National Poetry Month

PAD 2017 – Day 7

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Discovery is the theme of the Writer’s Digest prompt today. There’s a thick fog outside today, and one in my head too after a night of restless sleep, so not sure how coherent these mini efforts are, but maybe I can discover something bigger from them later.

 

treasure hunting

the robin

unearths the worm

*****

garbage day

crows uncover

leftovers

*****

spin class

revealing

new muscles

*****

discovery

the shadow

on the x-ray

*****

Edmonton poet Ray Rasmussen is a master of haiku, senryu, haibun and haiga. If you love the Japanese forms as much as I do, I encourage you to explore his wonderful website.

PAD 2017 – Day 6

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Writing about sound is difficult, but when it works I think it can be one of best kinds of evocative, sensory writing. Today’s Writer’s Digest prompt asked for poems inspired by sounds. The NaPoWriMo prompt called for poems that examine a thing in several different ways, like the wonderful Wallace Stevens poem “Thirteen Way of Looking at a Blackbird.” Here’s my attempt at seven ways of thinking about, and hearing, sirens.

Seven Sirens

 

1.

As children we’d try to pick out each one,

quick woo-woo-woo of a police car,

shrill staccato blast of the fire engine,

the scream of an ambulance,

wailing up and down the scale.

Like knowing which emergency to fear

would earn us a badge.

 

2.

we tilt our heads

like dogs following a sound

like cats curious

for catastrophe

 

 

3.

four firefighters jump on

as the truck pulls away,

a hollering siren,

a rallying cry.

 

4.

Sticky summer night

they screech in

through our open window.

Not everyone’s as safe

as us together.

 

5.

flat out

on the inside

of an ambulance

the bawling siren

cries for you

 

6.

siren song

irresistible distraction

distressing reaction

 

7.

I tell my daughter

about sirens — nymphs of the sea,

their songs said to be dangerous.

I tell my daughter

that sometimes our voice

is our only defense.

 

Today’s Alberta poet certainly knows how to use sound in his writing. Please take the time to watch, and listen, to Calgary poet Richard Harrison sharing poems from his book Big Breath of a Wish which chronicles his daughter’s discovery and acquisition of language.

PAD 2017 – Day 5

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So many possibilities for today’s Writer’s Digest prompt to write about an element on the periodic table. The first element I thought of was copper, and it immediately reminded me of my Uncle Leif — a man of small stature and mighty character. I sort of combined that with today’s NaPoWriMo prompt to take inspiration from Mary Oliver, and incorporate some of the world’s natural wonder into your writing. Not sure there’s a lot of Mary in here, but the title is based on her poem “The Uses of Sorrow.”

The Uses of Copper

 

Arrive at the farm in autumn

when the amber sun sets early

over aurous fields, and stories

fall from his chapped lips

like water from a rusty pump.

You’ll know him by his dusty ball cap,

wind worn skin, and the copper wire,

welded crooked, ever round his wrist.

He’ll swear it shoos the arthritis away,

helps the blood flow, wards off colds.

He’ll show you the verdigris on the wire,

how it’s leached green onto his skin.

Elemental magic that shields him through

frigid winters, keeps him growing, going

like the rolling prairie grass.

 

Today’s Alberta poet is Edmonton’s Julie C. Robinson. With family and prairie roots on my brain, I thought of her beautiful poem Family Tree.

PAD 2017 – Day 4

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There was some prompt harmony today between the Writer’s Digest suggestion to write a beginning or ending poem, and the POETRYisEVERYTHING prompt to write a poem in the voice of an extinct animal. The first that came to mind was passenger pigeons, because I find their story both interesting and terrible. There were an estimated 3-5 billion in North America before European contact, and by the early 1900s, none were left in the wild. The last known passenger pigeon, Martha, died at the Cincinnati Zoological Garden in 1914. Here’s a stab and a start to a poem that could be the beginning of something bigger.

 

Chorus

 

We remember the whir of  a thousand wings, the way

each of our bodies read the bodies at our sides.

Sky wave rolling from one cluster of oaks to the next,

we poured into valleys to rest and to feed.

 

How rapid the change from a few violent blasts,

to a thunder of rifles, the snag of nets,

the bite of flames and grey dust in the nests.

How hollow the wind without us.

 

Taking a historical perspective on Alberta writing today with Icelandic-Canadian poet Stephan G. Stephansson’s “Seasons in Alberta.” I love the imagery in here, and the line: For her own amusement alone / she teases the four winds

 

PAD 2017 – Day 3

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Today’s Writer’s Digest prompt is to write a “______ of Love” poem. I have “not a lot of love” for this prompt, because I found it so difficult! All I could come up with was a micro of sorts, but many of the other creations I’ve read on the site are wonderful.

Parachute of Love

If I had one now
I wouldn’t be
falling for you
so hard.

It was much easier for me to pick an Alberta poet today, and fittingly there’s some lusty humour and masterful wordplay in her poem. Leslie Greentree is a Griffin Poetry Prize nominated writer from Red Deer. Please check out this excellent video of her reading “if I was a gate” from her book go-go dancing for Elvis.

 

 

PAD 2017 – Day 2

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Doing a bit of prompt mixing today with the the NaPoWriMo.net suggestion to write a poem inspired by a recipe, and the Writer’s Digest “not today” prompt. Today would’ve been my Mom’s 74th birthday, so this one’s still at the fresh-from-the-sentimental-oven stage.

 

How to Celebrate

 

To do it right

I’d make you a cherry pie,

the perfect crust, flaky and just brown,

sticky sweet filling bubbling at the edges

and a fork-print “M” in the centre

for Mom.

 

To do it right

I’d celebrate your birthday

with tulips and a tune,

Song Sung Blue, a hot cup of coffee,

a mucky walk along

the river.

 

To do it right

I’d gather photos of you,

before I was born,

before any of us were,

and your hair fell past

your shoulders.

 

To do it right

I’d read that soft smile

for the woman you were,

more on your lips

that I wish you could

tell me.

 

My Alberta poem share today is by Calgary poet Tyler B. Perry, titled “I don’t teach subjects; I teach students.” It’s one of my favourites from his first book, Lessons in Falling.

PAD 2017 – Day 1

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Hooray, hooray it’s the first of…April! That means the start of National Poetry Month, and NaPoWriMo. Like previous years, I am attempting to write and post for the poem-a-day challenge, using prompts from various places (there are lots of great ones out there!) and combining them if it works.

I am big on ambition, but short on time, so I don’t expect these poems to be particularly polished. But what I’ve learned from previous years of participating in this is that it’s more about the discipline it takes to write something every day, and also about finding ways to experiment or try out new forms.

I am also going to use the month to shine some light on the many, many wonderful poets who live in my own province, Alberta. I plan to post a link to an online work by an Alberta poet each day, and encourage you to not only read their work, but take the time to seek out and support the poets in your own region. They will thank you for it.

Today’s poem comes from a Writer’s Digest prompt to write a “reminiscing” poem, mixed with the NaPoWriMo prompt to emulate the style of poet Kay Ryan.

 

A Shady Path

 

Imagine a tree

so thick at its base

that even Billy’s

long arms couldn’t

embrace the space,

but how sharp

the sound, the snap

of one fallen branch

blocking our path,

just a trio of leaves

left on its skinny

fingers, the way

a whisper of breeze

slipped under

my dress like

a warning.

 

My Alberta poem today comes from one of my all-time favourite poets, Alice Major. Not only am I constantly amazed by Alice’s books (of which there are many), but I am also in admiration of her lifetime commitment to spreading the love of poetry. She is the first poet laureate of Edmonton and the founder of the fabulous Edmonton Poetry Festival. Please click here to read the wonderful poem  “Suncatcher” and learn more about Ms. Major.

PAD Challenge – Day 30

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The End. Finito. The Final Day. I feel both relieved and rueful that today marks the end of the April poem-a-day challenge. It’s been fun, frustrating and enlightening, as so many of the prompts I’ve followed have allowed me to try new things. And I hope it’s not the end for some of the poems I’ve written. From revision comes afterlife.

For today’s poem, I took the “dead end” prompt at Poetic Asides and combined it with This Is Not A Literary Journal’s suggestion to write a poem to a place you’ve never been.

 

Addressing the Road

 

The mystery is too inviting,

so we choose you, trackless road

with your shadowy mouth,

and moss-coated branches

that crook and join

their sisters on the other side.

And we do hear the crows calling

deadend deadend deadend, but

crafty as they are, what do they

know about adventure?

It’s a gamble, we know, but

we’ll take our chances, road.

We’ll know when

we’ve found the place.

We’ll hear it in the swish of leaves,

whispering, where you end

is where you start.

 

The NaPoWriMo site has been celebrating poets in translation all month long. It’s been wonderful discovering the work of poets who write from a voice and experience outside the North American one I’m so often exposed to. And it’s been a great reminder that the best poets create images that are universal. Because it’s “the end” of the PAD journey for this year, I was reminded of this stellar poem “After a Death” by Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer.

And a final note: to anyone who’s read even one of my posts this month, thank you so very much. I’ve been writing all month to stretch my own poetic muscles, and posting to keep myself on track, but to know there are readers out there who’ve joined me in the experiment is extra sweet icing on the cake.

PAD Challenge – Day 29

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Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt asked for an “I remember” poem, in the vein of poet and artist Joe Brainard’s book-length poetic memoir I Remember. This Is Not A Literary Journal asked for another “word salad” prompt incorporating a list of random words. I decided to write a memory sentence for each word, to see if any theme emerged. I had twelve meandering memories, that I then pared down to this, using the words pocket, weep and lump from the list. I don’t think it’s complete yet, but it was an interesting exercise. I might even be able to grow other poems out of the discarded memories.

I Remember

 

The brushed velvet softness

of the crumpled tissues

my Mom pulled from her coat pocket.

 

Once, I watched her weep without a sound,

after the call about the suicide, and wondered

how the deepest pains could be the quietest.

 

Later that year, visiting my uncle’s farm,

I poked a lump of hard dirt with a stick,

and stood rapt as dozens of sow bugs

erupted from its core.

PAD Challenge – Day 28

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The end of the poem-a-day challenge is near, and I realize I’ve been avoiding the “form” prompts all month. So today I decided to give it a go, combining the tritina challenge at This Is Not A Literary Journal with the Poetic Asides suggestion to write an “Important ______ ” poem. Got a little sappy with this one, as is often the case in my first drafts, but in the spirit of the PAD challenge, I’m posting it anyway.

 

Important Moments in History

 

Starting small in a city so big,

bachelor suite, in a muddle of buildings that blocked the sun.

My hand-carved table and your vintage Pepsi cooler, sharing the room.

 

From the dirty window of the hospital room,

you looked for proof of something this big.

A photo of the rising sun.

 

We bulged like the sun,

finding ways to make a little more room.

The space a child fills is infinitely big.

 

This house isn’t big, but there’s sun in every room.

 

 

Today’s emphasis on what’s important reminded me of the wonderful, tongue-in-cheek poem, simply titled “Poetry” by Marianne Moore.