I managed to write two poems today, but one is not ready for public viewing. This one is based on a real-life incident with my daughter yesterday, and fit nicely with the Poetic Asides prompt asking for an “animal” poem.
What Animals Do
Talking fast like kids do
after a day of keeping quiet and calm
my daughter tells me about the playground discovery
a dead squirrel
encircled by a group of seven year olds
curious to discover meaning
in its still body.
There was a bone sticking out
with blood on it,
my daughter reports,
then drops the subject
like her backpack
and forages in the pantry
for a snack.
Did the dead squirrel make you upset?
I ask later, and she replies with a shrug.
Then her brow furrows with thought.
It was probably a cat, or a dog,
just doing what animals do.
The prompts for today aligned nicely, with NaPoWriMo asking for a poem that ends with a question, and Poetic Asides prompting a worst-case scenario or best-case scenario poem.
What is worry if not risk management?
A mental plan for potential disaster.
Worst-case scenario, or acknowledgement
of what’s most severe. What ifs
are the stuff of agitation. Imagination.
My therapist says Find peace in the now
but this mind frame’s empty of
the mirror, the painting, the possibilities.
Yet I do understand the allure of
a waveless ocean
a cloudless sky
a limitless horizon.
A quiet place to walk
around all sides of a thought, the curve
where the question shifts from
What if something terrible happens? to
What if it doesn’t?
The Poetic Asides prompt today called for an “action” poem, while NaPoWriMo.net‘s suggestion was to write a poem based in sound. I decided to do a little mixing.
The ear is a good reader.
She can catch things that the lazy eye
just rolls on by,
like the awkward way this line
Or how another line might wander on and on and on and on too long for a
Voice is fleeting
but timbre, tone, emphasis
the tools of poetry come alive
with the touch of a tongue.
Sing the word — musicality.
Sounds better out loud, doesn’t it?
voice and verse passed down
Since I’ll never be a rock star
from a brightly lit, stadium stage
I’ll take this small room
of kind listeners,
poets, ears perked
and hearts swaying
to linguistic melodies.