The penultimate day of the poem-a-day challenge! I think I say that every year, mostly because I love the word “penultimate.” I may say that every year too.
Because of regular life busy-ness, and the Edmonton Poetry Festival workshop and reading I have tomorrow, all I’ve managed today is another micro inspired by the 30/30 prompt “a slight change of plans.”
the way one slight change can create an opening for a substantial difference
A small thought, seeded by the 30/30 prompt “filled with odds”
a week later clearing your nightstand drawer filled with odds and ends of a life
Today I chose to go with the 30/30 prompt “borderline.” I tried my hand at a short acrostic, both because I am a bit busy today, and because I was a little stuck. Sometimes working with the constraints of a form is exactly what I need to get something written.
Acrostic
Beyond any reason, we’re
ordered into thinking the
right way to shape humanity is
demarcation. Classification. Our stake
ends here, yours there. Do not cross.
Remember your place.
Learn tribalism. Othering.
In here we are one
nation, do not divide us,
except from them.
Hooray, hooray, it’s the first of…April. Well, in a few hours. I think this is the sixth year I’ve decided to try to write a poem a day for National Poetry Month. However, it’s also one of the busiest Aprils I’ve ever experienced, so the goal to do this and polish (sorta) and post is probably too lofty. I hope to still write something from daily prompts, and will try to post at least a line from the daily work-in-progress as a way to keep myself on track.
What other poem-y things am I up to this month?
From April 22-24, I’ll be taking part in CV2’s 2-Day Poem Contest again. Always SO MUCH fun. If you’re up for it, you can find out more and register here.
The Edmonton Poetry Festival is back, and I am thrilled to be part of the Board this year! Events will run from April 24 through May 1, and I will be hosting a climate crisis workshop and reading on April 30. I’m very excited about that! Details and registration information coming soon.
Happy reading and writing to all who do!
It’s almost over! Do I write this with happiness or regret? Maybe both. Certainly finding the motivation to write some days this month has been a challenge, but it’s also been a kind of comfort to have a routine, and so many other new poems from others to inspire me.
The final NaPoWriMo.net prompt challenges you to write a poem in the form of a series of directions describing how a person should get to a particular place. It could be a real place, like your local park, or an imaginary or unreal place, like “the bottom of your heart,” or “where missing socks go.” Fill your poem with sensory details, and make them as wild or intimate as you like.
How to Get to the Back Deck to Drink Your Coffee Never assume a short journey is an easy one. Begin by preparing for diversions — a phone call you don’t want to answer; the broken glass you’ll have to carefully pick up, when a too-quick pivot to answer a child calling from another room results in an elbow knocking last night’s wine glass from the counter. Allow time for a loud expletive, then a sigh. Embrace exasperations that end in small relief. When it seems there is quiet — a gifted moment when no one remembers you’re there — pour coffee into your favourite mug, or your favourite right now, one that knows the shape of your hand. Take soft steps toward your destination. Watch out for the squeaky spot between the kitchen and the dining room. Keep your hip clear of the metal chair, pushed back from the table after someone’s hurried breakfast, now collecting sun from the bare window. Casting shadow on an unswept floor. Turn the lock on the deck door cautiously, with one foot out to the side, that experienced stance to block escape artist cats. Open only as wide as is needed for you to slip through. Don’t pause at the threshold, overcome with birdsong or the welcome wash of cool air. Just get out there. Sit. And stay. Even after you’re needed on the inside again. Stay, sipping hot coffee and staring at clouds. Let a part of you remain.
It’s the penultimate day of Poetry Month! I think I say that every year on the 29th, mostly because “penultimate” is a fun word. Today’s #NaPoWriMo.net prompt asked for an “in the window” poem. Imagine a window looking into a place or onto a particular scene. It could be your childhood neighbor’s workshop, or a window looking into an alien spaceship. Maybe a window looking into a witch’s gingerbread cottage, or Lord Nelson’s cabin aboard the H.M.S. Victory. What do you see? What’s going on? I decided to look into someplace both completely familiar and always a mystery to me.
Head Windows I’ve said how I wished a tiny window existed just above your right ear, under a flap of brown hair that I could part to peek inside, so I could see them forming and burrowing — your great and terrible thoughts, your swirling spectrum dreams, the shy ones that slowly emerge from shady corners — but if you had such a window, wouldn’t I too? And however would I justify keeping it permanently shuttered?
Today’s 30/30 prompt was simply “skyline.” The NaPoWriMo.net prompt asked for a poem that poses a series of questions. The questions could be a mix of the serious (“What is the meaning of life?”) and humorous (“What’s the deal with cats knocking things off tables?”), the interruptive (“Could you repeat that?”) and the conversational (“Are those peanuts? Can I have some?”). I decided, based on my ongoing obsession with the sky and constantly taking photos of it, to combine the two for a super short poem that I could potentially build on later.
5 Questions to Ask The Sky How does it feel to hold the sun? Which clouds are the teenagers? Do you feel less alone after the release of rain? What’s your favourite song? Can anything, even blue, really be limitless?
Today I used the 30/30 prompt calling for a “Ten Things” poem.
10 things about this morning There are birds. An entire assembly welcoming the day from the bare lilac bushes outside my bedroom window. There is sun. Spilling through that window, because some lucky Saturdays it awakens before I do. There is coffee. No less enjoyed though it’s been made and poured by only me. There are dishes. Left drying on a rack after another meal spent with people I’m fortunate to make a home with. There is a table. Awash in morning light, and shadows cast from the chairs we use to make it a gathering place. There are cats. Greeting me with demand, but also affection. Possibly gratitude. There is a sweater. Once belonging to my mom. Slipped over shoulders that have yet to carry what she did. There is a message. From a faraway friend offering small but welcome news. There are seedlings. In need of water and attention. Patient in their want of a whole garden. There are words. Waiting to be fished from a mysterious stream that reliably flows, even when I’ve wandered far from its banks.
Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt called for writers to create a poem that responds, in some way, to another. This could be as simple as using a line or image from another poem as a jumping-off point, or it could be a more formal poetic response to the argument or ideas raised in anothe poem.I have too many favourite poems, so decided instead to open randomly to any page in All Of Us: The Collected Poems by Raymond Carver (who is a favourite writer or mine). I happened up on the poem “The Minuet” (photo below) which I had never read before, but which, by some poetic magic, definitely spoke to me at this moment in my life. I didn’t set out to match the poem’s line rhythms and number, but once I started in with the voice of his poem’s dancer, it sort of fell into step.
The Spark New moon night. I am awake with want of everything. This life to move in triple time. Or stop, when someone comes in. A person who tiptoes, or could. Would see the glimmer of light off the diamond I carry. How it acts something like a spark. That ancient igniter. Of fire. I’ve danced through that by chance and choice. Am still asking for more.
Today I went with a poetry prompt from Writer’s Digest asking for a “_______ Me” titled poem. Writing the poem didn’t take long, but after it came out, I couldn’t decided if it was finished, or if it had gone off in the direction I wanted. Is it saying too little? Too much? Most of the time I post what I’ve written, no matter the disheveled state they’re in. But some days words need a little more time under the covers, cuddling or hiding, until they’re ready to, as my Mom was fond of saying, “face the day.”
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