Tag Archives: poetry practice

30 in 30, September day one

Everything seems to shift in September. The angle of the sun is distinctly different, the amount of daylight is perfectly balanced, and the temperature and humidity become once again bearable. Everyone is in school and we can settle into a productive routine.

To that end, I’m setting myself a writing challenge for the month: produce 30 poems in 30 sept 2017 30-30days. This year’s NaPoWriMo was a terrific warm-up for Lexington Poetry Month, and I hope to use this month to do the same for NaNoWriMo in November (though I have no intention of working on a novel). I even created my own logo! 

So here is the first poem, a found poem from “Thinking Outside the Bots,” by Gary Shteyngart, in the June issue of Smithsonian Magazine (p. 80).

Seonbawi (Zen rock)

a weather-eroded rock formation that looks
like two robed monks, said to guard
the city – where women come to pray
for fertility, often laden with food
offerings for the spirits (Sun Chips seem to be in abundance
on the day I visit) the women bow and pray
intently – one young worshiper, in a thick puffy
jacket and a woolen cap, seems especially focused –
squarely in the center of her prayer
mat she has propped an iPhone

later I ask why – one tells me
the young woman was recording to prove
to her mother-in-law that she went to the fertility
rock and prayed for hours
another suggests that the phone belonged
to a friend – the woman is creating
a connection between the timeless and immortal
spirits and her childless
friend – this explanation I like the most

the young lady journeys from her city of 25 million to spend
hours on a mountain in the cold, promoting
her friend’s dreams, hands clasped
tightly in prayer: in front of her, a giant
timeless weather-beaten rock and a small
electronic device steer her gently
into the imperfect world to come

Found poetry: Anne Lamott

July imageThis passage is from the essay “This Dog’s Life,” in Anne Lamott’s book Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith (pp. 81-82).

Bumping up against it

you want to protect your child
from pain, and what you get instead is life,
and grace; and though theologians insist
that grace is freely given, the truth
is that sometimes you pay for it
through the nose.

More travel poetry

July imageHere’s another tidbit from our July journey. I fear I may have taken some liberties in it that I hope my fiber artist friends will forgive.

Roving

the sky is getting ready
to spin: see how she cards
the clouds on the teeth
of the ridgeline, drawing them out
in strong, straight lines

Travel poetry

July imageI’ve been off the grid for a few days, which has left me lots of time with pen and paper. This poem riffs on things I saw while traveling and does not necessarily reflect any actual geographic location.

city of bridges, you dangle from the neck
of the mainland by spider
webs and steel, a jewel on the breast of the bay
as it rises and falls, breathing
with the moon

Food poetry: Chinese takeout

July imageI should have taken a picture before we finished all the takeout, but alas! Thank goodness I have this coloring page to give you something nice to look at.

After dinner

we are the fortunate
cookies, we who were flat
but now curl
moonlike around thick
middles, cradling happy
advice and lucky numbers
in our crisp bellies

Trace poetry: D.H. Lawrence

July imageToday’s post is traced from D.H. Lawrence’s “Peace.” (Click here to see the source poem.)

Purpose

Purpose is waiting around the block
in coffee.

Purpose, creamy purpose dissolved.
My life will only find purpose
when the cafe opens.

Secret, penetrating coffee,
secret as rush hour traffic,
swimming like a lovelorn mallard up the river against the tide.

Buildings, parks, cars,
always in the soft haze of coffee.
Buses inches from the corner,
and the corner just yards away from the coffee shop.

Purpose dissolved in creamy coffee around the block.
Within, deep brown coffee, always with purpose
till it opens subtly, inviting the day;
to race always through veins,
warm creamy veins.

Call it Purpose?

Deranged poetry: Langston Hughes

July imageOne of the things I (re)discovered during Lexington Poetry Month this year is how much I enjoy playing around with poems. To capitalize on the momentum and habits I’ve built up in the last few weeks, I plan to continue writing and posting daily.

In support of those intentions, I found a lovely new graphic for the month of July. I didn’t have time to paint anything since yesterday, but my daughter gave me permission to use a coloring page she made this summer.

Today’s poem is a derangement of Langston Hughes’ “Blue Monday.” (Click here to read the source poem.)

Back to the grind

Down you get, surely. Monday,
blue and old, that down-you-get Monday
will deny you anything of use.

But Sunday and Saturday sport
that-a-way. Make it late, I’ve done ate,
and working to go

downtown now.

Day thirty poem: LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017Lexington Poetry Month is officially over, but I tried to drag it out a tiny bit longer by waiting to post my final poem until today. I suppose this means I have to come up with a new graphic. Maybe I’ll paint something…

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

The end

until the fat lady sings
until the last dog is dead
until we all go home
until lightning strikes
until I say so
until it’s over

it ain’t over

Day twenty-nine poem: LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017Here’s something inspired by today’s Picture Prompts, which I follow on Twitter (@pictureprompts).

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Deep aqua

The sun on the cliff is blinding
white, almost as bright as the sea
of sand that stretches to the hazy
horizon. The rusted steel

hull of a ship rests on its keel, offers
the only shade at noon. Did it reach
this land-locked harbor by sailing
over the oean-blue sky?

Day twenty-seven poem: LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017Here’s another exercise from Wingbeats II. It’s called a pojack, and it involves hijacking another poem. The victim of my effort is Emily Dickinson’s “A Man may make a Remark” (no. 952).

Click here to view the original poem.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

A wonder

A bear may make a waffle
in itself a marvelous thing
that may prove the source of enchantment
in hidden nature seen

Let us cook with skill
let us explore with love
mystery exists in the woods
before it exists on the stove