poem-a-day: lucky?

First I want to say that I’m safe and basically functional, not in an overly worrisome state of mental health. But that I am having a much harder time this year with the poem-a-day deal than in years past. I’ve missed several days (starting Friday). Last Tuesday’s two-for I wrote on my phone in bed at the end of the day, but hadn’t typed in here until today. The other ones that aren’t here, I just have not attempted. (Yet! I have the intention. Time will tell if I can carry it out.) I have some time now and I do feel like writing is good for me (I just heard a quote on the Terrible, Thanks for Asking podcast where psychologist Edith Eger said the opposite of depression is expression, which resonates with me). So I’ll try today’s and then see if I can go back and write to some of the prompts I’ve missed.

Writer’s Digest’s Robert Lee Brewer says, “For this Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

Write a lucky poem and/or...
Write an unlucky poem.

lucky

I found two four-leaf clovers the other day
picked them and pressed them
between close and clue
in the big hardback dictionary

and when they were flat and dry,
stuck them to my refrigerator
with a magnet.

I don’t feel especially lucky
almost four years on
of living “every parent’s nightmare”
(a phrase I despise
partly because it’s true
and partly because)

no words encapsulate
that ____ night
(here I wasn’t able to come up with
a suitable adjective:
agonizing, terrible,
which just proves my point)
and the 1406 days since.

Life is hard
but I’m still here
and I can cry when I need to
and say what I feel
and someone will read this

I guess that’s lucky.

poem-a-day challenge: totally empty

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Total (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “Total Madness,” “Total Victory,” “Totally Awesome,” and/or “Total Cereal.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

totally empty

ok not really
actually I think I am coping OK
but there are moments
I feel totally empty

I can’t go to work
and now sleeping’s off-schedule

not allowed to see my mom:
all visitors prohibited
to keep the community healthy

my kid can’t come home
because dad sees patients with COVID19
so it’s safer for us to stay isolated

I comment on Facebook,
visit friends on Zoom
take a nap when I need it
read when my attention span allows
bake and sew like a century ago

and the days go by
inexorably closer to
whatever happens next

so much to take in
but still

totally empty

poem-a-day challenge: massive

For today’s prompt, write a massive poem. The poem itself could be massive in size and length. Or it could take on a massive problem, describe a supermassive black hole, or praise a massive bowl of ice cream covered in chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Whatever you write, I hope it’s a massive success. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

MMO*

An olive-green stuffed frog
— of an odd fuzzy fabric
called eyelash fur —
hopped our whole family into the wondrous world of Webkinz
when you turned 5.

Matt picked out Froggy as a present for you,
with specially sealed tag attached
containing a secret code
to unlock
the kid-friendliest MMO.

Soon, the three of us each had accounts
(Dad played on ours).

We adopted pet after pet,
collecting one stuffed animal after another.
We sent digital presents back and forth,
decorated virtual homes,
grew vegetable gardens,
collected rare items,
mined for gems.

Long after its heyday, and ours,
Webkinz World is still there to visit
and Froggy lives on.

*massively multiplayer online game

poem-a-day: hark, the opuntia

After today’s poem, we’ll be 60 percent of the way through this challenge. If you’ve made it this far, you’ve got a better than 60 percent chance of making it to the finish line. In my case, I know not every day has been pretty, but I’ve got up and poemed—and that alone is something. So let’s keep at it.

For today’s prompt, write a message poem. You can decide the medium: Message in a bottle, postcard, or voice mail. Of course, there are text messages, telegrams, and letters. My wife loves to leave me messages on Post-It notes (and I love to find them). So write a message in a poem today!

Remember: These prompts are just springboards; you have the freedom to jump in any direction you want. In other words, it’s more important to write a new poem than to stick to the prompt. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Message of the prickly pear

I have some neighbors
a couple streets over.

I don’t know them,
haven’t even seen them;
I just pass by their house sometimes,
sun hat on, earphones in,
on my way to 10,000 steps.

They have two prickly-pear cacti planted in the ground:
one at the foot of their mailbox
and one in a raised bed by the sidewalk.

Three times when I have walked by,
there have been broken-off paddles of cactus
just lying there,
and gingerly I picked them up
and brought them home*
and planted them in pots,
so now I have prickly-pear cacti as well
(although mine overwinter inside).

When I went by last week,
and saw theirs were bursting with new buds
and tiny burgeoning lobes,
I heard the message of the prickly pear:

“Seize the day!
When conditions are favorable,
GROW!”

And so I transplanted my three
together in a new pot
and brought them outside for the summer
because now is their time.

And I hope
my time is coming.

For everything you ever wanted to know about prickly pears, try opuntiads.com!

ready to grow again!

last year's growth

overwintering inside

* I brought the first little lobe home in my pocket. Don’t do that! Even if they don’t look very prickly, they are.

Our recent transplanting adventure was a logistical challenge. How to get the big ones out of the pot they were in and into the new pot without getting ourselves stuck by bundles of tiny spines? In the end, we used a variety of garden implements and managed to hurt neither ourselves nor the opuntiads.

daily poetry: the last time

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “The Last (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “The Last Cookie,” “The Last Roll of Toilet Paper,” “The Lasting Impression,” “The Last Word,” and/or “The Last Starfighter.”

I guarantee this won’t be the last prompt of the month. So get your poem on today, and I’ll see you again tomorrow. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

the last time

Mothers sometimes lament
in contemplative moments
you often don’t know
that something you do
is happening for the last time

There was a last time I carried you
you were at least six
and loved to be carried
although of course you could
get around perfectly well by yourself

There was a last time I tied your shoes
although this, too, was something
you were content to let me do
even after you had the skills

In Montessori education
there’s a philosophy of
”help me … do it myself.”
It is one to which
you did not ascribe

You were happy for help
or to have me do it for you
so you could focus on
whatever lit up your imagination
and the latest idea you had
and how to bring it to fruition.

The last time:

something is commonplace,
usual,
everyday,

until it isn’t.

There was a last time I touched you,
this time in stark awareness it was the last.
I held your hand
and tried in vain to store up
a lifetime’s worth of handholding.

I used up all the Kleenex in the room
and all the light inside me
and walked out in darkness

the last time.

form poem day: attempting a nonet

We’re two weeks into the challenge now, and our second “Two-for-Tuesday” prompt falls on the 14th, which gets me thinking about sonnets. For today’s prompt:

Write a form poem (here are 100 poetic forms to choose from) and/or…
Write an anti-form poem. I get it; some people don’t like forms.

If you feel like a form doesn’t quite give you direction for today’s prompt, write a poem about something with structure or form, or write a poem about chaos.

(So I chose:) The nonet poetic form is simple. It’s a 9-line poem that has 9 syllables in the first line, 8 syllables in the second line, 7 syllables in the third line, and continues to count down to one syllable in the final (ninth) line. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

I should not wait so late in the day
to check the poetry prompt and
attempt to corral my thoughts
into some kind of sense.
By evening I
have spent all
the good
ones.

This afternoon, I looked at the list of 100 poetic forms. I read about several (alphabet, the bop, concrete), and made a stab at catena rondo before I settled on nonet. I wrote another nonet before this one, but didn’t care for it, then realized my brain was too tired to keep trying the tricky types. So, lesson learned! Earlier poeming tomorrow.

poetry month: all-purpose

For today’s prompt, write a purpose poem. Many people like to have a purpose in life. Some folks do things on purpose. And yes, sometimes it appears there is no purpose to life’s events. Whatever drives you, I hope you’re able to pair purpose (or lack of purpose) with your poetry today.

Remember: These prompts are just springboards; you have the freedom to jump in any direction you want. In other words, it’s more important to write a new poem than to stick to the prompt. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

All-purpose

On my kitchen counter
sit two Mason jars:
one old pint; one new quart

each filled with a mysterious mixture
of flour, water, and magic

which both

seems to require rather careful tending
— the new one, a gift from a girlfriend
exploring baking as a hobby
while she’s working from home —

and

is remarkably tolerant of neglect —

at least the latter is my hope
as I stir and measure and will into new life
the long-forgotten sourdough starter
that’s been patiently waiting
in its pint jar at the back of my fridge.

Every time I told my husband,
a brewer of beer,
that I might throw it out,
his response was that yeast is an enigma
and it might not be quite dead

So I saved it for a day
that turns out to be today,
fed it some all-purpose flour
and a generous helping of well wishes

and in a week or two
of attentive nurturing,
if the gods of fermentation smile upon me,
the old starter will thrive
beside the new,

restored to its purpose.

poem-a-day challenge: haunted

For today’s prompt, write a spirit poem. Poets may write about a ghostly spirit. Or pen an ode to the spirits found in a pub or liquor cabinet. Of course, there’s also school spirit and the spirit of adventure. Personally, I like The Spirit of comics and radio fame. Let the spirit of poetry lead the way for you today. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Haunted

No ghostly apparitions
no visits in my dreams
no paranormal coincidences.

No heart-shaped rocks or leaves appearing
nor pennies in my path
no messages at all from the great beyond.

I am haunted by
the absence
of your
spirit.

learning to let go of what I cannot control

For today’s prompt, write a control poem. That is, write about having control, losing control, or sharing control with others. Of course, I expect at least one person to mention the control key on keyboards. And well, y’all always surprise me, because I can’t control which direction everyone is going to go with this prompt. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

(I have read some COVID-19 coping advice to this effect, so I make no claim that these ideas are original, but they are definitely helpful to me!)

control

I can control
how I spend my time
what I consume
including what I read online,
whether I get enough sleep
(not doing so well with that one)
my own response to what happens around me.

I have more inner resources to exert control
if I practice self care
(including the sleep part mentioned above)
and don’t let my cup get too empty.

I cannot control
whether other people in my city and state follow rules
what the government does or does not do
whether anyone in my family is exposed to the virus
(other than taking precautions as best we can).

I cannot control anyone, not a single person, other than myself
no matter how closely related we may be
or how much influence I feel I should have.

And so I must let go of the hope of such control
and focus on my tiny sphere of influence
and on making the best decisions for myself
and for the good of my community.

I would like to have more control!
But I have gotten used to disappointment.

poem: the optimist who was wrong

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “The (blank) Who (blank),” replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “The Runner Who Walked,” “The Scientist Who Decided to Make a Monster,” “The Poet Who Loved Me,” and/or “The Teacher Who Couldn’t Learn.” If you’d prefer to write about a thing instead of a person, feel free to replace the word “who” with the word “that.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

The optimist who was wrong

“It’s fine! I’m fine; everything’s fine!”
Rader said to me, exasperated,
as I tried to engage him in conversation
in the car after school, in the spring of 10th grade,
regarding my concerns about his mental health.
It was not something he wanted to talk about.
It didn’t seem to help him to hear I was worried.

“We’re struggling, but it’s going to be OK,”
I said to my friend and coach,
after her morning boot camp class
early in summer, as we chatted while we stretched.

Two days later he was gone.
We had done all we could,
gotten him all the help there was.
I thought we would be OK.

I was wrong.

This poem is a darker one. It’s odd, the things that get burned into your memory when an unexpected tragedy explodes your generally neat and tidy life. That very night when Rader died by suicide, I was at a support group meeting. I boasted proudly to my friends there that my husband and I had “successfully raised (our older child — who was 18 and had that week graduated high school) to adulthood.” And we had. But as I was saying it, the worst of all failures was happening back at home. Not that that makes me a failure as a parent. I know I did the best I could. But the irony of it gets me.

I’m still an optimist. It’s how I’m wired. But I have a dark streak now. It’s easier for me to imagine the worst happening. Because now I know it can, and does.

poem-a-day: community of women

For today’s prompt, write an ekphrastic poem. An ekphrastic poem is one that’s inspired by a work of art, whether that’s a painting, photograph, sculpture, or some other creation. I’ve included five ekphrastic prompts below. Look them over and choose one (or more) to prompt your poem today. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Ekphrastic prompt #3

We found each other

We were bright girls who loved books
we were fellow scouts in your mom’s troop
we were freshmen in the same dorm
we were going to save the world: idealists at 20.

We were pregnant at the same time,
seeking connection in
the brave new world of online message boards
(still together as our babies turn 21).

We worked out at the same Curves
we were moms of Montessori kids
we were ladies learning tae kwon do, or yoga, or indoor rowing.

At every stage of life,
whomever we needed,
one best friend or an iVillage,

we found each other.

poetry month: the inscrutable future

For today’s prompt, write a future poem. The future is a never ending well of worry for some. Others harbor a great deal of optimism. Still others see a mixture of awesome flying cars and terrifying robot overlords. Regardless of your outlook, I hope there’s a poem in your very near future. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Right now it feels as if
the future will never arrive.
The days drag on
inside our homes
as we social distance
and shelter in place,
as we stay home
to flatten the curve.

Yet it also seems
as if we are hurtling into it
— thoroughly unprepared —
day after day
as the news firehose spews
and the numbers pile up
and we struggle to make sense of it all
when it’s impossible to put into context
because these are times like we’ve never seen.

So then how can we even imagine
whatever future follows
these unprecedented events
we can’t even believe we’re living through
while we are in fact living through them?

The future advances upon us
every moment
and in the same breath
we welcome it with the hope of relief
and we dread what new horror it might bring.

When this is over
— whatever that even means —
what does that future hold?

It comes. Fast or slow, it comes.
And we will meet it.

poem-a-day challenge: lucky or unlucky

We’re a week into the challenge now, and we get to celebrate with our first “Two-for-Tuesday” prompt! You can pick your favorite prompt, do both separately, or combine them into one poem. Your choice.

For today’s prompt:

Write a lucky poem and/or…
Write an unlucky poem.

Remember: These prompts are just springboards; you have the freedom to jump in any direction you want. In other words, it’s more important to write a new poem than to stick to the prompt.

— Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Gloom, despair …

When I was little, we used to watch Hee Haw every week,
sitting on the harvest gold velveteen couch:
mom, dad, two blond little girls in pigtails.

Roy Clark and the guys would drink their moonshine,
and sing
(and groan),

“Gloom, despair, and agony on me-e! (Woe!)
Deep dark depression, excessive misery-y! (Woe!)
If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all! (Woe!)
Gloom, despair, and agony on me-e-e!”

And then they’d tell a story,
one after the other,
of what it was that had them feeling so down,
with the last guy getting the punchline.

Looking back, I appreciate
that the memories I have
of this particular bastion of bad luck
are good ones, happy ones.

Gloom, despair,
and all was well.

trapped

When we finish today’s poem, we’ll be officially 20% of the way through this challenge. Poem by poem, we’re building up some great first drafts. So let’s keep it going!

For today’s prompt, write a trap poem. There are physical traps—like mouse traps and bear traps. But people also sometimes fall into language traps or social traps. Many competitive types in business and various games try to set traps for their competitors. Of course, for every person setting a trap, there’s likely another person trying to avoid falling into traps. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

My thinking about this one is a bit intertwined with the wish poem prompt of a couple days ago. “Be careful what you wish for” insinuates that something that seemed desirable on the surface could be a trap when actually experienced.

Many of us who have lost a loved one want nothing more than to have that person back in our lives. But one tenet of wish lore (true at least in Disney’s Aladdin) is that you can’t wish someone back from the dead. The Genie states it explicitly in his rules. I can absolutely see how receiving your loved one back from the dead could turn out to be a trap. Ever read (or see the movie) Pet Sematary? If that’s not a cautionary tale, nothing is! I realize I’m talking about literature — fairy tale and horror — rather than real life, but I’m a believer that a lot of real-world lessons can be learned from books!

It’s a trap

Trapped between what I wish and what I know,
I long for an alternate universe
in which I’ve raised two children to adulthood,
not just one.

There are so many possible paths
and yet we only get to walk one.
We choose the direction
we think is best,
or a course is determined for us,
and often there’s no going back.

But too many choices
also can be a trap
in which we spin and spin
and never move along.

And sometimes we want to make a choice
when none is available to us
and so we pine for it
and maybe stop living the life we do have
because we don’t see how.

So many ways to be trapped.
So hard to be set free.

poem-a-day: just a moment

For today’s prompt, write a moment poem. The moment could be this very moment in time. Or pick a moment from your past and dive into it. It could be a huge moment or event in your life (or the life of another). Or you could share a small, private moment–like a walk at night or solitary adventure.

Remember: These prompts are just springboards; you have the freedom to jump in any direction you want. In other words, it’s more important to write a new poem than to stick to the prompt. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Did you know if someone can get through a suicidal crisis, chances are they will not go on to die by suicide? *

Just a moment

If you could hold on
just a moment,
a spark of hope
might flare

If you could see
as far as tomorrow
something worth living for
is there

If you could feel
the love around you,
that I need you
here today

If you knew

if you’d wait a moment

maybe you’d stay.

*American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

poem-a-day challenge: musica universalis

April is National Poetry Month. Here’s today’s Poem-A-Day Challenge prompt from Robert Lee Brewer of Writer’s Digest:

Welcome to day two of the April Poem-A-Day Challenge. Anyone can show up for one day; it’s the people who show up for the second day who are really in this challenge to get their poem on.

For today’s prompt, write a space poem. Your poem could be about outer space or inner space. It could opine on the social spacing much of the world is currently doing. Or poets can write an ode to having the space to write or read or whatever. Honestly, I’ll be disappointed if there isn’t a Star Wars or Star Trek inspired poem today. Now, I’ll back off and give everyone plenty of space to write their poems today.

Musica Universalis

Yesterday I met you in space.
It had been such a long time,
I was overcome with being near you

With music filling my ears
and sunlight — dappled through blowing leaves —
glowing behind my closed eyelids,
suddenly I was there

”From stardust you are made,
and to stardust you shall return.”

As the stardust of me flew
nearly light speed
through the cosmos
I sensed the stardust of you
all around me

“There you are,”
I said without words.
”This is where you went.”
And I swirled and mingled
and danced with you
through galaxies
but could not hold on.

I had to come back home.

__________

An explanation, both for you the reader, and for myself when I come back and wonder what I was talking about here. In 2020, I’m focusing on mindfulness. As a part of my grief work, I’ve committed to doing some sort of mindfulness practice daily, whether that’s yoga, guided meditation, or simply listening to soothing music and being present in the moment.

Yesterday, I opened up the meditation-focused app Insight Timer, and chose a piece of music to listen to called Cosmic Flow | Delta Brainwave System by Insight Timer contributor Patrick Lynen. I believe I had listened to it once before, but this time it had an incredible effect on me. I have a yoga bolster, which is basically a big cylindrical cushion, and I sat at one end and laid back until the back of my neck rested at the other end with my head draped over. The sun was shining through the big tree out front into my plant room, where I like to do my mindfulness exercises, and I closed my eyes, while beams of sunlight danced across my face. Suddenly the music and the lights transported me, and I could imagine the stardust atoms of Rader swirling around the stardust atoms of me. It was such a compelling visual, and the deepest desire of my heart, I just got completely swept away with it.

Musica universalis, the music of the spheres, is not actual, audible music. [According to Wikipedia, “The musica universalis (literally universal music), also called music of the spheres or harmony of the spheres, is an ancient philosophical concept that regards proportions in the movements of celestial bodies—the Sun, Moon, and planets—as a form of music. This ‘music’ is not thought to be audible, but rather a harmonic, mathematical or religious concept.”] But I felt the term captured my experience.

stop

It’s time for our fifth (and final) Two for Tuesday prompt of the month! Pick one prompt or use both…your choice! 1. Write a stop poem. 2. Write a don’t stop poem.

Today is the final day of the 2019 April PAD Challenge, but come back tomorrow for the first Wednesday Poetry Prompt of May and stay for Poetic Form Fridays, the next WD Poetic Form Challenge, and so much more! — Robert Lee Brewer, Poetic Asides blog, Writer’s Digest

Stop

Remembering you hurts because
there are no more
new memories

All our times with you are
”remember when …”

And so every one of the
reminiscences,
however light or funny,
casts a shadow

But I can’t stop
(how could I stop remembering you)
because you also
fill me with joy

I still want to feel
all the feelings
open myself up to
their full intensity
even the pain,
loneliness,
devastation

Because it means you lived

home again

We are almost there! Get through today, and tomorrow’s the final poem(s) of April!

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) Again,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write your poem. Possible titles include: “Here We Go Again,” “On the Road Again,” “Stumped on What to Write Again,” and “Doing the Wrong Thing Again.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Home again

I suppose they call it
”feeling at home”
because that’s the place
you’re supposed to feel that way.

Oh, I do:
safe, comfortable, free.
Almost everywhere I go,
I look forward to coming home again.

I know some people think —
even you, perhaps —
they could not live anymore
in a home in which a loved one died.

To me this home
is not filled with the day of his death
but the year after year after year of life
he lived.

In vain I wish
the comforts of home
had been enough
to make him stay.

They are for me.

the freedom of hope

For today’s prompt, write a remix poem. That is, remix one of your poems from earlier in the month. There are many ways to do this. Turn a free verse poem into a traditional form (using lines from the original poem). Or use erasure to cut down a long poem into a short one. Or expand a short poem into a longer version. Get creative with it. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

I reread all the poems I’ve written so far this month, hoping one of them would stand out as ready for a remix. Last Tuesday, I wrote one about freedom, and called it “the hope of freedom.”

Yesterday on my social media, I posted links to YouTube videos of recitations of two great poems about hope, because in addition to being National Poetry Month, it’s the National Month of Hope. So my idea is to switch up the title, and write about “the freedom of hope.” Maybe not a genuine remix of the poem, but at least it I remixed the title. I’ll include my original freedom poem at the end.

Hope

Freedom to believe
how things are is not
how they always must be

Is a new dawn,
a new day
alive with possibility

Change could be
for the good
for the better
for the best

Hope survived the worst;
I can face the rest.

Free/not free

Is it possible to be free?
Free of other people’s expectations?
Free from your own judgment of your perceived shortcomings?
Free to do what fills you and avoid what wears you down?

So many self-imposed chains
locked tight.
Easier to submit
than to figure out how
to break loose.
So hard even to see the bonds;
harder still to escape them.

Can you believe enough in freedom
to reach for it?

on the lake side of the street

For today’s prompt, pick a direction, make that the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. There are so many directions: north, south, up, down, left, right, over, under, etc. But there are also more specific directions like “Across the Way,” “Through the Woods,” and “Beyond the Clearing.” Or give directions like “Clean Your Room,” “Tie Your Shoes,” or “Get Over Here.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

On the lake side

On the lake side of the street
is a little cottage
where 13 years so far
of our family history have played out
Following 30 years of another family’s,
and another
Going back to 1948
A retreat, a refuge, for each in turn

You can park your car on the other side
You can go down through to the stone patio
and sit and watch the water
You can imagine whose feet have
walked the hardwood floors
— who laid them board by board
sweat and dirt
building out a vision —
who else has watched the quiet lake

What dreams they dreamed
as it flowed,
both tide and time

Whose heart has broken
— and ached
and begun to heal
to beat again, even vibrantly,
though it would never be the same —
in the span of those seven decades

Of life
on the lake side