Here is another poem written last month in response to a 30/30 challenge prompt.
this round sun sits
golden in my hand
warm as a nesting bird
peachsoft with the summerripe
juices of dreams
Category Archives: Poetry
Prompted poetry: this round
Prompted poetry: out of luck
This is the second draft of something I wrote in response to a 30/30 prompt at the beginning of April. It’s more of a lark than anything, playing with words and form. Please let me know if it works.
it was a bad
run, being in the wrong
place at the wrong
time, up a tree or a creek
sans paddle, bush
whacked and ambushed at the end
of a long string we rode
into a box canyon and ran
Out of Luck
Posted in Poetry
Tagged bad luck, inverted poetry, prompted poetry, writing, writing practice, writing prompts
Brain worm: an untitled poem
This poem is such fluff that it doesn’t even get asterisks.
the man in the Charlemagne suit
waves me over
leans down when I draw
near and whispers
Have you by any
chance a can opener handy?
Along with my apologies I offer the following explanation for today’s poem: I misread the title of Steve Berry’s The Charlemagne Pursuit in passing and couldn’t get the mistaken phrase out of my head until I wrote this. I suppose that makes it more of an exorcism, really.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged bad poetry, Charlemagne, exorcism, Steve Berry, The Charlemagne Pursuit, writing, writing practice
Found poetry: Okavango
This passage from an article in Smithsonian Magazine just presented itself as a poem when I read it this morning. The article, “Into the Okavango Delta,” by Paul Theroux, is beautifully written, haunting and lyrical, and accompanied by lovely photographs. (Smithsonian, April 2013, p. 81)
On safari
past the cushions and the lounge
chairs, beyond the rails of the wide
platform, the lagoon on this reach of
the Okavango was dark and depthless-
seeming, in shadow as the sun set
behind it, but the slanting sun gilded
the reeds of the marsh and glittered
on the boughs of the acacia trees on what
looked like floating islands in the distance
– Paul Theroux, “Into the Okavango Delta,” Smithsonian, April 2013, p. 81
Posted in Poetry
Tagged found poetry, Okavango Delta, Paul Theroux, safari, Smithsonian Magazine
Prompted poetry: deeper than thoughts
A poetry teacher once suggested that untitled poems could be headed with asterisks. I’m okay with leaving untitled poems without a heading, but I realize the title does help signal when a poem begins. What do you think?
***
deeper than thoughts run
the roots of our actions
from fissures in the bedrock
they twine, the farthest reach
of their blind tendrils lost
to our knowing in the molten
mystery of our genesis
Posted in Poetry
Tagged bedrock, genesis, mystery, prompted poetry, roots, writing practice, writing prompts
Prompted poetry: getting old
This was a 30/30 poetry prompt from last week. Responses or suggestions welcome!
Wisdom of Age
I have passed the threshold of possiblity
crossed the event horizon from expanding
universe into collapsing singularity
where time folds in on itself and matter
condenses with crushing persistence far beyond
the point where life and hope
cease to exist
Posted in Poetry
Tagged aging, astrophysics, black holes, prompted poetry, writing prompts
Prompted poetry: promise
It’s time to pollute the blogosphere again with some of my poetic calisthenics. Please share responses and/or suggestions!
Flotsam of Fidelity
broken bits of promises lie
scattered on that futile
ocean whose treacherous bed
glitters with bones of wrecked
lovers forsworn in storms of deadly tedium
foundered in monotonous
habit of heart
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Workshop poetry: Tarot de Paris
Wednesday night I facilitated a writing workshop at the library, “Creative Writing with Tarot.” Sixteen of us sat down with pen and paper and let ourselves get creative, with tarot cards for inspiration.
During one of the three-card spread exercises, I came up with a short poem for each of the cards I drew from the Tarot de Paris.
The Veil
naked she stands above the moon
draped with light and her own
fragrant hair
The Sun
the king is a fool who thinks
he is a god
the king is dead
long live the king
Stallion of Air
the moon’s horse cleaves
the night with chalken
hooves, its crystal breath
an icy cloud
(All images from the Tarot de Paris by J. Philip Thomas.)
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