Express

This prompt took some time. I finally had to just apply myself and begin typing words to make the ideas gel. But we are more than halfway through poetry month!

The prompt was to write an express poem. ^_^ Here goes:

Poets Express

The World English Dictionary says
that when one expresses something,
one transforms (ideas) into words.

That is the best way of saying
just what it is we do
when we express ourselves
in poetry.

In April, when we challenge
ourselves, reapply for our
poetic licence,
and inundate our blogs
with self-expression,
wracking our brains for
just
the
right
words
we reaffirm our love
for those words and
their myriad meanings
embrace.

And via this information superhighway,
this expressway of expression,
we poets express our innermost
thoughts
dreams
ideas
memories
and cryptic ramblings
to the world;
that is when we
arrive on the fast train,
the Poets’ Express.

In the Company of ______

Wednesday poetry prompt 200! And though I cannot claim to have done every one, I have done many, many of them!

Today we must write a poem beginning: In the Company of _____ – I have two here. One is perhaps more suited to Halloween, yet at the end of the year, it seems right somehow. The other is more of a wish to be better at this craft. ^_^

In the Company of the Undead

Dry bones, dusty and
acrid with the patina
and scent of
years long
gone.

They rattle as I move,
and I try not to move too much
so as not to disturb
their slumber,
though I am half-asleep
myself,
awake in only the most
subliminal sense.

Still, my mind is not asleep,
and I wonder if this,
this is the actual fate of those
with insomnia
and busy minds that are never still.
Is it my destiny to really
never
rest?
Ever?

I surely don’t belong here,
yet,
here I am,
surrounded by
the emptiness
and hollow sound
of me not breathing,
my heart not beating,
again trying to fit in
and not wake the rest
of the dead.

In the Company of My Betters

How can I explain? I feel
like a poser
at times.
And maybe somehow,
I figure
if I practice
a lot
and rub shoulders
with giants,
then, someday
maybe, with some hard work
and lots of inspiration,
I might be as fine
a poet
as you
talented people.

 

Answer

Today’s prompt was to write an answer poem. I came up with two, though the second one really took more time than I should have taken. Almost late to work today. ^_^

***

How Are You?

Everyone says “good,”
whether they really are
or not,
or “fine, just fine.”

And sometimes when I say
fine or good or whatever
I say
I am not really fine,
I am more
or less
or a combination of things
all at once
that cannot really be
answered in a single word,
not in a sentence,
nor a poem,
nor even a novel
at times.

So I say, “Fine,
I’m fine, thank you.
And you?”
***

Just Answer the Question

1 or 2?
A or B?
In or Out?
On or Off?
Yes or No?
Hit or Miss?
Wet or Dry?
Pale or Tan?
Pass or Fail?
Live or Die?
Hot or Cold?
Rent or Buy?
Land or Sea?
Up or Down?
Win or Lose?
Rich or Poor?
Love or Hate?
Day or Night?
Give or Take?
Laugh or Cry?
Work or Play?
Sun or Shade?
Jazz or Blues?
War or Peace?
Happy or Sad?
Coffee or Tea?
Young or Old?
Coke or Pepsi?
Soup or Salad?
Dead or Alive?
Lost or Found?
Vice or Virtue?
Dusk or Dawn?
Fact or Fiction?
North or South?
Black or White?
Try or Give Up?
Knit or Crochet?
Open or Closed?
Better or Worse?
Fight or Give In?
Hero or Coward?
Grass or Garden?
Hope or Despair?
Noise or Silence?
Lunch or Dinner?
Tough or Tender?
Always or Never?
Holiday or Work?
Awake or Asleep?
Entree or Combo?
Common or Rare?
Dressed or Naked?
Interesting or Dull?
Car or Motorcycle?
Formal or Informal?
Brave or Frightened?
At Home or Abroad?
Breakfast or Brunch?
Locked or Unlocked?
Pancakes or Waffles?
Talk Radio or Music?
Chocolate or Vanilla?
Compact or Mid-size?
Arrivals or Departures?
Fiction or Non-Fiction?
Sweet or Unsweetened?
Half-Empty or Half-Full?
Come In or Do Not Disturb?
Condominium or Apartment?
Morning Person or Night Owl?
Upside-down or Right-side-up?
Clockwise or Counterclockwise?

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Poetry

Escape

High-tech life

Pressure rife

Filled with strife

Need a break

My escape:

Cooper’sLake

Back in time

Past sublime

Temperate clime

Minstrels sing

Armor rings

Heart takes wing

Day’s bazaars

Battlescars

Night with stars

Chivalry

Revelry

Courtesy

Reminisce

What I miss:

Pennsic bliss

(For those of you unfamiliar with Pennsic War, it is the largest event of the year in the Society for Creative Anachronism, or SCA, which is held every year in late July/early August. For more information about the SCA, go to www.sca.org. For more information on Pennsic, go to www.pennsicwar.org)

Wednesday Poetry

Today’s prompt was to write a poem about a sound.

 

The Smallest of Noises Communicates Much

A sigh, a rustle of sheets
I feel you reaching out
though I’m half asleep
and answer 
by holding your hand
in the dark.


Nascence

Something happens
when you write a poem
and then
add music.

A song is something more
and less
than a poem.

A poem is more pure,
simply words
telling feelings 
sharing the human
experience.

A song is less about
the words, 
although 
a clever phrase 
can make a song
almost sing itself.

And there is a heady moment,
Very like the feeling 
Of a first kiss,
when you know 
you really have something.

Wednesday Poetry

The poetry prompt comes from Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer. If you want to try the prompt, go for it! Just go to the prompt of the day, go to comments, and put your poem up! It’s fun and the people there are very encouraging!

The prompt today was “Serious” (Seriously.)

Uniformed

Open-ended conversation
Asked a stranger’s place and station
Found a soldier to the bone
Often traveled far from home.

Many hours we spent talking
On the bus and later walking
About the world that he has traveled
And his soul, which came unraveled

When in war zones far away
Prompting him to leave one day
Though he took the uniform off,
It wears him still.

***

Ambush

Yes, I am running late, again.
And yes, I still haven’t had
any breakfast
or coffee.

Yes, I know I’m behind on filing
And yes, I promise to get
to that dictation
still waiting.

But then

a call comes in
and someone’s child
has died.

My boss’s son
has just
passed away
on the operating table.
A minor surgery.
Nothing extensive
or scary.

And all of the minor
crazy
trivial
things
that made up my morning
are so ridiculously
insignificant now.

And all we can do
is cry.

Strange how death
can take us by surprise.
An awful ambush
of the worst kind
that changes one’s entire world
forever.

 

Wednesday Poetry Prompt – May 25, 2011

The poetry prompt comes from Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer. If you want to try the prompt, go for it! Just go to the prompt of the day, go to comments, and put your poem up! It’s fun and the people there are very encouraging!

The prompt today is “Priorities.”

Writing

A page a day?
You can do better than that.
But the pressure
of a page
every
day
makes it much more
difficult
to come up with prose.

On the other hand,
if I let myself
(my imagination)
run wild
and write as much as I want
as often as I can
sometimes
I have
a fifty-page
day.

Bitterroot

As your daughter,
I wanted to be
part of your life.

Of course I did, I loved you.

But you were full of fear
or pain
that you hid behind,
telling us kids:

“It hurts too much
to see you, and not
get to keep you.”

I try to imagine your pain.

How can it compare with
the pain of a child
with no anchor?

No father in the audience
at recitals and plays.

No father at home wanting
to interview her dates.

No father for the
father/daughter dance
at her wedding?

Instead,
I find myself
on the sidelines.
Hearing about you
from others; witnesses to your
life. They know you, I don’t.
I hear them say, “Wow, you
look just like your dad!”

and

“He loved you so much.”

Really? How can you tell?
I want to yell at them,
scream that he was not the man
they thought he was,
the man who raised my
stepmother’s children
so lovingly.

Writers write

Someone was telling me the other day that they would be the best writer, if only they could find the time in their busy day. And of course, what can one say? I can’t give anyone else motivation, I can’t tell them that they’re delusional. (Well, they are, but were I to say that, would they hear me?)

The thing is, writers write. It’s not so much of a finding-the-time thing as a you-can’t-make-me-stop thing, at least for me. Put me in front of a computer, and if I’m not at my job, I get sucked in to my own world and can’t help but write. Sometimes, it’s not so much what, just that I can’t seem to stop myself from finding words to put down.

For instance, I’m no poet, though I really enjoy poetry and the clever ways people put words together to make a poem. Yet I write poems, none of them as wise or clever as I want them to be, they mostly end up being just prose, words that fit together and express a thought. And though I can do poetic forms, I don’t excel at it, and though I enjoy it, there are so many others who are really, really poets. Their words just make magic happen and it is wonderful.

Yet I can’t help myself but to try. Given a challenge, I feel like I am at least keeping my hand in, and somehow that has got to make me a better writer.

Put me in front of a blank screen and the words flow out. I really don’t get the idea of writer’s block as the fear of a white page, because it’s there, waiting to be used, just go! Write! Do it! Usually, after the first gush of story is out, the problem is more too many words, and editing is my friend.

So when people ask me how I find the time to write, I can’t help but wonder how they don’t find the time; there is no explaining it, except to say: writers write.

Wednesday Poetry Prompt

The Prompt today was “Telling it like it is”

(The prompt is from the Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer website, which hosts a weekly poetry prompt. In fact, in April and November, there are whole poetry MONTHS but that is another post for another day.)

And my poem today is:

People I’ll Never Stop Loving

They probably know who they are
mostly.
But how can I give someone
a piece of myself
for years at a time
and then
never think about them again?

Never worry that they’re
eating their vegetables
or driving safely
or practicing
safe sex?

Never worry that they’re
paying their bills on time
or wearing a coat
or sunscreen?

Never worry that they’re
getting regular checkups
or taking their vitamins
or having that crazy
mole checked?

I can’t do that.
I can’t just stop caring
though I may not
always
stay in touch,
I always wonder
and pray
that they are all
okay.

Oops. I wrote another poem today, and it seemed to fit even though it’s written for my friend Elaine.

Do I?

Do I really want to know
how the women in your life
come and go and come and go?

When you asked me just today
for help in choosing the next
woman in a long array

of women, none of them me,
though you promise it’s really
true, and it is me you see,

what can I do but throw up
my hands and just walk away
and think about and size up

the way our stupid friendship
or maybe relationship
has gone. I’ll just get a grip;

I’ll give you good advice and
though the pain is sharp and hard
I’ll somehow, someway withstand

you.