Posted tagged ‘National Poetry Month’
April 17, 2010
On Plane (Forgot the Socks.)
A lot of traveling today and now I’m staying in a moldy, motel room. Agh. Sometimes when you are having trouble with inspiration, it’s best to turn to a traditional form like a sonnet. The form itself can help move you through the poem, getting you to something like completion. For more on the sonnet form, look in the poetry category from the ManicDDaily home page.
Flying
To be made love to in your head at thirty
thousand feet is a good way to relax,
at thirty thousand feet. Not truly flirty
or even dirty-minded; no attacks
on those around you, whose hands or chests or chins,
today, tend towards the pudgy in any case,
and, besides, are so pre-occupied with “in
flight entertainment” as to fully erase
your presence, as well as the close-up sky,
that dip of cloud and blue you’ve always loved, even so,
you don’t look either, but drift, as you fly,
through sinews, murmurs, even the after-glow
of a warmth that’s kindled only in your brain
(though you always wear wool socks upon a plane.)
Categories: poetry, writing exercises
Tags: 17th Day of National Poetry Month, elephant on plane, manicddaily, Manicddaily pencil drawing, ManicDDaily poetry, National Poetry Month, sonnet, sonnet re fantasies on air plane, sonnet re sexual fantasies
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April 16, 2010
New Yorker In a Car (Outside of New York)
Unfortunately, this 16th day of National Poetry Month was so busy I had little time to focus on much poetic. A good day, in short, for draft limericks!
I’m sorry to say that the limericks I did (which connect as one longer poem draft) have a fairly limited subject matter; they describe that feeling of “going to seed” which may descend on vacation, particularly a family vacation, in which normal exercise and eating routines are put to the side; this feeling may be particularly pronounced in the case of the peripatetic New Yorker.
The limerick form is five lines, with a rhyme scheme that is typically: A, A, b, b, A; with the first, second and fifth rhyming lines longer than the truncated couplet of the third and fourth lines.
Traveling New Yorker
There was an old gal from New York
who watched what she put on her fork;
still, outside the confines
of the Four and Five lines,
she felt herself turning to pork.
The thing is that life in the City
made her walk through the nit and the gritty,
while, whenever afar,
she traveled by car,
quite bad for the hips, more’s the pity.
So she worried, this gal from Manhattan,
as she felt herself fatten and fatten–
too many fast treats–
too many cheap eats–
and just about all came au gratin.
Oh, for her home—twenty blocks to a mile;
twenty steps too, till the average turnstile.
Sure, there was soot,
but she’d breathe it on foot.
Once back, she’d stay put for a while.
Categories: elephants, New York City, poetry, Uncategorized, writing exercises
Tags: Elephant drawing, elephant driving car, explanation of limerick form, getting fat limericks, limerick form, manicddaily, ManicDdaily drawing, ManicDDaily poetry, National Poetry Month, New York City, New York City subway, New York limerick, poetry, Poetry exercise, traveling New Yorker limerick, writing exercise
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April 15, 2010
Ah, Blue!
It’s the 15th day of National Poetry Month and also you know what. I started to write my daily draft poem about an idle tax day comment overheard at a Florida Starbucks, but then ended up working on a completely different draft poem, something a little closer to home.
Communion
What a gift it is to sit
with someone you love and not hear
about the body/blood, given/shed,
for your or anyone’s salvation,
redemption,
success/despair,
education, regeneration
in remembrance of.
What sweetness not to discuss
any house in any location,
great aunt or uncle,
small town or large,
teacher or outfit (with
or without peter pan collar,
ruffed cuff),
income or IQ;
patience so much more elusive than gratitude,
love task-like in its minutiae,
the sullenness of childhood a sharp stone
on memory lane.
Ah, the communion of the trivial shared right now,
the small square tile that bears a silent “e”,
the ace on the card table,
the deliciousness of breeze or scone.
I sit with my parents and paint.
Those who do not paint often
focus intently on
a carefully drawn petal or jagged blotch of sea.
Ah, blue; ah, green; ah, yellow.
Categories: parenting, poetry, writing exercises
Tags: 15th Day of National Poetry Month, Family communion poem, hanging out with parents poem, manicddaily, ManicDDaily poetry, ManicDDaily watercolor, National Poetry Month, painting poem, poetry, Poetry exercise, writing exercise
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April 13, 2010
Hot Room in Air-Conditioned House
It’s the thirteenth day of National Poetry Month and I got up at 3:45 a.m. for a flight down to Florida. As a result, I’ve focused on short poems, haiku, for my drafts of the day. (For those of you who have not been following this blog, I am honoring National Poetry Month by writing a draft poem a day.)
A classic haiku is seventeen syllables – five in the first line; seven in the second line, and five again in the third line. Some people (who put content ahead of form) do not abide by these syllabic rules. Given that a haiku is traditionally written in Japanese, this could probably be justified. However, because I tend towards the formal more than the meaningful, I try to keep my haiku to the seventeen syllable format. (Note– title doesn’t count, so it’s a good way to slip in a few more syllables.)
So here are a few haiku, written both in New York, pre-dawn trip to Florida, and after. Please remember they are all drafts, and are intended to inspire you to your own efforts (which are bound to be as good.)
Killer Frost (in Fortune Cookie Style)
Premature blossoms
bear no fruit. Let buds knot wood
till truly their time.
Lack of Sleep As A Cure for Depression
I’m finding, of late,
the ebullience of no sleep.
Regret fades at two.
Florida
Porched concrete like the
forced march of Bermuda grass
fends off ant and file.
Symmetric
Two coconuts hang
like velour dice from a frond.
Is this all just luck?
Airless Room
The hot room in an
air-conditioned house: vacuum-
sealed, energy-proof.
Nap
Middle of the day
sleep, warm breath thick and soft as
flesh; some manage it.
Pre-blossom Branch
Categories: elephants, poetry, writing exercises
Tags: 13th Day of National Poetry Month, ant and file, Florida Haiku, haiku, haiku form explanation, haiku re sleeplessness as cure for depression, Haiku re warm nap, manicddaily, ManicDDaily haiku, Manicddaily pencil drawing, ManicDDaily poetry, ManicDDaily watercolor, National Poetry Month, pencil drawing of resting elephant, poetry exercises, watercolor of spring branch
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April 11, 2010
Mermaid
A dear friend suggested the topic of mermaids for a poem. At first, I envisaged a poem about teenage girls diving into the surf on a tropical beach; but the poem that came out, a sonnet, was somewhat different. I send an apology in advance to my more mature (in spirit) readers who thought I was finally over my Robert Pattinson fixation.
Different Tastes in Mythical Creatures
Some go for vampires; they like the idea
of sharp but elegant pursuit, the notion
that they personally are the cup of tea
of the ruthless. Others look to the oceans,
scanning fantastic waves for a gleam of gleam,
twist of twist, the well-hipped curve of tail;
their magic’s found in the muscular seam
between breast and flipper, flesh and scale.
They love the submergence, dive to the unknown,
an elegance unclothed in its own wet skin,
Eve and the serpent combined, slicked hair let down,
the search for safety in the dare, plunge, swim.
Others—we’re too afraid to go in headfirst,
would rather wait, dryly, to slake another’s thirst.
For more on the mechanics on sonnets, check here.
Categories: poetry, writing exercises
Tags: 11th day of National Poetry Month, manicddaily, ManicDDaily poem, ManicDDaily watercolor, mermaid and vampire poem, Mermaid and vampire sonnet, mermaid poem, National Poetry Month, Robert Pattinson, sonnet, watercolor of mermaid
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April 10, 2010
Who Would Be Thin
As those following this blog know, I am honoring National Poetry Month by writing (sort of) a draft poem a day. The aim is not only to get myself to write some poems, but to get you writing them too.
In that spirit, it may be useful to discuss some of what gives rise to each draft. Yesterday’s “Good News/Bad News” actually came from the suggested topic of “killer frost”, which is what the Hudson Valley appeared to be facing last night due to the sudden drop in temperature after an incredibly warm week. I ended up finding “killer frost” a bit too depressing to write about, but it did set in motion the idea of “good news/bad news.”
I’m not quite sure of what the “inspiration” for today’s draft is; maybe it came out of a sense of deprivation this morning that it was Saturday, I was on my own, sore-eyed, with a great many chores to do; this somehow brought up the idea of thinness , though the poem went in a somewhat different direction. Please keep in mind–it’s a draft! Any suggestions for this one, or any of them, are greatly appreciated.
Those Who Would Be Thin
There are those who want to be thin.
We’ve seen their breath-filled
cheeks jog along a walk, their knees a seeming
abundance in straight legs, their forearms softly downed
like some human thistle.
Magician and assistant alike, they saw
their bodies in half, seem to make vanish
tidbits with sleight of mouth
or wrist or palm, seem to.
Magician and dove at once, they crave
a flight that will lift them from the thick wooden
planks of the daily, the deep velvet droop of curtain
to their sides, the darkly spot lit stage,
into a blue-veined streak of sky,
the haven of the spare, where they can be
both coveted and bypass notice at once,
translucence made flesh, opalescence made bone,
where light alone is swallowed
like a sword.
Categories: poetry, writing exercises
Tags: 10th day of National Poetry MOnth, drawing of thin leg and sword, inspiration for poetry exercises, light swallowed, manicddaily, Manicddaily pencil drawing, ManicDDaily poem, National Poetry Month, opalescence made bone, poem about anorexia, thinness poem, translucence made flesh
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April 9, 2010
Good News/Bad News
Good News/Bad News
And then there was the children’s book
about the man–look!–who fell out of
a plane. That was the bad news.
But, phew! he fell onto a hay stack;
this was, apparently, the good news:
that his back was not broken
through the intervention of
dried grass. But hey! there was
a needle in that stack–
which was the bad news. Except that, wait!
He turned out to have a spare camel
in his pocket which fit exactly through the eye
of that needle–which was the good news!
for it took him straight to, do-not-pass-go to,
the kingdom of heaven, not
so much because he was a rich man
but because the hay stack hadn’t worked that well,
after all, not against a fall from the sky.
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, writing exercises
Tags: 9th Day of National Poetry Month, camel through an eye of a needle, Good News/Bad News Poem, man falling from plane drawing, manicddaily, ManicDdaily drawing, ManicDDaily poem, ManicDDaily watercolor, National Poetry Month, poetry, Poetry exercise, Rich Man going to heaven
Comments: 2 Comments
April 8, 2010
Furred Glasses (Underwater)
As followers of this blog may know, I made a commitment in honor of this April 2010 National Poetry Month to post a freshly-minted draft poem every day. I am cheating tonight and putting up an older draft poem, Villanelle to Glasses. This poem came to mind (and seemed to justify the cheating) due to the many kind and helpful comments I got about yesterday’s poem re sore eyes.
For instructions about how to write a villanelle, check out these prior posts on (i) how the assembly of a villanelle compares to banana pudding, and (ii) a specific breakdown of the form.
Villanelle to Glasses
Without glasses, the edges of my world are furred
like the ending of an echo, crush of shale.
Ideas are seen as if through water, blurred,
trooping muzzily through head, not shaped by word,
as if mind’s eye can’t make out thought’s detail
without glasses. As edges of my world are furred,
so too, I find, my verbal memory’s slurred:
I’ll say peach for onion, kite for sail;
ideas are seen as if through water, blurred,
and though I tell myself I’m quite absurd–
my mind’s still good; it’s only eyes that fail–
without glasses, the edges of my world are furred.
Even corrected vision’s not assured,
each type of lens its own peculiar jail,
where ideas are seen as if through water, blurred,
and I must make a choice between page or bird,
eternal grain of sand/horizon’s trail.
Without glasses, the edges of my world are furred:
ideas are seen as if through water, blurred.
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, writing exercises
Tags: can't think straight without my glasses poem, choosing between far-sightedness and near-sightedness poem, furred glasses (underwater), manicddaily, ManicDDaily poetry, ManicDdaily watercolor of glasses, National Poetry Month, villanelle, villanelle draft, villanelle form, Villanelle to Glasses
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April 7, 2010
New Computer And Eye Issue
I’m afraid to say this seventh draft poem of National Poetry Month does not bode well.
New Computer
My new computer really hurts my eye.
It swirls, it’s quick, it does
a zillion tricks–sit up, play dead,
if I say “speak”, it speaks;
say “seek”, it finds; still it puts
me in a very pricey bind–
this new computer really hurts my eye.
But when I try to write things out by hand,
my fingers won’t quite prise
the pen, at least won’t prise
it well; even signing my own name
takes clumsy thought–
which is why I really need this new laptop.
Besides, it beams, how it beams–
which seems to be the problem–all those beams–
like staring at the sun, Louis Quatorze
Medusa, Yoda’s cave that held the Force.
All that glisters is not gold,
but this bright screen has now been sold
to me, oh my, right retina, goodbye,
this lovely new computer hurts my eye.
Categories: elephants, poetry, Uncategorized, writing exercises
Tags: computer poem, eyestrain poem, manicddaily, ManicDDaily poetry, ManicDDaily watercolor, National Poetry Month, new computer poem, painting of elephant eyestrain, Poetry exercise, watercolor of eyestrain, writing exercise
Comments: 8 Comments
April 3, 2010
Dog Breath With Sandalwood Bracelet
The Way to Hold an Old Dog Close
The way to hold an old dog close is
to wear a sandalwood bracelet,
the beads of unburned incense almost inoculating you
from the yawns of decayed ivory.
You tell yourself, as you carry the dog down
stairs too steep for her to manage
(which means any stairs)
that they do make beef-flavored toothpaste,
but now the dog’s fifteen and you only bought one
tube ever, used once.
The thing is
that dogs are not actually children, and though she never snapped,
she would also not be coerced; your words, your mimed example,
did not influence. (You’ve never seen, for example, a dog pushing a
toy baby carriage, or even pulling a wooden pup upon a string.)
But a sandalwood bracelet, on the other hand,
on the arm rather, the arm that
that cradles the old dog’s head,
as you make your ways downstairs,
may just do the trick.
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized, writing exercises
Tags: dog poem, manicddaily, ManicDDaily dog drawing, ManicDDaily poetry, National Poetry Month, old dog poem, Poetry exercise, smell of sandalwood, Third Day of National Poetry Month
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