I already wrote a moon poem earlier this month, but to hold true to the poetic stereotype, I have more to say about it. Today I used the 30/30 prompt “concentration moon” to come up with a few quick micros.
meditate
on the full face
of a super moon
but still come up
ordinary
***
pandemic thoughts
like phases of the moon
wax wan new repeat
***
when I lose
the day’s light
I try to remember
that it’s yet held
by the moon
Using the 30/30 prompt “susurration” to build on a recent moment with my daughter.
There Will Be Gentle Things I miss normal she whispered to me as I rubbed a circle over her back, some kind of dial to move her toward sleep, toward an even quieter place than this darkened bedroom, where the hard edges and jagged ridges of the last year have dissolved into only soft S sounds, the small swish of two pages closing against one another.
A klutzy accident and unexpected trip to one of my most anxiety-inducing destinations today — the hospital ER — served as inspiration for today’s poems. I tried to incorporate the 30/30 prompt calling for an “anticipation” poem, and the League of Canadian Poets prompt asking for connected haiku.
hospital thoughts is the opposite of anticipation, anxiety? hum of the air vent its whirring does not drown out my pounding pulse nurse asks for pain scale but there is no number for stress we screen fevers not people, says the nurse bring purse to x-ray rolling stool worn at the edges like this nurse exam 1 tired woman says to daughter it will be ok
I used my local Stroll of Poets prompt today to come up with a poem that contains anaphora (deliberate repetition in the first part of the sentence), and combined it with the Poetic Asides prompt calling for a poem that includes nature.
Almost Normal
Normal, daily walk to check the mail,
the reluctant groan of the hinge on my front door,
the neighbour’s dog alert-barking at my movement.
Normal, the steady trickle of melt water,
crows cawing and soaring in a clear sky,
the shhhhhhh of leftover leaves rustling in a tree.
Normal, the teenager slapping a puck against his garage,
an older man raking his newly exposed lawn,
two small girls happy-screeching in a backyard.
Not normal, arriving at the mailbox,
staying two metres back while another woman collects her envelopes
fearing what else she, or the postal worker who delivered this, carry.
My poem today is still in process, so instead I’m posting it as a photo poem. Today I used the NaPoWriMo prompt to write a poem based on a “walking archive.” What’s that? Well, it’s when you go on a walk and gather up interesting thing – a flower, a strange piece of bark, a rock. This then becomes your “walking archive” – the physical instantiation of your walk. Because of current quarantine circumstances, I did an “around the house” item retrieval instead. My written poem will also incorporate the Poetic Asides call to include the words bump; embrace; fixture; howl; lonely; resolve.
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