ah geez - already behind PAD 5 - crow

For today’s prompt, write an intelligence poem. Of course, intelligence is subjective. What is common sense for one person makes no sense to another. But intelligence is more than IQ and test scores. There’s artificial intelligence, intelligent animals, and military intel. And I’ve found that many poets have a special intelligence of their own.

*****

Castro Way

When the crow flew fast into our window
and then caught his flash-black wing in the snare of the privet bush
the street organized

One felt a criss-cross of them
- a Jacob's ladder -
a treetop mesh of crows
a scaffolding of response, locking down the area

Before we could try to help the bird
wing damaged - the beauty unsavable, probably,

another crow flew in hard and bumped him to the grass
and the broken bird tried
to fly and could 
for ten feet
before tipping sideways and flapping
desperately to right himself

and the grid above advanced ten feet
their calls - organized - intent
diagonally - sent and received and confirmed 

the bird tried to fly again
for another bit
and the community moved forward
in a flank and into position
two down near on each side of the street
hopping ahead with his advance
 - guards

we don't know if he made it
probably not 

If he did or he didn't
he was looked after

those that cared did all they could

PAD 4 - Nancy Drew

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Case (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: “Case of Water,” “Case in Point,” “Case Study,” and “Case of the Missing Person.”





Who did what?

The Case of the Winding Staircase
The Case of the Red Shoe
The Case of the Flickering Candle
The Case of the Haunted Room
The Case of the Old Clock
The Case of the Missing Umbrella
The Case of the Last Train
The Case of the Blanketing Fog

How did Nancy Drew die?
Has anyone even looked into that?
Maybe she is alive
in deep dementia
by a window somewhere
in her last week
looking down at the softening edge 
of her prim lavender sweater
for clues
of who she is
who she was

of what question to ask

or what is a question

PAD 3

1. Write a stop poem.
2. Write a don’t stop poem.

The truth is - I can't stop.

Is that the truth of it?

I choose not to stop.
I choose not to.
I say I will.
I don't.
Then I do.
I do!
But not forever.
I choose to think it's okay.
I choose to think no one is getting hurt.

The truth is - I'm lying.
The truth is - I chose to not stop.
The truth is - I will choose that again.
The truth is - I look forward to it
to embracing my weakness
and its reward.

PAD 2 - Portrait

For today’s prompt, write a portrait poem. You can use an actual portrait to write an ekphrastic poem. Or think up an image from real life. Or fake life. Or don’t be so literal; instead of writing a poem that describes a portrait, use the poem to frame a moment or lifestyle or whatever. By the way, how many times did I type “or” in this paragraph?


Rembrandt as a Young Man


It's not that I want someone to notice me
lingering so long
leaning in
like I am in love

not with him
but with this moment
this room
this needing to lean in.

I need to lean in.

His curls are dark, largely, on the top and on the side
and in the deeper tufts
with the simplest lines, curled,
all colors, loose, simple, careless semi-circles, blue, viridian, cadmium,
sap green, ochre, burnt orange, where they almost catch on fire and then they vanish
there, near his eyes - burnt umber
in an umber field, the umber of the edge of him
pulsing
against some seafoam green
luminous making me a bit dizzy
and self-aware
- aware of looking
aware of my warm breathing and some light
cool on the back on my neck

                 so young

The top of his face
is in shadow
An odd shape of shadow
hides his eyes
- What is a portrait with such dimmed eyes?
I can't even see him.
It is like a bird has flown over him
or perhaps he enters a room, nearly,
or is in thought or in a place
- this is it -
in which he himself
in unaware
of the light
though he could feel it - not quite consciously -
emanate from the side of  his cheek,
the round bridge of his nose

What is happening?

Someone enters the gallery
- a guard - and I pull back
and adjust the straps on my purse
or look at the next painting

and when she moves on
I am back
leaning in
there where his check is so oddly lit
colored from the blood within
that is alive
- young blood, fresh,
and the darkened shape above
the eyes in darkness the hair
curled in, eclipsing
the old man we would come to know
so well
there
implied - not quite consciously -

No one is in the gallery
but me
and this young man
older boy
old man to be but later, later

in this moment
as it is a moment
he simply is
- is breathing between layers of value and glaze -
and I can see him

and then it happens
I see more
the dark is not so dark now
the shadow has changed only in MY eyes
it becomes cooler and soft
and out of that new field
he now looks at me
directly

he looks at me kindly
it is a benediction
it is a gaze across time

only the light
kept, held, dancing in the molecular layers of wash
could come to me this way
in the physical self of a painting
adjusting for the living eye

lean in
stay

and keep looking
keep looking

be a painter
live in phenomena

witness
the glory of color,
the humility of looking,
the physics of opening,
the triumph of sight

sight - that faculty of receiving and giving
in the exact same moment

dialogue of light
across centuries
as delicate as the last days
of youth

there!

lesson from a master

PAD 2018 - 1 ... Trying again. Last time I made it to ....1

For today’s prompt, write a secret poem. This poem can reveal a secret, incorporate a secret activity, or involve any other secret interpretation. Poem written in code (acrostic, anyone?) or with double meanings.



It is tempting to think
someone will find your words,
will have fallen in love with your spirit, 
your soul,
will want to know the essential you of you
wordless self
bodiless self
mindful self

will not be looking
only for some proof that you 
would love yourself 
with the image of their eyes behind your eyes
- I can see you -
the vowels of their name
escaping on that high breath

but they will love both parts of your beautiful brain
will know you

will know that
you know
that they know you, somehow,

touching you, like light on moss,
that that is all the love there will be there
so it has to be enough
as day turns very slowly
to night