NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 24

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Photo Credit: Zoltan Tasi
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I’ve missed a couple of days this month, but life has a way of sneaking up on me. The marking period ended and grades had to be entered and finalized. I’m preparing for all the year end activities—concerts and shows and oh yeah, my baby graduating is graduating eighth grade.

Wait.

My baby is graduating eight grade.

Sigh.

He’s off to high school next year and new big adventures. Leaving mama in his dust and growing to be such an amazing human.

Now I’ve probably got you thinking I wrote a poem about the Little Wonder. Not yet, but I can promise you one is brewing. That kid is one of a kind. A child I begged God for—one that nearly cost me my life but worth every bit of everything.

Any way I digress…

The prompt for today had us start off by reading Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s “Lockdown Garden.” Then we had to try to write a poem of our own that has multiple numbered sections. The goal was to attempt to have each section be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view. Finally I was to set the poem in a specific place that I used to spend a lot of time in but don’t spend time in anymore.

As always, the poem started with me having an intention of direction, and the poem (wild and untamed beast that it is) went its own way. I’m not sure it met the prompt, but as always, it met me where I needed to be. Enjoy!

Blood Moon 

1.
The water understands;
sound stirring
the light loosens
unraveling fingers
into the dark night.

2.
There is loneliness
in my glass bowl—
hands folded behind,
waiting and wondering
when blue and green
will bring on the birds.

3.
Circles slacken
fan and wrinkle;
four corners unite
under the roll
of lapping waves.

The sky looms
a vessel become void.
How does water
siphoned, fill the fissures
below the surface?

4.
I turn around,
turn toward the ripe
red berry rising;
night has darkened—
only lingering light
haunts me.

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 day 18

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Photo Credit: Tucker Good
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The prompt for the day, challenged us to write an abecedarian poem – a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet. This is a prompt that lends itself well to a certain playfulness.

If you need some examples? Check out this poem by Jessica Greenbaum, this one by Howard Nemerov or this one by John Bosworth.





Dear Papa

A stray cat
beat his tail
cautiously. I
didn’t register the
electric
fear in his eyes—
ghostly,
haunting.
I should have though.
Just behind him the
kitchen drapes blew
lightly, almost imperceptibly.
Maybe the cat was
new in town not knowing
open windows have spirits’
permission to enter.
Queens have come and gone
right under our noses like this.
Strange happenings
these days—-right.
under. our.
very. noses. I
wonder who it was that night.
Xavier? Keith? Roderick?
You, Papa? Or maybe it was
zero ghosts…and one stray cat.

—❤️Your Abecedarian Daughter

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 15

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Photo Credit: Sydney Riggs
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Not-so Little Wonder

He came into the world
with ink stains on his fingers—
an artist with ancient visions,
reborn and reconnected—
a hero, a maker, a sage.

He sees the world
as a blank canvas
his pen and paper
the mode and medium
for his wisdom.

He seems to know the end
is different from the beginning—
that transformation
is a journey of sky and earth,
of water and fire. His
fingers find the framework

for setting things right,
for sensing the needs,
for seeing peace to fruition.
Joy keeps him grounded;
compassion owns his soul.

Many have tried to claim him, but you cannot tame tenderness.
He does not dally
in the dimness of dusk
but delights in the dawn.

Sometimes I catch myself staring
at his ink stained fingers
and remembering the sugar sand
of Emerald Coast beaches,
the shape of shells carved

by the singular focus of the sea.
He pays attention to all of it—
the dazzle of daffodil,
the modulation of melody,
the whisper of willows in wind.

What right have I
to lay claim
on any part of his spirit?
What right have I
to harness the wind?

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 14

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Photo Credit: Nic Y-C
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The daily prompt today was to write a parody or satire based on a famous poem. I chose a small selection from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land.


fall from grace

all due respect to the poet,
september is the cruelest month,
our children and our harvest whisking away;
silence and dying leaves,
singing melancholy in their place.
my sorrow complete by empty playgrounds
reminiscent of joy,
but stark and barren like my arms.

so i rode my bike to town,
to the library, to the gym,
and took myself out to breakfast.
i listened as george from the diner
sing the blues about
the breakfast club dwindling down
to a few elderly patrons chewing—
a symphony of gums
smacking against dentures.

i looked into the dismal gray sky,
taunting clouds covering
seductive sunshine; too much
history here to overlook.
my bags are packed, reservations are made,
it’s time to head south
for the winter.

—carla jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 13

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Photo Credit: Tony Stoddard

Today’s prompt didn’t spark joy, so I simply wrote. All day long the phrase “I sat for years like an elephant in the garden…” stayed with me as I pondered where the words might take a poem.

Well, read on, my friend, and you will see… the journey is always worth it, even when it is hard and long.

Garden View

I sat for years
like an elephant in the garden waiting to become a feather.

White quilts warmed
on winter afternoons;
windows opened in the spring—

the subtle scent of daisies
wafting on the breeze.
I grew slowly into my skin—

five decades of painstaking
transformation; my narrative
unfurling slowly

as a fern frond
in the first light of dawn—
a singular dance of joy.

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 12

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Photo Credit: Glen Carrie
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The prompt for today was from the archives of NaPoWriMo. They challenged me to write a poem that addresses itself or some aspect of its self (i.e., “Dear Poem,” or “what are my quatrains up to?”; “Couplet, come with me . . .”)

I have to agree with the prompt in this regard: It did seem a little “meta” at first, and even kind of cheesy. But it also helped me interrogate my own writing process.

I’d love to hear your poem. Why don’t you give writing poetry a try. This is the month to do it.

Dear Words,

You fail me.

I come expecting,
anticipating
holding my baited breath
for that shiver of…
shiver of….
what?

shiver of chagrin?
shiver of shimmering shells? I…

Oh, forget it.

I feel forlorn
and frustrated
and fragile,
so very fragile.
Like fine china
fit for fancy
not function.

I need to fucking function.

Instead, I sit here in silence
a simmering-shimmering shell… a sliver of a simmering-shimmering shell
shocked at where she’s settled.

Silently sinking,
the sea salty on her lips,
burning the breath from her lungs.

So Words,

give me some help here.
Grant me some clarity.

Yours,
The Wordless Wonder

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 11

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Photo Credit: Ashkan Forouzani
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GHOSTS

I believe we haunt ourselves
with the people we love;
dead ideas and memories
becoming ghosts inside of us—

The furrowed sandbars
hidden under the surface
of every day life.
The dead speak to us;

they still know how to sing—-
it takes shape in the moonlight.
It lives in the shadows
of our lost dreams.

My ears hurt to listen—
those damn ghosts
interfering again with my life.
In midnight meetings,

I feel misled,
misunderstood,
missed. Like the undead,
I feel unseen in the haunting.

We are all ghosts,
I suppose, carrying
inside us, all the people
who came before.

If I could let go,
I certainly would.
Right? I mean,
wouldn’t you?

The sadness of everything
leaves a heavy footprint
on my soul; a glimpse of truth
better left unspoken.

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 9

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Photo Credit: Chris Fuller
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The prompt for the day is a favorite of my writing twin, but for me it’s always a challenge. Today was called Sonnet Sunday, and the challenge was to write …. Wait for it… a sonnet!

A traditional sonnet is 14 lines long, with each line having ten syllables that are in iambic pentameter (where an unstressed syllable is followed by a stressed syllable). Blah blah blah… read between the lines that I’m not feeling in the Shakespeare way today. Still the theme was love and I tried my best, but what you see is what I got.

I chose a more modern version of the sonnet. I chose a curtal sonnet. The curtal sonnet is a form invented by Gerard Manley Hopkins, and used in three of his poems. It is an eleven-line (or, more accurately, ten-and-a-half-line) sonnet, this the name “curtal”—a curtailed or contracted sonnet.

This type of sonnet refers to a sonnet of 11 lines rhyming abcabc dcbdc or abcabc dbcdc with the last line a tail, or half a line. I’m not sure at all that I did it “right”, but the practice was engaging and valuable as always.

Yes I know…

Some of you are thinking “whatever, Carla”…trust me I feel the same but I press on with the practice because it brings me joy. So… here is my rather interesting take on a love sonnet to a thief. Enjoy!

Love

Perchance one day she’ll catch the old thief
who slipped and stole—tip toe hush hush—the wind that rose
beneath her sails. She’ll jaunt away with jubilee
on a junket of her own motif.
She found not a soul had noticed her wilted woes—
instead the slippery folk strained their necks to see.
Ranting relief brought rancor and rage;
after carefully crafted and curated glee,
she discovered the power of poems and prose.
Freedom fell and she escaped that golden-gilded cage—
she found her sanity.

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 8

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Photo Credit: Mana Nabavian
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Well then.

Today’s prompt was a doozy and a good one for Saturday. After running around all day, I wrote in snippets here and there, so if things seem disjointed, you’ll at least understand the reason why.

The prompt was another oldie-but-goodie. It really pushes you to use specific details, and to work on “conducting” the poem as it grows, instead of trying to force the poem to be one thing or another in particular. The prompt is called the “Twenty Little Poetry Projects,” and was originally developed by Jim Simmerman. Here is the list of the twenty little projects themselves — the challenge is to use them all in one poem. Whew! And I’m here to tell you it’s not nothing to attempt this particular prompt.

Here are the instructions:

1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.
2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
4. Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
8. Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
10. Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
13. Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
15. Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.
19. Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.

Below is my attempt at following this prompt. Enjoy!

Windows

Wisdom is a window
that opens a crack
only to shatters into shards—
the sound like bells
calling me to rise.

My hand reaches
to brush away the mess
only to feel the sharp bits pierce my skin. Thinking back,
I realize the beauty of wonder

lived in her smile,
and Virginia was her name
but her singing, oh yes,
her singing! Her singing
was the color of sunshine.

I remember how she looked
like the moon and drank water
from her hands. Every morning she woke with a headache
caused by her flat feet and smize

But her speech,(yes,her speech!)
tasted like spicy honey,
especially when she leaned
out the window and hollered,
“Flaming emmets!”

The sudden shifting of love
caused her to hate them on sight,
but it was her lips that bellowed
bright with the dull ache
felt deep in her gut.

The bird escaped mere moments
before the clouds collapsed
and Miss J made her escape.
Some day, yes some day,
some day she will be free

to follow the fertile flight
of her futile fancy. Until then.
“Sånt är livet när kjolen
är randig”—that’s life
when the skirt is striped.

The window of wisdom
opens with ignorance
while the monkey whispers lies
about how freedom and fear
walk arm in arm.

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 7

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Photo Credit:
Maksym Kaharlytskyi

One full week of NaPoWrMo is already gone, but no worries because we still have three more to go. Yay! I love this month!

The daily prompt for today was to start by reading James Tate’s poem “The List of Famous Hats.” Then I had to write a poem that plays with the idea of a list.

I never know exactly where these prompts will take me, which why I never grow tired of participating in this challenge. Every day is a new writing adventure!

Here’s hoping you don’t get so lost in my list poem that you forget to enjoy your morning coffee! I can tell my brain was definitely heading down a lighter path today.

Lost 

in darkness
in bliss
in ignorance
in sleep

in silence
in ideas
in thought
in the deep

in reverie
in a book
in the world
in life

in love
in work
in struggle
in strife

Lost
without hope
without love
without grace

without purpose
without plan
without peace
without place

Lost
my mind
myself
my job

Lost
for words—
Oh wait,
I’m not.

—Carla Jeanne