25 - exercise

For today’s prompt, write an exercise poem. The poem could be about a specific exercise, or it could just incorporate exercising into the poem. Or it could be dedicated to a piece of exercise equipment–so an ode to an elliptical machine or those hand grippers or something. Of course, not every exercise is physical; there are military exercises, mental exercises, and so on.


It is much better
- by the time one's mind wastes away -
at around noon or so

to have run with a sandbag for a bit
or inverted one's body into the letter V
until it cries out, in Victory, Vanquished

to lift one's weight (through addition)
over one's head, over and over

over one's mind that will be so much clearer afterwords
Clear and sharp and alive!

At least until noon or so.

24 - Lost/Regined

For today’s prompt, write a poem in which something is lost and then regained. Maybe a relationship is lost and then regained, or a special keepsake. Maybe it was stolen and won back. Or maybe it was in your possession the whole time, but you just didn’t know it.



Lost/Regained

Appearances all.
All disappearances - just appearances, just visions
lack of vision
lack of inclusion

To think we could lose

any of it

Until we lose all of it.

Nothing is lost - it is right there
out of sight, out of mind, but present,
accessible -possibly.

No.  it's all there
every utterance, every possibility,
every dip in that reedy pond or touch, expressed
, books - understood, read at least, read.
And all our days and all our nights,
their magic and tedium and meaning
under our skin
within.

Nothing is lost, really.
Until all of it is.

23 - footwear

For today’s prompt, write a footwear poem. A poem about shoes, flip flops, socks, slippers, flippers, boots, pumps, and so on. If you’d prefer not to dedicate a poem to your footwear, just mention footwear somewhere in the poem. That’s right; your hi-tops don’t have to be the star, and it’s totally cool if somebody’s clogs play a minor role in the poem.

*****

I am a good traveller.
I am willing to try blood soup - once.
I love nothing more than riding in the back of a pickup with the chickens
on a dirt road with pot holes the size of an American.
But I always have the wrong shoes.

You will find me
crawling through the tiny wet entrance to the Stone Age temple in sandals.
that are wet and and on which my feets slide around
like eggs in oil.

Or the heels.
I like heels.
Always heels as I climb the Acropolis or walk in ecstatic loops
through the streets of Paris.

When I arrive somewhere at first I might unpack and admire
how clever I have been,
packing for style and function,
packing light,
packing so light
I have no single pair
of good, sensible shoes.
But I have my passport and have slept well
and that's all that seems to matter.