Today is the final day of the November PAD Chapbook Challenge. Or is it? I'll post a wrap-up on the challenge tomorrow, but today is technically the final day of the initial poeming for this challenge. We still have all of December to collect and revise our November poems, slim our manuscripts down to 10-20 pages of poetry, and submit them (to me!). Again, I'll share all the details tomorrow--or click here to see the basic guidelines.
For today's prompt, write a lessons learned poem. If you've been writing to a certain theme, this poem might take a moment to step back and reflect on the BIG PICTURE. If you're like me and couldn't quite stick to one theme throughout the month, then this poem might be about real lessons learned (either this month or during your entire lifetime). Or you might just write a poem about going to school. Or to work. Or this blog. Or something else.
Lessons Learned
Everyday the body will amaze me.
Or, is it time
The continuities of the real
what day of the week is it?
the sock stays where it is dropped
the bulb pushes up through the ground
the smile in the photos stay the same
and yet this sense
that somehow
I could not die
that I will be the first to make it
to be able to walk through a moment
slip in sideways
right through it
into that dimension
which is right here
hovering like an answer
a glove for a hand
a star on a branch
a lesson that could be learned
but the walls of the infinite
close and spit me back out
like a seed
that needs to split and sprout
and root and take years to grow
and more years to grow
and still more
that can't talk
can only speak in leaves
can only, in seasons, cipher
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 29
For today's prompt, write a next steps poem. This might be a good opportunity to try writing a list poem. Or it might be a good time to write about your future plans. It might even be a good chance for you to write about spiral staircases. Who knows?
A Genration of Leaves
The first thing to do is to light all the candles in the house.
The next step is to just look at them, to let the rain and all the space around
just be.
your life is one long single breath
The candles melting down their wicks
The rain washing out to the rising rivers
one body of water, right now, already
The next step is to know that the next step
has already been taken
even as you see the flame
still, not move
That this marking of time
this hold in stillness
is a step
a walking forward
that those others did
and still different others will do
carrying the past
curled asleep and breathing
in your arms
A Genration of Leaves
The first thing to do is to light all the candles in the house.
The next step is to just look at them, to let the rain and all the space around
just be.
your life is one long single breath
The candles melting down their wicks
The rain washing out to the rising rivers
one body of water, right now, already
The next step is to know that the next step
has already been taken
even as you see the flame
still, not move
That this marking of time
this hold in stillness
is a step
a walking forward
that those others did
and still different others will do
carrying the past
curled asleep and breathing
in your arms
2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 28
If you're feeling worn out by poeming this month, don't worry: We're completing our fourth week of prompts today. Only two days left after today's poem, so dig deep and try to get those last few amazing lines.
For today's prompt, write a "what really happened" poem. Use a real event (or an event from a popular movie) and spin it in another direction. Or use an event described in one of your poems earlier this month and spin it in a new direction. Or refute something that was never even in question. Or just poem any way that you can, because we're almost to the finish line.
For our beautiful Robert
What Really Happened
They called at 3am
asking for the corneas
Can they go into the palace
with a candle
And enter the chamber
long shadows flickering down the stone stairwell
Can they follow you there a river
someone else rowing
the river stretches and disappears into fog
and your grey hair waits on its pillow
king
leave a coin
where the eyes were
for what you will see
you will need no complicated attachment
to the circuitry of the body
no opening and closing of your lungs
in mechanical time
your living eyes will still see
the flower - slow motion -
opening
and ribbons of traffic
tearing in the rain
and the look of love from someone else
to someone else
and for seeing I
loving you
will see more
in the liminal space of sleep see
I count for you sixteen layers of particulate light
like a yeast, living
inasmuch as moving is living,
shifting in separate layers
present
the present
eleven layers, maybe, electrical, no place
fantastic
miracle of particulate visible nowhere actually light
and my eyes are closed
and I could tell you about this
you would understand
the boat is oared
now without a captain
white subsumes white
nonshape swallows
shape
we wait on the shore
of course
looking
for all our might
i give permission for them
to take my voice
to give it to someone else who can't
cry out loud without it.
have them take my voice
i don't need it
to speak to you
from across a river
that is nowhere
you, still,
listen
For today's prompt, write a "what really happened" poem. Use a real event (or an event from a popular movie) and spin it in another direction. Or use an event described in one of your poems earlier this month and spin it in a new direction. Or refute something that was never even in question. Or just poem any way that you can, because we're almost to the finish line.
For our beautiful Robert
What Really Happened
They called at 3am
asking for the corneas
Can they go into the palace
with a candle
And enter the chamber
long shadows flickering down the stone stairwell
Can they follow you there a river
someone else rowing
the river stretches and disappears into fog
and your grey hair waits on its pillow
king
leave a coin
where the eyes were
for what you will see
you will need no complicated attachment
to the circuitry of the body
no opening and closing of your lungs
in mechanical time
your living eyes will still see
the flower - slow motion -
opening
and ribbons of traffic
tearing in the rain
and the look of love from someone else
to someone else
and for seeing I
loving you
will see more
in the liminal space of sleep see
I count for you sixteen layers of particulate light
like a yeast, living
inasmuch as moving is living,
shifting in separate layers
present
the present
eleven layers, maybe, electrical, no place
fantastic
miracle of particulate visible nowhere actually light
and my eyes are closed
and I could tell you about this
you would understand
the boat is oared
now without a captain
white subsumes white
nonshape swallows
shape
we wait on the shore
of course
looking
for all our might
i give permission for them
to take my voice
to give it to someone else who can't
cry out loud without it.
have them take my voice
i don't need it
to speak to you
from across a river
that is nowhere
you, still,
listen
2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 27
For today's prompt, take the phrase "Blame the (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, use the new phrase as the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Some example titles might include: "Blame the rain," "Blame the loud-mouthed jerk in the row behind us," "Blame the ref," etc.
Blame the clock
that can't think of anything to do
but go round and round
or tick, flip, blip forward
and forward
Or to vary even
the round and round
It's its fault we have to go through contortions
saying, 'Not yet. It's gone so fast."
or watch in slow motion
the red light
reflected in the red pool
the silver arc of the tire
cutting an arc in the red pool
the glass shattering so slowly
one could see the pieces
like meteorites
one could count them almost
and how slowly the head nods
forward into it
the glass for a moment a crown
a necklace
a dazzling diamond vest
just one second
blame the clock
we have learned to see so much
it will not slow
nor speed away
but tick
as we wait in the lobby
and look at it
a white door will open
sometime
and
sometime, tick
an answer
will come
2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 26
For today's prompt, write an "on the run" poem. You can decide who or what is on the run and what might be causing them to run. For myself, I had to link today's poem to my poem yesterday. But you can run in any direction you want.
Here's my attempt:
I try to tuck it in
Three poems before noon
The dogs are all barking
The train blows its whistle
My hair drips down my back
and the train blows its whistle
I have so much time
eleven more minutes
To say, what
That sooner or later
You all become words to me
I spill you like runes
And arrange you for balance
And from your distribution
In your faces
and turned backs
I glean a sense of a message
Some pattern perhaps
Some reading
of loves, lost love, friends, family
Who I am, how, was
the whistle goes on the train
I am out of time now
but will leave you in your configurations
I will study you later
and try to learn
who I am, generally
and what is likely to be
Here's my attempt:
I try to tuck it in
Three poems before noon
The dogs are all barking
The train blows its whistle
My hair drips down my back
and the train blows its whistle
I have so much time
eleven more minutes
To say, what
That sooner or later
You all become words to me
I spill you like runes
And arrange you for balance
And from your distribution
In your faces
and turned backs
I glean a sense of a message
Some pattern perhaps
Some reading
of loves, lost love, friends, family
Who I am, how, was
the whistle goes on the train
I am out of time now
but will leave you in your configurations
I will study you later
and try to learn
who I am, generally
and what is likely to be
2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 25
For today's prompt, write an animal poem. Your poem can mention an animal in its title or somewhere in the body of the poem. The animal doesn't have to be the main focus of the poem, but your poem should mention an animal somewhere in it.
Zoe rings my doorbell.
Zoe is a dog
big enough
smart enough
to ring a doorbell
with her nose
I don't see her do it
I suppose I am asleep
because she has made it
all the way home
Five years and three thousand miles
on her own
on paws of ash
Why do we need something
to take form
to arrive on our doorsteps
to be reassured
that loyalty and love
cannot be incinerated
like hair and fur
and the bones
we were both made of
whose different shapes
we would hold and shake
eyes different and the same, looking
creating there loyalty and love
true to last
(heavy paw)
(sweet heart)
(spirit guide)
simple enormous companion
before and after
eviscerating fire
Zoe rings my doorbell.
Zoe is a dog
big enough
smart enough
to ring a doorbell
with her nose
I don't see her do it
I suppose I am asleep
because she has made it
all the way home
Five years and three thousand miles
on her own
on paws of ash
Why do we need something
to take form
to arrive on our doorsteps
to be reassured
that loyalty and love
cannot be incinerated
like hair and fur
and the bones
we were both made of
whose different shapes
we would hold and shake
eyes different and the same, looking
creating there loyalty and love
true to last
(heavy paw)
(sweet heart)
(spirit guide)
simple enormous companion
before and after
eviscerating fire
2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 24
For today's prompt, write a spaces poem. Your poem could involve white space, outer space, inner space, a parking space, the space between one day and the next, or something other type of spacing. Allow yourself enough space to play around.
The Space of the Lot
It is so much smaller than I thought
From one yard to the next one over
this field
I try to pace off
ten, maybe steps, on the flat, slippery stone
steps to the door that was always open
that banged shut behind and announced
we're here!
but as I walk across the weeds
no I would already be out the other side
where the iron chairs slid back
by the outside table
a daisy above each fork
juices orange and yellow
abundance
I start again
where I imagine the kitchen to be
I am followed by dogs of memory
one still dumb and nipping at me
one still comforting and huge in presence:
everything is always alright
The space of the pool
has been filled
I walk on what would have been water
Sacred space of water
Hallowed space of last vision
last breath
Now green and gold and brown
Dirt and curling leaves of weeds
I want to save them
as if this bending leaf
long and golden curling leaf
was your
last wish for the world
This, the same location
not the same space
This is now
What is real now
The space to you
is a distance in my heart
measured all the time
and not at all far
a reach from plate to plate is all
the audible distance of laughter
still a blue and golden day
with sloping lawns
and teacups for the stuffed bears
and towels for going to the ocean
and facing the waves
that never stop
even as we leave
and sleep
waves crashing
and find ourselves alone
waves crashing
and live for a time
and die
and find the space that we occupied
occupied
and it's okay
by the silent
the silently growing
the real
the what
is real now
The Space of the Lot
It is so much smaller than I thought
From one yard to the next one over
this field
I try to pace off
ten, maybe steps, on the flat, slippery stone
steps to the door that was always open
that banged shut behind and announced
we're here!
but as I walk across the weeds
no I would already be out the other side
where the iron chairs slid back
by the outside table
a daisy above each fork
juices orange and yellow
abundance
I start again
where I imagine the kitchen to be
I am followed by dogs of memory
one still dumb and nipping at me
one still comforting and huge in presence:
everything is always alright
The space of the pool
has been filled
I walk on what would have been water
Sacred space of water
Hallowed space of last vision
last breath
Now green and gold and brown
Dirt and curling leaves of weeds
I want to save them
as if this bending leaf
long and golden curling leaf
was your
last wish for the world
This, the same location
not the same space
This is now
What is real now
The space to you
is a distance in my heart
measured all the time
and not at all far
a reach from plate to plate is all
the audible distance of laughter
still a blue and golden day
with sloping lawns
and teacups for the stuffed bears
and towels for going to the ocean
and facing the waves
that never stop
even as we leave
and sleep
waves crashing
and find ourselves alone
waves crashing
and live for a time
and die
and find the space that we occupied
occupied
and it's okay
by the silent
the silently growing
the real
the what
is real now
2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 23
For today's prompt, write a form poem. This poem can cover any subject you want, but it should be written using a poetic form. Could be haiku, sestina, triolet, shadorma, paradelle, or some other poetic form. (Click here to see a list of 35 poetic forms.
Write line one with three syllables. (I'm hungry)
Write line two with five syllables. (order out for food)
#Write line three with three syllables. (not sure where)
#Write line four with three syllables. (think man think)
#Write line five with seven syllables. (burgers, pizza or Chinese?)
No I won't
Follow you down there
not alone
He looks from the walls
Though I projected him there
Write line one with three syllables. (I'm hungry)
Write line two with five syllables. (order out for food)
#Write line three with three syllables. (not sure where)
#Write line four with three syllables. (think man think)
#Write line five with seven syllables. (burgers, pizza or Chinese?)
No I won't
Follow you down there
not alone
He looks from the walls
Though I projected him there
2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 22
Okay, the weekend was a little wild and unpredictable--from wiping out comments to not letting me post any prompts (and then eventually posting multiple prompts). Hopefully, we can get back to a little normalcy for the final week or so of poeming. Time to make a stand.
No, really, the prompt today is to write a poem that takes a stand. This could be a political stand, religious stand, personal stand, or I guess a poem about the ability to stand--or setting up a stand (think vegetable stand or newspaper stand, etc.). Whatever your thing, be sure to take a poetic stand today.
Do you hear me?
I won't have it!
Put the walls back.
I said - put them back!
Put the walls back
Put them back!
and on them their shingles, the vines and the roses
and on them the books
and in them the phrases
the lucky, lucky time
in which we could underline
there it is. said so well, oh, i must keep that
somewhere
underline.
remember.
Put them back - the bricks
Why in god's name did you disrupt
the bricks
and tear down the writer's house
and bury the well
without a marker
and fold
the books and the bricks and the garden
-bulbs trying-
hearth and basement
games and pots
into the scooped up mattress and the glass
from our photos
from time, sometime, frozen like that
and the trees
you terrible men
can you not hear their old roots ripping
can you not understand that as pain
belching, brutal, practical men
And you others
thieves -
put them back
the candlesticks
fine but too expensive
bought on the day we looked through
the windows at the diamonds
fancy
and had all we could need
and the guitar that played
later to keep us alive
give them back
put them back
the walls and their pain
and their weather and their sea-scent
the stairs and its calendars
its thumping children grown old
the floorboards and it the sounds
of nightwalkers
those needing water
or touch or talk in the dark
or to know
is someone else home
in these walls
three centuries old
and the ghosts
first, above all
primary occupants
contained only in those walls
by those walls alone
you bulldozed to dust before lunch
you dumb, limited, unlovely men
you didn't even see them go -
or feel them pass through your bowels
like the truth of your thin, brief life
they, more essential than
the phrases in the books
the yellow of the rainslickers
the crust for the pies
the pillows - soft for dreaming
the address books of friends
some crossed off
gone somewhere
you did this -
you
find the ghosts
put the walls back
put them back
then put them back
to haunt us all
to warn us of impermanence
of being stuck somewhere
in a condition we could never understand
No, really, the prompt today is to write a poem that takes a stand. This could be a political stand, religious stand, personal stand, or I guess a poem about the ability to stand--or setting up a stand (think vegetable stand or newspaper stand, etc.). Whatever your thing, be sure to take a poetic stand today.
Do you hear me?
I won't have it!
Put the walls back.
I said - put them back!
Put the walls back
Put them back!
and on them their shingles, the vines and the roses
and on them the books
and in them the phrases
the lucky, lucky time
in which we could underline
there it is. said so well, oh, i must keep that
somewhere
underline.
remember.
Put them back - the bricks
Why in god's name did you disrupt
the bricks
and tear down the writer's house
and bury the well
without a marker
and fold
the books and the bricks and the garden
-bulbs trying-
hearth and basement
games and pots
into the scooped up mattress and the glass
from our photos
from time, sometime, frozen like that
and the trees
you terrible men
can you not hear their old roots ripping
can you not understand that as pain
belching, brutal, practical men
And you others
thieves -
put them back
the candlesticks
fine but too expensive
bought on the day we looked through
the windows at the diamonds
fancy
and had all we could need
and the guitar that played
later to keep us alive
give them back
put them back
the walls and their pain
and their weather and their sea-scent
the stairs and its calendars
its thumping children grown old
the floorboards and it the sounds
of nightwalkers
those needing water
or touch or talk in the dark
or to know
is someone else home
in these walls
three centuries old
and the ghosts
first, above all
primary occupants
contained only in those walls
by those walls alone
you bulldozed to dust before lunch
you dumb, limited, unlovely men
you didn't even see them go -
or feel them pass through your bowels
like the truth of your thin, brief life
they, more essential than
the phrases in the books
the yellow of the rainslickers
the crust for the pies
the pillows - soft for dreaming
the address books of friends
some crossed off
gone somewhere
you did this -
you
find the ghosts
put the walls back
put them back
then put them back
to haunt us all
to warn us of impermanence
of being stuck somewhere
in a condition we could never understand
21
The prompt for today is to write a permission poem. You don't need my (or anyone else's) permission to write your poem today, but it should somehow involve the concept of giving, refusing, asking, etc. permission.
Could I just come over?
Could I just knock on your door
and step in
walking around you
welcome to
Could I
just look at you?
Smile for today
for standing in front of you
for having you
answer yes
and open the door
Could I just come over?
Could I just knock on your door
and step in
walking around you
welcome to
Could I
just look at you?
Smile for today
for standing in front of you
for having you
answer yes
and open the door
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