PAD 11 - Control

For today’s prompt, write a control poem. That is, write about having control, losing control, or sharing control with others. Of course, I expect at least one person to mention the control key on keyboards. And well, y’all always surprise me, because I can’t control which direction everyone is going to go with this prompt.

Control

I suppose

deep therapy would try

to elicit from me

rage, RAGE - let it go

a primal scream 

(didn't I try that then too?)

self-forgiveness

rage

a primal scream

compassionate distance

self-forgiveness

rage

a primal scream

self-love

compassionate distance

self-forgiveness

rage

a primal scream

So what?

Were you not still grey like dead

in the bathtub

in the hallway

by the side of the house

on top of the wild shards of glass

then

dead like dead

afloat for a day,

sinking for a day,

afloat for a day,

sinking for a day

Is that news to me

that I had no control?

Is that news to me

that I am damaged

and have a right to be angry?

I don't want to scream.
I don't want to rage.

I want to sit in the garden now

and, finally, learn guitar.

Or just watch my fish

who control nothing

and can just be

underwater 

forever.

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “The (blank) Who (blank),” replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “The Runner Who Walked,” “The Scientist Who Decided to Make a Monster,” “The Poet Who Loved Me,” and/or “The Teacher Who Couldn’t Learn.” If you’d prefer to write about a thing instead of a person, feel free to replace the word “who” with the word “that.”


The Abstract Painter Who Closed Her Eyes

I suppose I could paint
without seeing

What does it matter in the end?

The way I dance around, insist on the spontaneous.

Just put the colored oil goo in my hand
Blindfold me and set me in the right direction.

What about this matters anymore
or ever did?

What image would do good work?

I think I'll go sit by a dirt pile
with a bucket of water

imagine / make a city there, in a muddy puddle,
deluged, the citizens calling from their rooftops.

I feel the clay dirt like a sculptor, eyes closed.
The mud has meaning.

Before waiting too long, I break the levee myself,
above the town, where it's safe.

I create an overspill. I feel it.
My gesture matters,
the water draining away from the drowning thousands.

I open my eyes when I hear their joyful cries
of survival
and hope.

I know no more now
than I did when I was nine.

PAD 9 Exphrasic

For today’s prompt, write an ekphrastic poem. An ekphrastic poem is one that’s inspired by a work of art, whether that’s a painting, photograph, sculpture, or some other creation. I’ve included five ekphrastic prompts below. Look them over and choose one (or more) to prompt your poem today.


Abstract

I suppose I need now
to find something in the void

To call that something a name
To give it an edge

for the void around to become the void around

what is there
in a color field

it is not here/there forever
it has/has had a name

look it in its face
if it has one.

say something about existence
other than

everything/we all are in a field
of constant change.

PAD 8 - Future

For today’s prompt, write a future poem. The future is a never ending well of worry for some. Others harbor a great deal of optimism. Still others see a mixture of awesome flying cars and terrifying robot overlords. Regardless of your outlook, I hope there’s a poem in your very near future.


The Future Ain't What It Used to Be


These days, there is always a moment,
when my leg moves between warm sheets
or my hand slides under a cooler part 
of the pillow

and my eyes open, before or after, I've thought:
Oh. We are in that time, ... this time.
and everything that happens next is newer 
than it's ever been.

I build the floor, floorboard by floorboard, 
to get to the bathroom. I roll out the carpet before me
to get to my kitchen. It is not a flying carpet.
It lays there as I step off its edge.

Every moment is stepped off of,
into another world that assembles itself,
just in time.


It is up to me to imagine the whole world 
around my coffee pot.

To see its beauty.
To insist on its sense.

It is up to me
to make gratitude my food,
kindness my money.

To live on that
into a new day,

belly 
and heart
and imagination

full.

PAD 7 - Lucky/Unlucky

We’re a week into the challenge now, and we get to celebrate with our first “Two-for-Tuesday” prompt! You can pick your favorite prompt, do both separately, or combine them into one poem. Your choice.

For today’s prompt:

1. Write a lucky poem and/or…
2. Write an unlucky poem.

LUCKY

Earth can breathe.

The Milky Way is crushed into the sky

above the dark and sleeping city.

Creatures venture out,

gambol and nap in the road.

UNLUCKY

The tent is wet

and folded into mud.

Limbs touch limbs

and some have grown cold.

Day 6 - Trap

For today’s prompt, write a trap poem. There are physical traps—like mouse traps and bear traps. But people also sometimes fall into language traps or social traps. Many competitive types in business and various games try to set traps for their competitors. Of course, for every person setting a trap, there’s likely another person trying to avoid falling into traps.


Trap


We are told today
there is a huge spike
in domestic violence

Men trapped with their wives
Trapped with their children
Trapped without sports
Trapped with only the bottles 
at the back of the home bar left

Trapped in all the space
they could once barely pay for.
Trapped within their father's face.

But she is there - always there -
doing everything wrong.
There are two releases left
and both leave her

curled in a ball
a scream echoing
off the small walls.

pathetic.

PAD 5 - Moment/Spring

For today’s prompt, write a moment poem. The moment could be this very moment in time. Or pick a moment from your past and dive into it. It could be a huge moment or event in your life (or the life of another). Or you could share a small, private moment–like a walk at night or solitary adventure.




Spring


Others will want to know
maybe

what this moment was like.

I'm an ill-drawn character of unclear age
(without compelling flaw or situation or motivation)
in a weak creative writing prompt:

    Imagine the world has stopped still.
    People aren't dead. They are just all inside.
    All of them. Everywhere.
    All separate, looking out windows, maybe. 
    What happens next?

No car rolls past my window. After an hour,
one runner in a mask stops and checks her watch.
The wood on the fence across the still street
stains down from the top and up from the bottom
with welcome rain.

And the green of the tree above is, in fact,
the green of a new world.

It's that green.
It's that new.

It is almost blinding.