I’m so grateful for our April and NaPoWriMo and everybody who writes and reads poems, and especially for Maureen’s prompts.
Not only does she provide daily examples of great poetry (I love today’s “Gentle Leader” by Lucy Schiller so much), but there hasn’t been a repeat of a prompt in the last four years, I believe. And today she will get new ideas from our poems since the challenge is…
Prompt 4: “I’d like to challenge you to write a poem . . . in the form of a poetry prompt.”
I love the finish of the last example poem by Mathias Svalina: “The camera clicks. And whatever the camera fails to see is the poem.” My life as a poetry prompt. Ah, look, got my title already.
My life as a poetry prompt Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem as an answer to one of these, or all: Why is it that she leads a writer’s life but then only writes that month of year? Who would vow to write a novel about a dog walk on which nothing happens? Will the poetic win over the factual? Will she learn how to invent so that it doesn't feel like lying? Will she be able to choose one thing without losing all the rest? Who told her that writing poetry is really asking life’s big questions? And why does she expect others will write poems to answer them for her?
The last day in my NaPoWriMo history
2018: Boulevard of Broken Bathrooms
How hard is it
to see life as a shaft
full of crocodiles
with their mouths wide open?
“The bathroom is broken again,” amid cussing. Choosing anger over sadness because it gives you tools to work with. (Read on.)
2019: Sad sonnet (click for doors) Sad Thursday. Great. Exactly what is needed. As if the stormy winds that threaten wildly to thwart our careful plans, to put it mildly, weren’t enough. Sad sonnet? I say: Bring it! The one to order sadness from me blindly has not been born yet, or with joy defeated. There is too much that’s wrong, sad, bad, mistreated, so take your gloom away and bug off kindly. It’s not denial. It’s anger. Thought pollution. I feel I’ve landed in a tear-jerk story. To be sad to a prompt is no solution. I’ll keep my colours, doors, hope, fun times, glory. Yes, optimism is new revolution. So let me hear you loudly say: We’re sorry.
2020: Running it
See how it runs: the story runs, the action runs, it’s full of aha moments, it’s poignant, it’s daring and it dares, it’s ripe and ready to reap awards, it’s world-changing, it’s life-turning (or is it the other way around?). (Read on.)
2021: Sub (click for more liminal spaces in photos) No. No. No… (Browsing Liminal Spaces.) This one. A suburban scene, empty of everything but time. Substandard in use, super nova in renovation. There were times when it lived but not now. Now it is closed, opening nothing but eyes. Suburban, substandard, subliminal.
This day in my blogging history
2014: How Fonzie found Bukowski (on the badge that I’d lost)