At the museum my friend, the blind man, said, "Show me your favorite," so we made our way to the room with the Degas Dancers in Blue.
As we stood before it, my friend said, "I know dancers, the sound of their toe shoes as the move into place on stage, the smell of the hair pomade taming their buns, the rough feel of tulle tutus, the tinkling piano and the vibrations of the floor as they dance."
"I know the dancers but not the blue. What is blue?"
I consider the question and finally reply. "Blue is the sound of the fountain in the park and it's the taste of peppermint tea on your lips, the smell of the sea air at sunrise, the feel of ice cubes on your fingertips, the calm of an early spring morning.
The blind man said, "Oh, I understand why blue is your favorite. Let's go see the Picassos now."
This preliminary draft poem was inspired by the April 18 prompts at Miz Quickly and NaPoWriMo, more the former than the latter.
Today is National Haiku Day and the NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem inspired by a piece of music and to share that piece’s title as the title of the poem. Because traditional haiku do not have titles, I decided to find several five syllable song titles to use as the first lines of haiku. I selected three songs by Bob Dylan as my inspiration.
like a rolling stone tumbled ashore by high tide clouds obscure the moon
blowin' in the wind single leaf cartwheels on the grass unexpected grace
tangled up in blue bare branches on a cloudless sky dandelion sun
The desk, navy blue, a DIY from Ikea, with its mistake in assembly cleverly hidden.
A desk, purchased with writerly intent, now a repository for companion objects, selected talismans, good luck charms, bookmarks, notebooks covered in baroque flowers or fantastic animals, the scented candles, all in mercury glass, and the strike-anywhere matches, an omnipresent cup of tea, half drunk and cold on a souvenir coaster from a long-forgotten California winery, half-read books of advice from other writers with big ideas and even bigger magic, the small bronze pig with his widespread wings, and a 99¢ gel pen from that Japanese store on Fifth Avenue, the pen with purple ink that writes so smoothly.
Nearby, the empty chair awaits the writer, who spends her time preparing for the arrival of another to share this space.
This draft poem was written in response to Miz Quickly's invitation to write about an abstraction and on a loose interpretation of the NaPoWriMo prompt of the day.
It's incontrovertible, anyone can see it. Irish clowns love pizza! Look at how they dress, their tomato-red jumpsuits, dolloped with dots of cheesy yellow.
Watch them stretch and tumble, contorting themselves into impossible shapes, four of them together, combining to spell out the word L-O-V-E
on a postage stamp with bouncy hearts, one for your love note to pizza, and perhaps one to Guinness as well. (I've heard it pairs best with mushrooms.) Sláinte!
This draft poem was written for the Miz Quickly prompt to create a poem celebrating love of pizza, as well as for NaPoWriMo challenge to select an interesting postage stamp to use as inspiration for a poem. I truly think these Irish clowns celebrate their love of pizza in their sartorial choice.
In stillness, I looked up in despair at my colorless existence. In stillness, I set down my cup of coffee, cold and unfinished. In stillness, out of habit, I blamed myself. In stillness, I felt the sting of a single tear on my left cheek. In stillness, I shivered, not with cold, but with the realization of what I had done. In stillness, I dared to read the note in which he penned the word, "Good-bye." In stillness, I whitewashed the walls and doors to atone for all I had done.. In stillness, I edged toward the open door. In stillness, I peered out at a world of green, raw and new. In stillness, I waited for the will to move forward, for once.
This draft poem was written in response to the NaPoWriMo prompt, asking for a ten line poem using anaphora. This is also an ekphrastic poem based on one of the images that Miz Quickly provided in her challenge today, Ida Reading a Letter, a painting by Vilhelm Hammershoi.
Thirteen’s my lucky number. Look! I’ve spoiled the secret now. I know my luck is going to change, but I don’t know where or how.
Am I still superstitious? Believe all that I’m told? I’ll just ignore that number if I may be so bold.
I will make my own luck! No number can contain the power that’s within me. My inspiration’s plain.
(Ha! Twelve letters in my name!)
This draft poem was inspired by Miz Quickly’s challenge to to write about a secret in thirteen lines and the NaPoWriMo prompt to play with sounds and rhyme.
No one shares my bed this morning as I wake to a half-recalled lifescape. Today begins like so many others, mocked by the hands of an analog dream, looking for the time, searching for the flow. I spend way too much time trying. So much of life unfolds this way, starting at the end, ending at the start.
So this is the first day I didn’t try to meld my two prompts. This draft poem is written for Miz Quickly‘s “ladder” prompt, challenging us to write a poem bottom-to-top, last line first. With a few minor edits to word choice, this is how I got the to the top. NaPoWriMo is asking for a tall tale, for which I have the first and last lines only: “Precocious baby smokes cigars/Precocious baby stands astride the harbor, a diapered Colossus.” I’m quite fond of precocious baby, but he did not want to climb the ladder with Miz Q today. Maybe he’ll reappear somewhere down the road.
Well, after yesterday, this feels more within my ken. Miz Quickly asked for a “lost” or “found” poem and Napowrimo challenged us to write one-line poetry. As an extra challenge, I decided to write eleven one-liners for day 11 of the April challenge and then used a random sequence generator to decide the order.
Baby drinks tea Baby plays piano Piano sonatas in the night Piano accompanies cocktails Cocktails at five Cocktails for two Two-handed player Two-timing man Man in the moon Man of my dreams Dreams of better days Dreams that invade our sleep Sleep interrupted Sleep like death Death the final frontier Death warmed-over Over the hill Over the rainbow Rainbow-hued candy clouds Rainbow after the storm Storm out of the house Storm clouds gather Gather together Gather ye rosebuds Rosebuds' thorny stems Rosebuds' summer bloom Bloom where you are planted Bloom or bust Bust out of prison Bust a rhyme Rhyme is dead Rhyme or reason Reason your way out of this Reason why Why or why not Why the sky is blue Blue eyes tearing up Blue birds of good luck Luck would have it Luck be a lady Lady and the tramp Lady of the lake Lake side picnic Lake of unshed tears Tears course down smooth cheeks Tears of unspoken joy Joy of brightest morning Joy breaks out in song Song of pure artistry Morning of precocious youth.
I spent way too much time trying to figure out the Miz Quickly prompt today, a 50 line "blitz" poem with a specific form. I used a phrase from the NaPoWriMo prompt as the first line of this draft.
To my superpower, today I will sing your praise! I will write an ode, poetry worthy of your glory.,
But give me a moment. I must look at how to write an ode, lines, forms, syllables, examples.
The pen pauses as I consider what my poet friends are writing. What are their superpowers? How do they define an ode?
Perhaps I should take a shower before I commit to this work. "Clean mind in a clean body." I wonder who said that first.
I must find metaphoric inspiration too. And I'd really rather work with purple ink. Where is my special pen?
Ah, yes, back to you, superpower of mine. Without you I would scarcely be me. You inform me, and I praise you
for all you've given me. A gargantuan fund of useless information, pages of poems, half-written, never reclaimed.
But oh, that dopamine rush as I cross trivial items off my to-do list or finish an assignment two minutes pre-deadline!
I honor you, my superpower: Procrastination! I will say more but I need some inspirational caffeine now.
Back later! ❤
This draft poem was written in response to the NaPoWriMo challenge to create an ode and Miz Quickly‘s prompt to write about something you’re really good at. Yeah, so there’s that.
the raven's eye 