November

For today’s prompt, write a new day poem. Often, I think of a new day meaning a positive move in a new direction. However, it could be the opposite. Or it could be free of positive or negative connotations; instead, just being different. Or a new day that’s completely the same, I suppose. Looking forward to where everyone takes their new days.



New Day





Sweep the wave from your dreamscape.
Sweep it away with the loose rock in your dream,
with the flailing hand in your dream.

You didn't drown in paradise after all
(even though, then, it was going to be okay
: you responded to the question, What can we do?: with 
We're going to die now.)

You were not alone.
And the wave came.
How could it not?

Sweep away your practice acceptance
of oblivion

with the truth tone of the clock
with the truth of the hush of car wheels slipping past
them, them, unknown, oblvious, living, also
like they do
like you do

your little aches and loves
your age
your habits
how you fling back this warm stack of covers
in one go
and the new day
slaps you with your name and you breathe and say

okay
and

thank you

pools of water shrink to stepping stones 
as you go

the path is a thing 
of magic
even when all the dreamwater
is gone
and your feet, cold, touch the wooden floor alone.

Light floods the room.

It is still something other than you.  Quivering, itself,
because it is November 

now.

PAD 30 - The ______

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “The (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “The Poets,” “The Good Guys,” “The Bad Guys,” “The Last Thing She Said,” and so on.

...

The Trauma

The first skin that covers the gaping hole

  - the first time you find you are still alive-

shows you 

the contours

of the rest of your life

the hard, odd shape of your hope

of your endurance

and your endurance to be.

PAD 27 - words

Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day; so carry around a poem in your pocket today. Or roll like me and carry a poem in your pocket every day.

For today’s prompt, use at least 3 of the following 6 words in your poem (using a word or two in your title is fine); for extra credit, try using all 6:

• pest
• crack
• ramble
• hiccup
• wince
• festoon

Most Endless Talker

He is and always has been a pest.
He opens the door, just a crack.
And begins to talk, to ramble
on and on and on and on.  Even a hiccup
doesn't slow him down.  He says, "Anyway, then she said..." I wince
give up, and as he wishes, like every year, drape him in the first place festoon. 

PAD 29 - Catching up again - Distance of the Fall

For today’s prompt, write a metric poem. Most of the world uses the metric system to measure things out; not so much in the States. But there are meters and liters, and the occasional millimeters. Also, poetry uses metrics (the study of meter in poetry). And metrics, in a general sense, can measure various things by a common denominator–even inches and/or teaspoons.


•••••••••

well the catch up poems are crap but at least i'm trying to fill in the blanks. so much to do always.

•••••••••••


Distance of the Fall


It was like any other time
though I was being photographed.

I was lifting and turning overhead
by the wall at first, around a crowd of people
occupied with games and each other.

One moment I was particularly elegant, using a stick
to propel me up with a graceful layout, slow motion flip.

I hoped that was caught on camera.
It likely was as a friend had tripod
with nine cameras, distributed around it a circle, catching everything.

But no one seemed to be looking as I jumped, like I do,
quite high, quite, quite high, straight up.

And then I landed on a wall, maybe 20 meters high.
That was a mistake.  I felt the spell broken.

It was a stone wall, maybe 20 meters high, a half a meter wide.
No one below seemed to know I was up there.

I wondered if I should jump down
but would my jumping magic work
if I started, as I was, dead weight from above?
I had never been in such a place before.

I imagined my legs, my spine, my head, broken.
I could see right where that would happen,
where the ground below became pavement.

It was high up, maybe 20 meters high.

And then someone else climbed up on top of the wall
and the wall itself descended.  Without a sound, with no one noticing.
This was the solution.

10 meters, 3 meters -  from there I could
drop and not die, even if I did not drift magically down
in a graceful layout, slow motion flip.

I dropped like anyone would.  Heavily, but fine.

My friend with the 360 degree camera cluster was gone.

I don't think anyone
caught the moment.

PAD 24 - Faith

For today’s prompt, write a faith poem. For some people, faith means religion. For others, faith means trusting in science and mathematics. Still others, think George Michael’s “Faith” just as some immediately conjure up Faith Hill. Regardless of where you put your faith (or don’t), today’s poem gives you an opportunity to express yourself.

Faith

You cannot cut a flame with scissors.

You cannot knit socks from the fleece of clouds.

You cannot guess at the nap dreams of a tiger.

You cannot see at the bottom of the ocean.

(You have not grown a lamp to see by)

You can't even breathe there - though you can imagine you can.

Your dreams take you across wide freeways

and into high water.  Again and again.

You wake in the night

and a 'you' returns and walks with you through the dark house.

This 'you' has always done that, is there for you,

whatever it is -

to tell you your story without turning on the lights.

Companionship.

Infusions.

Discussing with you, without words,

what dark is, what darker is, what movement,

what space is, what porcelain, how water is, what now is,
what image shivers at the back of the mind.

Reminders of a story of self, life, world, others, dreams.

With others we oblige ourselves

towards anecdotes, then guidelines, then advice, then positions,

then rules, then commandments, then certitude, then wars.

Faith belongs within a self.  It is humble.

It IS humility.  It is the experience of humility.

The experience of gratitude.
The gratitude of experience.

That there are factual reasons for waking, thirsty

does not negate the blessing

of opening one's mouth

of having a mouth to open

and, in the dark, receiving.

Facts and blessings are one and the same.

You and what you are given are one and the same.

You are here and it is miraculous.

No one needs to die for this.

PAD 23 - Last Time

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Last (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Last Starfighter,” “Last Unicorn,” “Last Day of Summer,” “Last Cookie in the Cookie Jar,” and so on.





Last Time

It is gone from memory
the last time you touched me

To think of it
is to walk into a wall of fog

that doesn't clear
that deepens, whitens

we did love well
sometimes

but as each cell in the body
has exchanged itself with a new one

over and over
nothing remains, no echo

of your hands
once moving where and how

PAD 22 - Fable

For today’s prompt, write a fable poem. A fable is a story that conveys a moral, usually told with animal characters.



Sleepy Dog

Sleepy dog got up late and walked to the sofa to relax.
Sleepy dog heard something outside and walked to the door and lay by it.
Sleepy dog ached to be hugged, to be carried around under arm to a place
you could run, if you wanted to.
Or lay down in the sun.

Sleeping Dog lay in a spot of sun and dreamt of that.









(okay.  kind of knocking these out trying to catch up.  getting close.)

PAD 21 - object

For today’s prompt, pick an object (any object), make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “Toothbrush,” “Rake,” “Pilot G2 Premium Gel Roller Pen,” or any number of other objective titles. Have fun with it.

Mirror


The mirror reflects the bucket its in,
reflects the movement of the light
as it bounces and softens and lessens

No face has been seen there for awhile
Maybe the back of the head
that - confirmed - still needs a cut

But the mirror speaks truth
too fluently
Why should it not, instead,
reflect light, perfectly, in exquisite detail,
which is not vain, nor lonesome
nor aging hard.

PAD 20 - Task

For today’s prompt, write a task poem. The task can be some glorious duty, or it can be a seemingly small and insignificant job. Or the poem can take someone to task. It’s your task to figure it out and write i





I could fly to New Zealand in the time it has taken me to wash my pots.
I didn't fly to New Zealand though.
I also haven't washed my pots.

PAD 19 - Memory

For today’s prompt, write a memory poem. Pick a memory, any memory. It can be a significant event, but sometimes there are beautiful insignificant moments (that ironically are very significant–quite the paradox). Mine your memories to come up with something good today.

Experiment #16

I once was a budding scientist.
Setting the table was my daily chore,
one which I generally enjoyed,
but it took time from my experiments.

I got the placemats
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
And the plates
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
I folded the paper napkins
then distributed them
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
And then I noticed with renewed interest the centerpiece
- a high, reaching bouquet of fluffy pampas grass
arching over the length of the table
(very much my father's aesthetic)

How long, I wondered, would it take
for it to catch fire?

I found a box of matches and in a second,
(or I would say 1.75 seconds), the entire table
was engulfed in flame.

It is a good thing I have devoted my life to the arts.

PAD 18 - Life/Death Poem

Here are the two prompts for today:

• Write a life poem. The poem could be about the miracle of life, the complexity of life, the game of Life, or anything else that means life for you. Or…
• Write a death poem. For most organisms, life leads to death. So this should be as full of possibility as the life poem.

Guanajuato

The pod, bigger than my little hand,

had stopped moving.

It was like paper maché - attached firmly to fence in the outdoor washing area

where we stayed, in Mexico - that summer

What was inside?  It almost scared me

with its hidden activity, its dark body in there.

Over the days, something turned,  it fluttered and rattled

I worried over it and the next day the pod was empty - tossed paper cave

Life had left it there.

It, not dead, just a shell, a home

a once-place, for inversion, conversion

for making giant wings and a future

from all of the self.

,

PAD 17 - Dance

For today’s prompt, write a dance poem. The poem can be about the process of dancing or just somehow incorporate or reference dancing in the poem. There are so many styles of dance out there and even more occasions for dancing: school dances, daddy-daughter dances, wedding dances, people who dance when they are happy, people who dance when they are sad, people who dance in large groups, and those who dance alone. And, of course, there are so who just won’t dance for anything.



Tango Teacher


He was short
muscular and old.

He was from Rome and spoke no English.
He used me to show

how, in tango, the woman
is always a bit off balance

his chest plate and mine
tilting each other towards

heart, heart 
tilting towards

come questo

steadied, a bit,
in the firm, gentle embrace

I could feel, felt, 
he is the only real man I ever met.

PAD 16 - Limbic System

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) System,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “Weather System,” “Solar System,” “Writing System,” “Ecological System,” or any number of other takes on systems.


Limbic System


It is here that I know this thing beyond words

That dimension
dimensions
are more like an onion, onions
and less like a box
or a box opening, flattening with time
Four dimensions, as we know them: height, width, depth, change

Here - the scent of the tiny, plucked jasmine
is a skin of a world
in which there are creatures
procreating and shadows. from a light somewhere,
extending
next to a skin of something
like water
like memory
and one, or many,
transparent dimensions,
a millimeters distance from each other
that ripple, each, with laughter
with the physical tremor
that comes
with a kiss.

PAD 15 -One Time

For today’s prompt, write a “one time” poem. This poem could be about a once in a lifetime experience. Or it could be about something a person wants to try just one time (good or bad). Or take it where you will–as always.


...

spring break interrupted the flow.  there's always sumphin.



************


One Time


We stood on our rooftop
at 51st and 11

We probably had a picnic for our birthdays
that was lovely

And keeping us company, bobbing on the tar sheets near us,
was the giant heart shaped balloon

deflated from Valentine's Day
a couple of days earlier

As we were leaving 
we let the heart go with some wishes attached

thinking it might sink down, defeated,
into the traffic of 11th avenue

But it lifted. drifted up
and just before the first line of high clouds

Filled out suddenly into a giant, full 
red, radiant, heart dancing, alive over New York City.

We were delighted.
Love lived!

PAD 14- No I in TEAM

For today’s prompt, pick a popular saying and make that the title of your poem; then, write your poem. Some possible titles might include: “Blood Is Thicker Than Water,” “You Can’t Judge a Book By Its Cover,” “More Than You Can Shake a Stick At,” and so many others. Click here if you want more ideas.

There's No I in TEAM

There's no B in TEAM

We're all on our own.

There's no C in TEAM

I told ya so.

There's no G in TEAM

How about that?.

There's no I in TEAM

I can see that.

There's no K in TEAM

Alright?

There is no O in TEAM.

Surprise!

There is no P in TEAM.

Can you excuse me for a sec?

There is no R in TEAM.

You're on your own.

There is no U in TEAM

You're not in my life, either.

There's no Y in TEAM

No need to think about it.

PAD 13 - Rite Aid

For today’s prompt, write a family poem. It could be about your family, someone else’s family, a big family, a small family. It could be about one person in the family or a group picture. Your call. Just write that poem.

maybe this can count for the missing Guilty poem too....

Rite-Aid

I was about to not love you.

How could that be, but it was.

I was about to not love you.

I was about to hate you.

I remember that.

I remember saying that and knowing it.

I remember standing next to you

- how skinny you were

bones, really, bones, cuts, 

so many bruises

and I thought, I don't even know you

as you turned down an aisle

away from me, not even distant

just

utterly unknown: pure stranger.

I think I thought

I hate you

not then

then you were just a stranger

and I thought

who is this

but in those days

when your dark house was your only refuge

besides your activity of absolute obliteration

and the darkness filled our veins

    no matter our distance

and clutched our throats

    choked already for years with tears, fears, years of tears, and fears, founded

and love, useless

tough love, useless

tough

ambulances, silence,

phones, ringing, not ringing, silence, alarms, tears and the distance

growing and love, tough or kind love, forever love then - useless

and the darkness woke the children

and opened the drawers

looking, always looking

That wasn't the last vision, some woman,

with a coin purse

and broken hair

and cigarette scent

under the bright public lights

starving for something

then still visible

but it was the last day, our last outing

together, I might say.

We were in the pharmacy on the upper westside

looking for scar cream, conditioner, cigarettes.

I didn't even know her.

How could that be.

Very soon

you became you when you became bones

quite actually

and I could love you again.

Love rushed in 

on powerful, thundering, hard flapping wings.

Love ran through the streets

calling your name, calling out

I'll love you forever.

Family is everything. 

Family is forever.

At least there is that.

and I myself will die

with my devotion to your friendship,

your long ago through and through love,

your golden, then outcast, broken-winged soul.

PAD 10 - Up

For today’s prompt, write a travel poem. Your poem can be about the process of traveling, planning to travel, vicariously traveling through television programs, or however else you’d like to take this prompt.


Up


I look up and there is someone
high up in the cables of the bridge
dancing out horizontally from the towers

In my waking life
I have a friend who does just that
So I think it might be him

and - there -
maybe his friends
More interweave in the cable webbing.

I don't tell myself I can do that
Or want to
But as I rise up I know that I have this gift

In fact, I warn myself, as I easily rise,
not to go too high
I am so high already

I grab behind me
the slope of the main cables
and bend my body to match.
I see I am being observed from below

and do a flourish out
though I resent it
- why must I perform?

Shortly, I return to the ground
walk past the bridge, turn a corner
and rise again.

People are there below me.
I want to just be left alone
to be unobserved.

To think about how I feel this feels
to consider other uses
of this, my odd and unlikely gift.

PAD 9 - So There

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “So (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “So Cool,” “So Stupid,” “So Not What I Would’ve Done,” “So Sweet,” or so many other possibilities.

So There

I have done it

This thing that I cannot undo

So there

I haven't done it

This thing I no longer can do

So there

I have made a choice

and what has happened, has happened

So there

I have made a choice to not make a choice

and what hasn't happened, hasn't happened

It will never happen.

I made sure of that when I didn't do

what I didn't do

when I waited

as if time cared enough to wait for me

The wrinkles gather on my face

The sun sets regardless of my joy

or my emptiness

So there, says the day, moving as it speaks.

It's over.

What did you do 

with your time,

the time you were given

the time, that for a time,

was given, was yours.

PAD 8 - Panic Poem

For today’s prompt, write a panic poem. There are any number of things a person can panic about, including severe weather, military invasions, or what to wear to an event. And while some may be more life or death than others, that feeling of panic is just as real for a person who has to get up and speak in front of a crowd of smiling strangers as it is for a person hiding in the basement of their house as a tornado approaches.


Hm..
I'm not really in the mood.
Feeling super peaceful.
will get back to this.

PAD 7 - Discovery:Afternoon Nap

For today’s prompt, write a discovery poem. This poem could be about making a discovery; it could be about something discovered (by someone or something else); or something you’d like to discover. I can’t wait to discover what new poems poets will create.

Afternoon Nap 

I am here only to my mid thigh.

My knees, calves, ankles, feet

have yet to return, take shape, 

fill in, have edges, be.

Below my mid thigh

I am wide as Greenland.

wider.

I am quite obviously infinite

as I have been

the clock tells me

for two hours

in the middle of the day.

I remember returning

through the crown of my head.

I remember that point being, also,

structurally, like a the final leaf to bloom

on an artichoke, say,

as all the sections pull back

to let, 

I will call it - me -

in.

softly.  softly.

So, I returned through there

top down

the leaves of the specific

pulling back

made of 

light, hues overlapping

and I put myself back together

- it seemed to take an hour -

from some inside out 

one color at a time

sheaves of cells at a time.

I make myself coffee 

black

and in this wide afternoon

I will myself toes

and a name

to name this gratitude,

this self,

this home-coming.

PAD 6 - Sound

For today’s prompt, write a poem about a sound. The poem could be about a small sound, a loud sound, a happy sound, or a creepy sound. And yes, music sounds count as well.

If, I was like an animal,

more animal-like than I am

If I had no language

as we assume they have none

I would simply hear

I would hear now

an almost regular whoosh

go by: softer, louder, softer, softer louder softer

I would hear a tiny buzz

all around (is that my self I hear?  my blood?)

I would hear

the (almost) regular whoosh go by: softer louder softer

and the cluttery clanking messy 

sound of a garbage truck

I would hear the distant freeway buzz

growing, magnifying, folding my tiny buzz into it, I

would hear the voice of some walking by

their voices: bits of timbre, dancing

a thrum of a jackhammer

pounding into the street, intervening with what is.

In this way, I would know,

without language, without sight even

That the day was beginning.

I don't need your opinion

to know what's happening.

Everything speaks.

PAD 5 - Californium

For today’s prompt, pick an element (like from the periodic table), make it the title of your poem (or part of the title), and then, write the poem. Anything goes from hydrogen to oganesson.




Californium

There is an element: Californium.
How about that?  Who knew?
That seems silly

and yet it is my element
my love
my world of wild oats
and twisting oaks
of delta breeze
and river scent
scramble granitescape
and dear broad valley
the homey way - orchard-filled 
to the crashing Pacific
hung with a pendant of
the thinnest
sliver
moon

                                  (and Venus!)

Californium: my element
my first love and likely my last

Someday, I'll pull the motherlode hills
up over me

and sleep forever
stable
forever blessed.

PAD 4 - Beginning

• Write a beginning poem. And, of course, when something begins, it often signals something else ending. Soooo, the other prompt is to…
• Write an ending poem. Poem about something ending.

What one begins anew often

is this thing of being one's self

Waking up to say

Today - I won't obfuscate

I won't shuffle, delay

As if one could BE

better.  In the beginning

you feel different,

the master of the sounds you hear, the trainer

of your pacing thoughts.

Perhaps it is possible

to change, by simply

attending, intending, 

watching the whole room

beginning again

now with will

and a small flourish

- snapping a whip 

so you will rise up

and  - in the present now - yourself 

your actual self

be.

PAD 3 - Halls of Love

Halls of Love

In my dream -
after he came to my bed, twice,
in his surprising, urgent interest,
there are four there
rolling together in the stairwell
then five
then six
then me

and another walks up.
We go to a room next door, visible to all.

Soon, as I look back to the rumpled bed,
I have to admit, I didn't know how easy it
was, how common, to live like this and then
another stranger, in the doorway of another room,
dressed with a tie and a microphone,
asks me to come in

and just look at all the money
all the money things
watches and jewelry,
an art piece: a poorly-made ceramic heart
set on a background of cash
spread loosely in giant denominations

and he asks me how I feel.
I feel nothing.  I think some of it's fake
that giant diamond, - giant -  with gold flecks,
just silly - and I go down the hall
where there are vast rooms of people
dressed up as fairy tale characters
with the women's breasts exposed
here and there.

Across from them is another stage.
"Imagine" blasts from speakers.
The audience is animated and one hands me
a tomato to throw at a flat metal sculpture they turn to face -
silhouettes of immigrants getting off a boat.

"Imagine all the people
sharing all the world" crackles from the speakers
and the partiers go wild and throw all they have.

I am glad I don't, can't.
I stand there, stunned.
I am still amazed he wanted me like that.
Twice.