Both short on time and inspiration today, but tried to work the 30/30 prompt “dystopic diagram” into a micro.
apocalypse sketch a large circle in the dirt we trace for answers
PAD 2021 – Day 16
poetry month
PAD 2021 – Day 15
Today I took inspiration from the Writer’s Digest prompt to write a poem with a “_________ Story” title, and the NaPoWriMo.net prompt from Juan Martinez. It asks you to think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents, and then to write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit, before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit.
Kitchen Story She moved through the small space too quickly for me to keep track of her hands, mother magician with a whisk for a wand, tea towel for a cape, throwing the threadbare plaid cloth over her shoulder with a flourish when concentration was at its highest. I feel it now too, the furrowed expression of attentiveness on my face, a meditation almost, kitchen work. Poring over a recipe, looking for the unwritten instructions that will make for a close imitation, if never as good as hers. The way, I too, wipe my hands, then throw the towel across my left shoulder, as though the ritual will result in big reveal: here she is! Again, all along.
PAD 2021 – Day 14
Today I used the NaPoWriMo.net prompt calling for a poem that delves into the meaning of your first or last name. The example was this poem by Mark Wunderlich, appropriately titled “Wunderlich.” I went in a different direction, after finding some meanings of my surname, Mannix, here and here.
Name this green field after a rainstorm, the way the clouds cast shadows over a treeless meadow. Call the first blooming daisy little monk, for the way it lifts its face to the sky, gathers sun like faith. Mark your place on a well-worn path with the letter X, crossed sticks or the stems of two dandelions, so when the next traveller comes along, O' Mainichin or MacNeice, they will see something familiar in the inscription, knowledge that though the sounds may vary, over the course of one life or generations, something simple connects us to this place. Both as important and as plain as a blue pen, signing us into history.
PAD 2021 – Day 13
A quick snippet to go with the 30/30 prompt “ambiguous sunrise.”
Window Gazing All this waiting asking wishing yearning is exhausting. Sometimes it’s as simple as believing it’s there even without a clear view.
PAD 2021 – Day 12
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
PAD 2021 – Day 11
Working from two prompts today: the Writer’s Digest challenge to write a poem including a prime number, and the vague but interesting 30/30 prompt, “tomorrow today.” Apologies for sappiness, but that’s the way I get about my kids.
At Eleven Our heads are together and I can smell citrus shampoo in her still-damp hair, toothpaste on her breath when she tells me I’m worried about growing up. I know it’s not so-much the body she inhabits, the lengthening limbs and widening nose, that brings on this mental weight, but the bigger world. The thing I have no explanation for. The thing I too feel the press of, and understand that at eleven, she can already sense the goodness of childhood sullying, the way a frenzy of expanding bubbles start to pop and fade the minute the water stops. Inevitable slide into something new, that will contain so much greatness, yes, but also expose harsher truths. Tomorrow things, seen without sheen or shadow disguise. I cannot admit that I too worry about her growing up, not because I lack faith in her, but because I know it’s harder to walk once you notice what you’re carrying. And I want to shoulder it for her as long as I possibly can.
PAD 2021 – Day 10
Today’s poem is still twisting a bit, so I’m not posting, but the prompt has some pretty cool potential. NaPoWriMo.net borrowed this prompt from poet Hoa Nguyen.
- First, find a song with which you are familiar – it could be a favorite song of yours, or one that just evokes memories of your past. Listen to the song and take notes as you do, without overthinking it or worrying about your notes making sense.
- Next, rifle through the objects in your junk drawer – or wherever you keep loose odds and ends that don’t have a place otherwise. On a separate page from your song-notes page, write about the objects in the drawer, for as long as you care to.
- Now, bring your two pages of notes together and write a poem that weaves together your ideas and observations from both pages.
My poem-in-progress takes notes from my messy drawer, my strange dreams last night and Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” which was playing in my brain when I woke up.
PAD 2021 – Day 9
I am not sure what I wrote today even qualifies as a poem, but it was a fun to write. The NaPoWriMo.net prompt called for a poem in the form of a “to-do list.” The suggestion was to make it a “to-do list” of an unusual person or character. For example, what’s on the Tooth Fairy’s to-do list? Or on the to-do list of Genghis Khan? Of a housefly? The list can be a mix of extremely boring things and wild things. For some reason, the first character I thought of was The Mothman.
Mothman’s Friday To-Dos Trim beard Do 50 sit ups Do 50 wing extensions Clean coffee pot Build bridge out of sugar cubes Knock it down File & paint claws Gather doom for later harbingering Dust bookshelves Remove thorns from feet Buy sunglasses Call Mom
PAD 2021 – Day 8
Today my poem took inspiration from the the League of Canadian Poets prompt to write a poem about what happens when you sleep, as well as today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt modeled on the 1915 book Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters. It asked for a poem in the form of a monologue delivered by someone who is dead. Not a famous person, necessarily – perhaps a remembered acquaintance from your childhood. The monologue doesn’t have to be a recounting of the person’s whole life, but could be a fictional remembering of some important moment, or statement of purpose or philosophy, with any degree of drama thrown in. I chose to write from the perspective of a cousin who contracted encephalitis from a mosquito, and died several years later, long before I was born.
Maryse Reiner To call is it sleeping sickness implies a certain serenity but I can tell you, from this side of my closed eyes, it was never true. Before all that I was praised for my black curls and round blue eyes, like a doll they’d say, never getting old enough to be noted for my keen math skills or the way I could run to the treehouse faster than my brothers and climb the ladder like a squirrel. I loved the colour yellow and the way my mother’s carrot cake tasted ¬ best on my birthday. I never had time for a real crush, or to really dream about what I’d do when I finished school, but I do know it would have been more than house and babies. I do know I would have danced, even through the reluctance and bone-ache of old age. I do know I would have gone to the lake every summer, stayed up for every sunset, shut my eyes to memorize the way the crimson and pink, the streaks of orange reflected on the water. Held the shades and shapes like a favourite painting, in my heart and behind my eyes, so I’d always have some place to go to in the dark.
PAD 2021 – Day 7
One week down!! Today’s seemingly simple prompt proved rather difficult for me. NaPoWriMo.net asked poets pick from or combine two kinds of short form poetry – the shadorma, and the Fib. The shadorma is a six-line, 26-syllable poem (or a stanza – you can write a poem that is made of multiple shadorma stanzas). The syllable count by line is 3/5/3/3/7/5. The Fib is a six-line form where the syllable count is based off the Fibonacci sequence of 1/1/2/3/5/8. You can link multiple Fibs together into a multi-stanza poem, or even start going backwards after your first six lines, with syllable counts of 8/5/3/2/1/1. I tried linking one of each, but haven’t landed on any sort of title.
There are pockets of darkness I never want to stop myself from dipping into. Like a tongue rubbing a raw cut on the gum, hoping that each twinge will be testimony or reason to be.
makes/me/so/digress 