I have eaten
the pistachios
that were in
the cabinet
and which
you were probably
saving
for quarantine snacks
Forgive met
they were satisfying
so crunchy
and so salty
Another nod to William Carlos Williams!
Tag Archives: poetry
This is Just to Say
I have used
the toilet paper
that was in
the bathroom
and which
you were probably
saving
for lockdown
Forgive me
it was necessary
so soft
and so clean
This is a nod to William Carlos Williams and his poem called “This is Just to Say.” You may know it as the plum poem.
How to Write a Poem
Day One — National Poetry Writing Month http://www.napowrimo.net/
“For our first (optional) prompt, let’s take our cue from O’Neil’s poem, and write poems that provide the reader with instructions on how to do something. It can be a sort of recipe, like O’Neil’s poem. Or you could try to play on the notorious unreliability of instructional manuals (if you’ve ever tried to put IKEA furniture together, you know what I mean). You could even write a dis-instruction poem, that tells the reader how not to do something. Happy writing!”
How to Write a Poem
Sit down.
Scribble ideas.
Scratch the surface—
Pen to paper.
Miss the mark.
Pause.
Stand up.
Walk away.
Go outside.
Rake leaves.
Talk to neighbors—
Witty exchanges,
Clever words,
Flowing.
Remind yourself
That you
Were searching
For meaningful words.
Go inside,
Return to task—
Poem-planning.
Dig deep
For expert expressions,
Figurative phrases,
That tell
A secret
Or celebrate something.
Try for a metaphor that
Falls flat,
Like a
Scanty simile.
Scratch.
Scratch it out.
Start again.
Stack short sayings
One upon another—
Expressions
That may
Topple over because
There
Is
No
Meaningful
Foundation
On
Which
The
Blether
Blather
Babble
Gabble
Prattle
Chatter
Jabber
Can
Stand.
Parcel
Today’s Napowrimo.Net prompt is to write a haibun, which combines prose and haiku.
Sliding out the side door, you step onto the deck to smell spring. Worn wood tells the tale of quiet days reading in the sun. Summer soon shows up. Before you set up the patio furniture, tulips have come and gone. Lilies crowd around each other comparing their outfits and gossiping. Before the sunburn cools, a brisk autumn breeze rustles the foliage and reminds you how quickly time flies.
Overfilled fire-pit
Branches, grass clippings, leaves and
No promise of s’mores.
Response to “Waiting”
The beautiful and brilliant Nikki Grimes wrote the following poem today:
While I know it was not about me, it hit home so hard. Hard. After crying, I put my warrior pen in hand and wrote this response:
Julie no longer plays into the big hand,
The heavy hand, the upper hand,
The hand that silences, shames, smacks.
She used to plead, “Pick me! Pick Me!”
In a rush, she’d cast her heart into pools of abandonment—
Pearls to swine, like clockwork.
They could count on her to bear the secrets,
The stains, the scarlet paragraphs and
Chapters that chronicled cries and crises.
But in the hour of need, past half the darkness
The second hand clicked into place. . .
Safe hands and second chances surfaced.
This is her day in the sun. Love won.
Flourishing, fostering freedom and hope,
Counting on truth—not time—to heal her wounds.
THE MAN WHO SEES THINGS
The Day 5 prompt from NaPoWriMo.net was a wild one. I clicked on each link and counted to 23 in order to randomly select the image and the poem. This is what I found:
DE GEBRUIKER VAN DIT LICHAAM
Vliegangst is het scherpste protest tegen CO2: thuisblijven en
pissen in de pompbak, gedistilleerd drinken tegen waterschaarste
schepje rijst per dag. Kluizenaar met wilde haren wist het
stilzitten is de beste bescherming tegen pijn. Blijf binnen.
pissen in de pompbak, gedistilleerd drinken tegen waterschaarste
schepje rijst per dag. Kluizenaar met wilde haren wist het
stilzitten is de beste bescherming tegen pijn. Blijf binnen.
Isolatie is het beste antwoord op hitte, kou, geluidsoverlast en
information overload. Keuzeverlamming wordt lifestyle. Gelukkig is
een leven niet groter dan het blikveld van een oude kat die zich
oppervlakkig ademend steeds kleiner oprolt tot ze in zichzelf verdwijnt.
Kluizenaar vergist zich. Een lichaam kan niet niet bewegen
altijd pompter iets in rond: verlangen, verlangen en lucht. Sterven is
stilstand is sterven maar zelfs na het zwijgen van de pompen
het verteren van de cellen het verkleuren van de huid
het verteren van de cellen het verkleuren van de huid
zelfs binnen het dode lijf is er geen stilstand: sterrenstof werd kind
werd kluizenaar wordt sterrenstof wordt opgevreten, meegedragen
laat los, waait steeds verder van de kern, maar waait, beweegt.
-Runa Svetlikova
THE MAN WHO SEES THINGS
Some say that he is a ghost—man who is spirit, or at least
a man who knows his spirits well. His boozy breath gets
worse through the evenings when his mind needs escape
from the desperate darkness troubling his bones. Sadness.
He moves through town quietly, a nod, a smirk, a chortle
when he eyes someone eyeing him. Aye, to see him
is to question everything—humanity, peace, poverty, power.
He holds these things with fingerless gloves and grace.
He holds these things with fingerless gloves and grace.
Rumors tell of a riches to rags route, a journey he will
confirm and deny with a shrug of his shoulders. Chin tilted
sideways, he turns the other cheek while gazing at
the infinite above us. He sees things that we don’t.
I want to know and understand as he does. What wisdom, what
freedom, what calm he seems to know; while I am more familiar
with clean clothes, new car smell, bills, anxiety, and fear.
Dr. King Reminder
On this fourth day of NaPoWriMo I felt compelled to nod to Maya Angelou (it would have been her 90th birthday) and to acknowledge the atrocious assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (50 years ago). I decided to write a Golden Shovel poem using three lines from Maya Angelou’s poem “Abundant Faith.”
These times of born again fear
Remind us that justice is not
Yet available for all. We’ve
Witnessed brutality as our brothers come
Under fire—happens to our sisters too.
Hasn’t this gone too far?
Fifty years ago Dr. King reminded us to
Persevere, “We aren’t going to let dogs or water hoses turn
Us around.” We shall not wallow in despair. We must go back
To that Dream. We
Must go back to the truths that are
Self-evident. It is time for equity. We shall walk together, not
Alone. Free and empowered—no longer afraid.
Brothers and sisters, your lives matter and
It is time to join hands as we
Sing together, work together, pray together. We shall
hear freedom ring and see love overcome.
Warning
For Day 3 of NaPoWriMo I decided to do my own thing. This is based on Langston Hughes’ poem “Harlem” which can be found at Poetry Foundation.
What happens to a voice unheard?
Does it get lodged
Like popcorn kernels behind a tonsil?
Or deflate like a tire—
And then collapse?
Does it smell like singed hair?
Or bubble and fizz—
Like a chemical reaction?
Maybe it just whispers
Like cotton in one’s ears.
Or does it scream?
After Words
Your radiant words—
Shiny, glowing, and full of promise—
Fool me not.
I have witnessed the way
Your warped lies wiggle
Like worms into dark soil.
You speak of liberty,
But captivating chatter rings hollow.
You are fluent in the language of the Oppressor.
Your rancid words—
Slimy, groping, and full of poison—
Fooled me before.
-Day Two of http://www.napowrimo.net
Pectin
It’s Day One of National Poetry Writing Month and . . .
I’m
Eating
Jellybeans—
Orange, black, red, green—
Sweet, waxy, non-vegan, non-toxic joy.
Today, I chose a short and sweet style of poetry from https://www.youngwriters.co.uk/types-tetractys:
A tetractys consists of 5 lines, each line has a set number of syllables see below:
Line 1 – 1 syllable
Line 2 – 2 syllables
Line 3 – 3 syllables
Line 4 – 4 syllables
Line 5 – 10 syllables
From the NaPoWriMo.net site:
And last but not least, here is our (optional, as always) prompt for the day. It’s based off of Lauren Russell’s collaborative poetry exercise. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that is based on a secret shame, or a secret pleasure. It could be eating too many cookies, or bad movies, or the time you told your sister she could totally brush her teeth with soap. It’s up to you. Happy writing!
The Read-e-ologist 