PAD Challenge - Day 14

Yesterday's poems were quite heavy handed I think. I enjoy writing lighter poetry than dealing with the big issues like love and hate.

Day 14 prompt - Write a poem with the title "_____ island"

Make me an Island

If I show up to work with a paper cup

with a white, plastic top,

don't be deceived!

I've been drinking caffeine!

In five minutes I'll tell you

all the wonderful things I know.

In ten minutes I'll be crabby.

In thirty my mood will be rainy.

If you see me chug like a CEO,

Beware!

You should quickly make me

Into an island, isolated, bare,

So I can spin and quirk on my own

without igniting anything.

PAD Challenge - Day 13

Hi everyone!

The prompt for today was quite challenging for me. Hope it helps you crank out some great poems.

Two prompts for today: Write a love poem, or write an anti-love poem.

Love poem:

I'm just sayin'...

At the risk of being lumped in

with hippies, evangelists, and scammers,

scary people, bad romance novels,

emotionals, sentimentals, and broken records,

country songs, greeting card companies,

fiery preachers and little sisters everywhere,

I want to tell you,

it's okay to fall in love with

something that makes you feel

like you're crazy for believing in it.

It's okay to take a leap of faith

even when you're scared to death.

It's okay to think that maybe the whole

Jesus thing is interesting enough to check out.

I'm just sayin'

He's available anytime if you want to talk.

Anti-love poem:

I, Fear

I'll keep you busy for years
trying to find freedom.
I planted the idea in your head
years ago that your freedom was
in danger and you had to be vigilant
to protect it.

Now you're huddled in a corner
holding freedom to your breast
like a little child,
gun trained on any threat, keeping
constant watch. You are more diligent
Than I had hoped for.

You're afraid of everything now.
Afraid to get a job because
It takes away your freedom.
Afraid to join a religion,
Afraid to commit to responsibility.
Yes, you've been more vigilant than I'd hoped.

I've got you so busy shooting at
doors of opportunity
that you don't even know
love is knocking at several of them.

Raise your gun, keep it steady.
Here's some more amo.
Don't let those doors swing open.
Protect your freedom from love
at all costs.
Keep my sworn enemy at bay
and I will give you what you need
to fight forever.

You and me, we can go far with your freedom.
We'll be here in this corner for years
doing nothing but shooting
at those Wiley opportunities to love.

PAD Challenge - Days 10, 11, 12

Day 10 - Write a horror poem or a poem somehow linked to scarriness.

Winter and Peanut Butter

Peanut butter crusted hands

Try to run through my hair.

I wince, squinting, trapping the hair

that's static-plastered to my eyes

inside my eye-lids.

My hair clings to the side of my face

And across my dry-cracking lips.

My lips sting as I try to lick them,

But the hair gets caught on my tongue

And drawn back in with it.

A few more tummy-curdling lurches

and it's worked its way down my throat.

My throat which itches and tickles

To cough, but to cough I suck in,

Drawing the hair longer into me.

Long, thin and dry tentacles

Scratch at me inside and I can't get them out.

Sticky hands grab the violating stalk

And pull it out, making my throat

Feel like a scab picked off.

My eyes water as I brush the hair

From my face with my parched hands.

It renews its attack and clings even more

Until I've finally had enough.

Tomorrow, the peanut butter's being thrown out.

Tomorrow, I'm getting a hair cut.

Tomorrow, I'm using conditioner.

Tomorrow, I'm wearing sunglasses because

when the sticky hands pulled the hair

out of my mouth and face,

the strands trapped under my eyelid

whipped across my cornea and gave me

a paper cut on the eyeball.

Day 11 - Make the title of the poem "The Last _____"

The Last Printing

No more wasting trees or recycling reams.

We all have electronics now.

I'm in charge of printing the last piece

of paper that will ever be printed on.

The paper will say something official about the event.

Paper is now outlawed unless you have a permit

for things like Origami and Scherenschnitte.

Cameras and Reporters are circled around

and Earth activists are cheering across the country.

Someone has started a printer-bonfire.

In the years to come, there will be gifts,

expensive gifts of paper acquired from

businesses with permits specifically designed

to produce economy-friendly mementos of the past.

The Last Printing is framed and has an image

of the American Flag. It sits in a glass cage

in between a cuneiform tablet and one of those

pesky little cell phones we used to carry.

Day 12 - Pick a city and make that the title of your poem.

Winona

Skeptical about having to spend gas to drive

all the way to Winona for a job interview.

A job that might not work out and we might not

be happy with, my fiance and I started off with headaches.

As soon as we hit the town, we knew

we wanted to live there, would take any job,

would move in an instant.

It was in a valley, with quaintness

wrapped all the way around a lake,

and a train that ran alongside us

as if we were part of someone's model train show.

So far away from everyone and everything

we had generally known. But the job

plus the beauty could make everything turn out.

But in the end we only had half of that equation.

PAD Challenge - Days 8 & 9

Oops! I missed a day! Sorry 'bout that. Two for one this post!

Day 8 - Choose a tool, make it the title of your poem, and write.

Ladder

I can’t get over how endearing they are.

Sturdy, underneath me,

at the times when changes were being made.

When the walls were changing color,

when mistakes and broken boards

were being fixed,

when life was covered in dust and chaos

the ladder stood solid underneath me.

Supporting familiarity

Mixed with the odd creative feeling

Of painting, even though painting white walls

Requires no creativity at all,

Makes me regard it as a friend

Who always wants to do something together.

Even if its just being propped up against the house

And I stand on the topmost sticker that says

“Not a step”

just to feel the breeze sway me gently.

Day 9 - Artists do self-portraits all the time to gain artistic perspective about the human face. Poets are word artsits, so write a poem about yourself.

Self-portrait

The woman-girl poses like a Vermeer

Staring out the window,

Not knowing her hooked nose and

Sharp cheek bones make her look

Like the witch from Narnia.

Her regal head drops on her hand

Forgetting all proper posture

While imagining things outside.

Her other hand is paused on the keyboard

That she’s supposed to be typing on.

Blonde hair that could be full

If she brushed it flows around her shoulders

A little scraggly.

With shrewd features and a little mirth in the eyes

No one knows what to make of her

Except that she’s there.

PAD Challenge - Day 7

Prompt for today: Write a poem with the title "Until ____".

Until The Guests Leave

Until the guests leave,

there's no telling

What will happen.

A goblet could chip or crack.

I might say something stupid

Or hear something stupid.

The wife could undermine our marriage,

Or the husband start an argument.

These are touchy people.

Anything might happen.

Until the guests leave,

I watch the trinkets closely.

Was that antique teacup moved?

Did someone touch the TV screen

With greasy fingers?

Until the guests leave,

I think if I uncross my legs

They won't consider me lady-like.

Until the guests leave,

I have to keep brushing that pesky strand

Of hair out of my face.

I'm sitting straight as can be,

smiling, looking directly, friendly,

at whoever is talking.

Someone made a joke.

I don't know what it was,

I was too busy counting the cookies

out the corner of my eye

Making sure we wouldn't run out

And seeing if there were enough

for me to take one more.

I laugh along with them,

certain that's what I would have done

If I had been paying attention.

But don't laugh too long.

I don't know how funny it actually was.

I reach for a cookie.

So does the husband. No problem.

There will still be enough

If my husband and the other wife want one.

But he takes two!

The cookie is already in my hand.

There's not enough for everyone.

I can't put it back. I can't eat it.

They might think I'm a greedy hostess.

I put it on a napkin

And set it on my husband's knee.

Now if he wants one, there's enough.

Until the guests leave,

I must ignore my aching back.

I can't adjust. Don't want to draw attention.

Until the guests leave,

I keep blinking as a way

To keep me occupied, counting the blinks.

No! Stop that! They'll see.

They'll think something's wrong with my eye.

Do you know how hard it is

To keep from blinking once you're aware of it?

I know, because the guests won't leave!

I think the conversation

Is getting a little too intense.

I need to cause something to happen.

I stand up, hoping it will signal to them

That one of us is tired,

And they should call it a night.

I don't even know what they're talking about.

I begin to clean up from supper.

The wife comes and gives me a hand.

At last! Things are starting to wrap up.

But it takes four hours to get them out the door.

I slump in the living room,

Legs straight out, back bent.

Hair hanging in my face,

And scratching all the little itches

That've been bugging me all night.

I couldn't scratch them and be rude

Until the guests left.

PAD challenge - Day 6

Because of the unique format of the poetry prompt today, I strongly suggest you head over to Robert Brewer's blog if you're into the whole prompt thing.

Prompt for the day - Write an Ekphrastic poem (looks like an Elephant sneezed on my keyboard, doesn't it?)

An Ekphrastic poem is one that is based off of or centered around or describes, etc. a non-literary work of art. So paintings, sculptures, etc. If you choose a visual piece other than what Robert posted, please feel free to post a link to it in the comments.

I chose one of the ones that Robert posted: Flying Witches.

I was dumb enough to imagine flying.

I was mad enough to imagine weightless flight.

I was blind enough to think it was possible.

The light intruded on my imagination,

Trying to banish the witches flying above me

As I imagined them lifting me up, up into bliss.

The witches turned their back on the light

And we went right on imagining.

Now as I crawl into my space suit and prepare

To be launched towards the moon

I see the wizards and witches working last minute

Details on the spacecraft. They are scientists

Who were dumb enough to imagine flying.

Mad enough to imagine weightless flight.

Blind enough to think it was possible.

Here I go. They are lifting me up again.

(Note: No, I don't advocate witch craft. The witches in the painting represent imagination and at the time of the painting, it was thought that imagining impossible things was a sign of madness, blindness, and dumbness. So while I would rather imagination be represented by something other than witches, I'm still an advocate of people using their imaginations.)

Here's a prompt from my own mind, if it helps you think of what to write:

Write a poem about plastic. It's many uses, its annoying habit of melting when you accidentally put it on a hot stove, whatever. I'll be thinking about this one and will try to post a poem about plastic in the comments. Have fun writing!

April PAD Challenge - Day 5

Happy Easter!

I didn't get a chance to post 'cause of the holiday, so now I'll play catch up. Feel free to submit your poems from previous days on any blog post in April.

The source of the daily prompts can be found here at Poetic Asides.

Day 2 - Write a 'water' poem, or poem with water in it.

(Note: This poem is meant to be read out loud. I originally had all sorts of marks indicating tone and breath but decided it was too hard to make them appear here. Maybe someday I'll get around to recording it, but for now, just realize its not your traditional poem.)

Coming Home After

Ferdinand Magellan was a maritime sailor in 1521.

He started the first successful attempt to

Circumnavigate the earth.

Circumnavigate, as you might know, means to go all the way around

And come back.

He was looking for a way to get to spices, to get ahead, find his niche in the economy.

But...

He didn't come back.

There was a battle in the Philippines and he died.

But his crew took up the slack,

took leadership and came back.

They finished the voyage and when they came home,

only 18 of the 227 men, strong good men

Met their children at the dock,

Lay with their wives that night,

Rejoiced at seeing familiar sights

After an unsure journey.

And I, a Minnesota College student in 2008,

started her first attempt to circumnavigate the drain.

I thought I knew what truth meant and was

Sure I could stand up to any professor,

Any digressor,

And shine like no one had seen before.

Like Magellan, I wanted a faster route to a happier life.

And as I sat in my lectures, feet on the floor,

edge of my seat,

mind an open door, beat-

ing as if it had its own heart...

Right from the start

Truth: became fiction.

Love: became diction and not passion.

There was no conviction.

My life began circling the drain.

Caught like a ship in a maelstrom,

Like a bug in a toilet bowl,

Like what mindlessness does

to the soul,

How the Earth soaks up rain.

And you know what I learned?

I died. In too many battles against foreign thoughts,

Even when I ought

To have given up I didn't and fell defending.

The 227 men inside me pulled on the ropes, and rigged the rigging.

I found the strongest parts of me were left behind.

Those who chose to fight and stave off the enemy

Stayed behind and --

Continue to sentry

The wary passages in my mind.

But I did come back.

The Magellan in me left and died,

But there was a remnant that carried on:

and it wasn't the parts I thought.

Only 18 came home, came back.

But I'm sure as they unloaded the ship that night,

Under a starry dome,

Safe from the deranged,

Walked around the town, met families and friends,

They didn't say they were home.

They said they were changed.

Day 3 - Write a poem with the title "Partly _______ "

I got this prompt mixed up in my head and instead wrote a poem titled "Probably ____". I suppose Partly could work just as well here.

Partly Special

I was handed an emerald box
By a talking badger in the woods.
I'm the secret heir to a throne and
I have ridiculously gorgeous hair.
I was sent on a quest to save some people
And I'm also wondering how to find my identity.

The emerald box contains the answer
To all of my problems.
But only if I know how to use it.
You might pass me by on the street,
But you should know I'm the kind of stranger
Who is partly special.

Day 4 - Write a history poem.

The Murderer's Song

A finch sings from his cage in my room.

It's a beautiful song.

And yet I feel like ignoring him.

I dress, eat breakfast, then go back upstairs

For something I forgot.

As I pass by his cage, I finally sit down and listen

And forget that he was the bully who

Killed my three other birds.

I forget to fault him for his birdie instincts

And just listen.

Is he sorry? Is his song an attempt at atonement?

Or is it just another instinct, to sing when the sun is up?

His little birdie body ruffles with the last notes

And no matter his history,

I feel an impulse to forgive him.

Day 5 - Write a TMI poem (Too Much Information)

RT@TMI Plz stop

My friend just ate a ham sandwich.

I know 'cause she posted a tweed.

Poetic perspective? Or Petty collective?

Whatever. It took seconds to read.