day 17 - Symmetry

Yesterday, we had the snapshot poem.

For today's prompt, write a big picture poem. I know these can be difficult to write, because they cover big ideas or emotions or concepts. However, we're just getting our first drafts out this month, so it's the perfect time to attempt something big--even if your big picture poem fits within a shadorma or fib, which actually might be a great fit for tackling a big picture since the poem expands with each new line.

I love Fibonacci sequences. Recently in class, we did a project in which we had to choose a personal shape; I chose a spiral, which follows the Fibonacci sequence. So here's my Fibonnaci poem:

Symmetry
Small
Shell.
Spinning
In the sky,
The same spiral spins
In the arms of the galaxy.

Day 12 - My Mind

And just like that, we're already on to our second "Two for Tuesday" prompt of the challenge. I know this is a prompt that some poets have been craving, while others probably not so much. Regardless, I did this one on Tuesday to provide some options:

1. Write a form poem. This could be a sonnet, pantoum, lune, or even something as sinister as a--dare I say it--sestina.

2. Write an anti-form poem. Just as there are poets who love playing with forms, there are poets who think they are the worst thing ever. That's fine. Express (in either free verse or a prose poem) your feelings on writing in traditional forms.
Just make sure you poem!

So I chose an anti-form poem. Actually, it's a mash up. I was so happy with last year's effort of At Last, by Etta James and The Last Goodbye, by Jeff Buckley, that I decided to try this one, which has been overlapping for a while in the juke box of my brain. If I had one lick of mixing skills, I'd make this a real mash-up. It would sound amazing, I think.

My Mind

A mash-up of Tyler, by the Toadies and
Where Is My Mind, by the Pixies

I find a window in the kitchen,
and I let myself in
Rummage through the refrigerator,
find myself a beer

I can't believe I'm really here,
and she's lying in that bed
I can almost feel her touch,
and her anxious breath

And I ask myself,
Where is my mind?

I stumble in the hallway,
outside the bedroom door
I hear her call out to me,
I hear the fear in her voice

She pulls the covers tighter,
I press against the door
And I ask myself,
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?

And she runs through her days
Way out in the water
with a smile on her face
See her swimming,
and I wait

And I ask myself
(I ask myself)
Where is my mind?

Day 11 - People Crying In Cars

For today's prompt, take the phrase "Maybe (blank);" replace the blank with a word or phrase; make the new phrase the title of your poem; and then, write the poem. Some example titles might be: "Maybe I should've read the instructions first," "Maybe I was wrong," "Maybe the world is flat," or whatever else y'all can muster.

I've been working on pieces of this concept for years, thinking it might brew into a short story or perhaps even a novel. Being a commuter for six years now, I see all manner of odd acts committed by humans behind their steering wheels, but one of the most common things I witness is people crying. I see it at least once a week.

However, much as I would like to write about what human state in which various people might find themselves inside their cars, this small stanza is all I have so far. Hopefully more will follow:

People Crying In Cars

Maybe we are all the same
People crying in cars
Singing with the radio
and wishing upon stars

Day 10 - Little Wooden Man

For today's prompt, write a never again poem. Maybe you'll never again fall in love or never again tell a lie. Or maybe, just maybe, you'll never again not write a sestina.(Like that? It's a double negative.) Today, find my poem in the comments below.

As soon as I catch up, I'm behind again. This one is Sunday's challenge and below is my response. Enjoy!


Little Wooden Man

Never again
Will the little wooden man
Dance as he did
When he danced with you

Never again
Will his articulated limbs
Spin as they did
When he spun with you

In our childhood dreams
of watermelon teeth,
He jigs and jumps
To your knuckle bumps

On your pine plank stage
he swings and sways
But never again
Will his steps amaze
As they did then
In those huckleberry days

None of us learned
To play the spoons
and no one sings songs
To old Mr. Moon

The songs they crooned
remain unsung
The cuckoo's springs
have all been sprung

And never again
Will they rewind
And the jitterbug man
Lies on his side.

Day Nine - At 3:37 a.m.

Day 9 Prompt: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2011/04/09/2011AprilPADChallengeDay9.aspx

For today's prompt, write a time of day poem. In fact, make the title of your poem the time of day. For instance, "5:54 a.m.," 2:23 p.m.," "Midnight," etc. Then, write your poem. Of course, different things happen at different times of day. So have fun with it.

I don't know that I had fun with it, but I'm relatively pleased with what came out.

Here's my attempt:

At 3:37 a.m.

I awake from a dream of a zombie
Attack in some nameless airport,
And the whole dream is set
Set to God Only Knows
By the Beach Boys

Even in a semi-lucid dream state
I can’t seem to pull myself from sleep
In time to escape from my undead
Husband’s grasping hands.

As Katya and I climb, desperate,
Breathless, the last strains of the
Song echo up through the corridors
Of sleep:

“God only knows what I’d
be without you.”

I spend the morning struggling,
Trying to replay the dream so that
It comes out the way it should:

We reach the helicopter in time
I plant a kick to his face, and he
falls backward
into the terminal
with a splatter
like a Rorschach blot

And my daughter and I fly to the
Safety of a mountain compound
Where we are revered as queens.

That’s supposed to be
the way of dreams, right?
One ends bad, you build another?

But what if a shadow of that dream
Still wanders, grasping, gasping,
Still wearing the face he once did
Only now it’s twisted, contorted,
Almost lifeless, but not?

How do you let that go?
Just kick it in the face
And watch it fall?

And I know, too, in the
Heavy-handed metaphor
Department of dreams,
That I shouldn’t continue
To let it eat me up.

At 6:37 a.m.,
I give up on dreaming,
Drag my body to the kitchen
Where I stare twenty minutes
At the blank page of Saturday

I have my standard plans:
Laundry, bills, housework
Normal doldrums for a
Normal day

And yet, ten years later,
I feel that clawing doubt,
And I wonder, what could
I have done then to save him?
What can I do now to escape?

God Only Knows

Day Eight - Love, from Texas

Day 8 Prompt: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2011/04/08/2011AprilPADChallengeDay8.aspx
For today's prompt, write a ready to celebrate poem. You could chronicle the actual celebration or even write about the anticipation of one. As many of you know, I am in Austin, Texas this weekend celebrating poetry myself, but I'm also checking in regularly here to enjoy the celebration on Poetic Asides.

Here's my offering for a 'ready to celebrate' poem:

Love, from Texas

As we ride along
A back country road
A whole field nods
A sweet hello
In bonnets of
Resplendent blue
And just like me,
They welcome you.

Day Seven - What if?

Day Seven Prompt: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2011/04/07/2011AprilPADChallengeDay7.aspx

For today's prompt, write a "what if" poem. It could be a "what if" from the past, present or future. For instance, what if no one discovered electricity? (How would we do this challenge?)

This one's an attempt at a concept I've thought about for a while. Pretty sure I haven't fully captured it yet, but it's a rough draft for now. I've often wondered what our lives would be life if we didn't have the chance to travel, and connected to that, how difficult it is to convey travel experiences to the people back home.

Since this poem is about Alaska, I decided to do five interlocking haikus:

What if?

What if we had missed
Denali’s bright majesty?
Where would we be now?

What if we forgot
The eagle’s flight in Seward?
Would our hearts fail us?

If we didn’t take
That rock road to Hatcher’s Pass
Would our hearts not beat?

We would still draw breath
And continue with living
But we would not know

That around the bend
There lies untold mystery
It’s waiting for us.