Poem-a-day - April 27

Today's prompt: Write about hope or hopelessness

Heart ache

What do you do when there is no hope?
When there is no light, only a tunnel.
I imagine you take this breath
and then the next one. You eat breakfast,
read the mail, you cry. You curse the fate
that has landed in your lap - or you don't.
You reach out or you withdraw.
You learn something about what is beneath
hopefulness.
The deep dark place no-one wants to explore,
ever. The bedrock below the soil.
You must find the deepest place
that will hold even hopelessness.

Poem-a-day - April 26

Today's Prompt: Write a poem about "more than 5 times"

Some poets claim

more than 50 rewrites

for a single poem.

I want to dare

to lay a beginning

onto a blank page.

Allow the poem

to unfold on its own.

Not to cling or try

to bend the thing

into a familiar shape.

Not to hoist the sails

to catch the usual

trade wind. But

to let the sails luff -

midstream. To face

into not knowing.

To make space

without expectation,

knowing I'll have

50 more chances

to get it right...

Poem-a-day - April 25

Today's Prompt: Write a poem based on a line from a song

Saturday Night's Alright, alright, alright

--- Elton John

Saturday night's the night he likes.

He dudes himself up, polishes his shoes

and sets off to find his girl at the bar.

He wants only the finest, no compromise

in quality for him. The blonde blue-eyed

one stares at only him. The corseted one,

with breasts falling out of her white blouse.

She's just the one. She'll do indeed.

He strokes her sloping shoulders, licks

her green lips. He grabs her and prepares

to take her all the way... right then, right there.

Yep. His St. Pauli Girl always gives him

what he's lookin' for on a Saturday night.

Poem-a-day - April 24

Today's prompt: Write about evening

Dusk

when the earth turns

away from the sun

towards tomorrow

when the birds unruffle

their feathers, let their last song

float into purple air

when the to dos are checked off

and you can settle down

with a glass of chardonnay and a book

when the children are asleep

and the dishes gleam

in the rack on the sink

when the insistent sun

yields to the gentle moon

and nothing is required of you

when all that is possible

has been considered

and you can turn the calendar page.

Poem-a-day - April 23

Today's prompt: Write about being exhausted

It's exhausting when the world's woes

come into your bedroom at three A.M;

You neighbor who has too many health problems,

Your friend who's son has cancer,

the poor of the world meeting in Bolivia

to find a way to ask for justice.

Then there's your own backyard

filling with dandelions,

your hemorrhoids and hangnails.

How do you hold all this with intention,

with awareness and still not lose

the perfect square of glittering white moonlight

that has fallen on your bedspread?

Poem-a-day - April 22

Today's prompt: Write about earth...

Spring (after poet Elizabeth Bohnhorst)

Open the grave!

Wake the great artist of spring.

Let her paint pastel blooms, let colors run.

Let the lakes melt their skins,

trees open their green fingers

and yellow spread through lawns.

Watch carefully as the earth

loosens its hold

on roots longing to grow.

You have this too--

this softening of your hardened heart;

Allow it to melt at least until the first frost returns.

Poem-A-Day - April 21

Today's prompt: Write about "according to..."

My Mother never did things

according to the recipe.

She freely substituted whatever

she had on hand.

A child of the depression,

putting a whole cup of butter

in any recipe

ran against her grain.

A daughter has to rebel somehow.

Accordingly, I myself like extravagance.

I'm more likely to double

the amount of butter in the recipe

buy the best cut of meat,

use real cream in my fair trade coffee.

I wonder what my daughter will do?

Poem-a-day - April 20

Today's prompt: Write about "looking back"

My Rearview Mirror

I like my rearview mirror,

I keep wanting confirmation

that what is behind me

is still there.

It gives that receding

view of history.

You see only

the reflection of things.

But, there is always

that warning;

"objects are closer

than they appear"

Everything is closer

than it appears;

our death,

the deadline we agreed to,

Monday morning,

as well as the car

behind us.

You can't trust

the reflection of the past.

The rearview

is always an approximation.

Poem-a-day - April 19

Today's prompt: Write a poem to a person

Nancy Sue

The perfect sister

I never had -

but imagined.

A year or two older,

with a blond "flip",

svelte and popular.

She'd mentor me.

Her boyfriends would

toussle my hair.

We'd play board games

on rainy days.

She'd hug me.

She would say

Oh Penny, you're sad -

or scared or angry.

She'd help me to know

myself. I'd be

her maid-of-honor

and she'd by mine.

We'd plan surprise parties

for our parents.

Our house

would not be quiet

or dark brown

or sad. Our parents

would love each other.

There would be

no fights, we

would eat dinner

and say grace

and watch T.V.

with popcorn.

All because

of my favorite sister,

Nancy Sue.

Poem-a-day - April 18

Today's Prompt: Write a poem "To ______"

To the Grim Reaper

All of us walking towards the sunset --

the grim reaper lounging by the side of the road

smoking a cigarette, watching us go by,

pretending not to see him.

He's invisible as air, always in the shadows,

frightening us. Whispering threats

when we can't sleep, think we might have a mole

that's odd, a heartbeat that's irregular, a pain

in our gut, a lump in our breast.

We know he's there, but we don't believe it.

We're mostly surprised at his quick strikes

at who he chooses and when and why --

There's never a satisfactory answer.

We keep walking our death-defying path

holding our breath, one foot in front of the other

passing every year the date of our death

without knowing it.

Poem-a-day - April 17

Today's challenge - write about science

Mr. Goebel's 8th Grade Science Room

had the necessary

red geraniums growing

on the windowsill,

bunson burners

I never remember using.

A microscope in front

we lined up to look through,

a glass aquarium in the back

with a blue racer snake.

Alfonso tried to pick up

the snake one day,

got it by the tail.

Snake looped up and bit him

whereupon he released it.

I was and wasn't surprised

that Alfonso had red blood.

We jumped onto our chairs.

Mr. Goebel cornered the snake.

This was the biggest

event of science class

that year. The thing

that made our hearts race,

our head's spin.

How that snake taught

us something about wildness

and fear -- about the color

of blood we all shared,

about how we still needed

an adult to keep us safe.

Poem-a-day - April 13

Today's prompt: Write a love poem

How do I love thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

my hands can reach when feeling out of sight

for a package I know is stored beneath the shelf.

I love thee to the level of cholesterol

my doctor will accept, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely in every form;

Kettled, waved, rippled, Pringled, adorned

with ketchup, jalapenos, sour cream or cheddar.

I love thee un-purely, tainted with salt and oil.

I love thee with a passion unmatched by

other snacks. I love thee with

the cellulite, pounds, blood pressure and weight

you have given me. I shall but love thee better after my diet ceases.

Poem-a-day - April 12

Today's prompt: Write about a city

Rochester Hills

As we contemplate moving away,

the word turns in my heart.

The fingerprint of the place lies on me.

How much of me will be able to leave

this place called home for so long?

This little town where I have sewn

long threads? Nothing special

I've always thought. Until now.

The new has its allure,

which trumps my nostalgia most days.

But, today, I feel the echo

of long years quietly planted

one after the other after the other.

History takes a long time to make.

It is never unmade. Can I trust

that what has been will remain?

That to move is not to lose?

Poem-a-day - April 11

Today's prompt: Write about the "last..."

Last Chance

Bottom of the ninth

score tied

two out, two strikes

wild pitch

gets by the catcher

winning run scores.

We seem to prefer

the game with our backs

against the wall, time

running out.

We find joy

in odd places.

Poem-a-day - April 9

Today's prompt: A self-portrait

You can see through

my hair and my desire

to be liked.

My teeth,

though once braced,

have never

been straight.

I am. but am

a good ally

of those who aren't.

My ears don't work

as well as

they once did.

Neither do I.

I look at you

with both eyes.

One wanders left

tipping you off

to my politics.

My skin

is crinkling

around the edges.

My face

and life

show signs

of wear

and of life

lived

lucky and well.

Poem-a-day - April 8

Today's prompt: Write about a tool

Hammer

Dad was handy

with tools.

Tried to teach me

to pound nails.

A big board

all the nails I wanted.

I hit my thumb

became bored.

I've never really learned

how to hold

things together.

Poem-a-day - April 7

Today's prompt "Until..."

Until...

Until you get your driver's license

Until you graduate

Until you get a car

Until you get a degree

Until you find a partner

Until you buy a house

Until you have kids

Until the kids are in school

Until you get a promotion

Until you go on that vacation

Untiil the kids leave home

Until you retire

Until your kids get married

Until you have grandchildren

Until you finally decide

to be happy anyway -

Until...

Poem-a-day - April 6

Todays' challenge is to write an "Ekphrastic" poem - - a poem written in response to a work of visual art. This is a painting I did in a class this winter:

I want to crawl
inside your blue skin,
find that calm
deep lake within.
Shut out distraction,
find my own colors.
Take up the whole space.
Just to know,
without words,
what I want
who I am..

Poem-a-day - April 5

Today's prompt - Write about "TMI"

My friend jokes
that if you ask her husband
what time it is,
he'll tell you
how to build a clock.

I know people like that!

The natural-born teachers
always looking for students.
It's hard to put a lid
on our own superior knowledge.
I guess most of us
prefer talking to listening.

Poem-a-day - April 4

Today's prompt - write about history

For some reason I have never

been interested in history.

Not museums or antique shops,

Model Ts or vintage anything.

Not old buttons or coins,

certainly not first editions

or pre-Colombian art. Not even

aged wines or fossils.

Not period pieces or original instruments.

not rotary dials or ancient remedies.

Give me paintings that haven't dried yet,

newborns, computerized reality,

synthesizers, i-phone, i-pod, i-pad, i-anything.

I'm in a hurry!

Poem-a-day April 3

today's prompt - write about something that is "partly..."

Partly sunny

says the forecaster

hedging all bets

on this spring day.

A C+ day.

A median day.

I let it slip

through my fingers,

pile up with the other

unremarkable ones.

Partly aware

of the partial sun

that almost shines

on my plodding path.

Poem-a-day April 2

Today's prompt is to write about water:

Waves thunder across the sea
bringing relentless news from the depths.
Full of themselves, they shout, roar,
must be reckoned with,
then end their gigantic voyage
in ethereal white foam, disappear.
Where do they begin? and how and why?
Such an urgency, thundering on
night and day trying to convince
the shore of something.

Poem-a-day - april 1

There is a group on the Internet posting a challenge to write a poem a day during April (National Poetry Month). a prompt is given each day at this website. Why don't you join in? Here is my first entry based on the prompt to write about loneliness:

I am sometimes lonely
for myself.
Not the perfect me,
but the honest me.
The one who is afraid.
The one underneath the one
who is afraid.
The one in the dark.
Not the one in the mirror.
The me of the stone
in my gut. The me
of random sobbing.
The me longing to be known
by the me who ignores her.
The inconvenient me,
the one who has
unacceptable desires.
the hidden me
who casts shadows
under my acceptable face.
The one who dances
alone underneath the basement,
humming haunting melodies.
The one who disappears
when glimpsed sideways.
We are not exactly
strangers. But we don't
spend much time looking
for each other.
The me who is afraid
to be seen -- the me
who always wants
the spotlight.