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.

poetry month: in praise of you (yes, you)

We’ve made it through from the beginning of the month to the end . And for that, I am thankful. Here’s to another day, another month, and another year of poeming together!

For today’s prompt, write a praise poem. Praise your health or the taste of chocolate cake. Pen an ode to normalcy (whatever that is) or expound on the wonders of your favorite pen (for me, it’s either the Pilot G-2 or Pilot Precise V5). Have a favorite song? A favorite saying? Today is a perfect day to sing its praises.

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

in praise of you

yes you,
ok, I can’t see you
but I am aware
that you are doing your best
sometimes it’s so hard

you’ve tried something new
because it seemed like the time

you’ve fought to keep up
that good habit you were just forming

you’ve been tempted
to be down about
your perceived flaws and failings
but strived to let go,
to not be so hard on yourself

you’ve set aside time
to just be
and not feel pressure to do

none of this perfectly
maybe not even well
sometimes just passably
and there have been some failures

but you are doing your best

and sometimes it’s so hard

For a subset of people, their love language is “words of affirmation.” Hearing that they’re seen and appreciated, their efforts are noticed, that they make a difference — these words can renew and refresh them.

I have one lovely friend who, like me, is a mother who lost a son. A few months ago, just by chance, we developed a sort of secret code between the two of us. Now whenever we are together (or at least back in the days when people still got together!), we would embrace, and say quietly to each other, “I see you.” I don’t know if words of affirmation is her primary love language. It isn’t mine. But our new ritual is deeply meaningful to me. Leslie, even while we are apart, I see you.

I don’t know who is reading this, or what your struggles have been during this time of isolation. But I do know you’re doing your best. I’m sure some days, that doesn’t seem very good. Same here, yeah. Same here. It still is good. It’s good enough. I hope my words remind you to feel your own strength. I think you’re doing just fine.

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

poetry month: keep the change

For today’s prompt, write a change poem. This could be a poem about something that has changed or something that will change. Changing tires, clothes, or perspectives. Change left over when paying for something with cash. Feel encouraged to change it up today. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

change

Certain moments hold the weight of change

Heavy as we look back over time

After stands so starkly from before

Not even belonging to the same life

Grant me strength to carry, then,

Every burden into the light of today

When I think of acrostic poems, generally I consider them childish. I wanted to see if I could compose one and make it seem as natural as I could, rather than having the forced feeling I usually expect from the form. I am happy with this first attempt. I’m enjoying the shorter poems I’ve worked on the past couple of days. I think editing down my ideas helps me focus on what is important to say.

(Here’s Robert Lee Brewer’s list of 100 poetic forms)

poetry month: social studies

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Social (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: “Social Distancing at the Grocery Store,” “Social Media Trolls,” “Social Club,” and/or “Social Distortion.” Heck, flipping the script to come up with a title like “Ice Cream Social” would totally work too.

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

Social Studies

Somehow I made it through school
and even through my 20s
without realizing I was an introvert
and understanding what that meant

I've become much more introspective
in the decades since then
I like knowing myself
and what makes me the way I am,
the instructions that explain
how I operate most efficiently.

I’m social in my own way,
kind of awkward,
not good in crowds,
happy alone,
but getting kind of tired of isolation.

The social studies —
the coping skills I must have developed
over those years
when I wasn’t conscious of what my needs were
— are paying off now
in these most unsociable times.

I think there’s a good idea here, but it needs some development. Maybe in May when I’m not writing a poem a day, I can return to a couple of these and see what more I can do with them.

poem-a-day challenge: the isolation dance

Writer’s Digest’s Robert Lee Brewer: While I write my poems in April, I figure out the prompts in February and March—because I’ve learned it’s difficult to create both at the same time. So when I thought of today’s prompt, I was hopeful that it would be about a time in the recent past, but here we are, so without further ado…

For today’s prompt, write an isolation poem. For many, this is a very real and present subject. And for me, I’ve found that social distancing and staying at home has actually made it harder for me to find the isolation my introverted soul needs to recharge—so I actually wake up before anyone else to get a little alone time. But isolation existed before COVID-19 as well. So there are plenty of ways to dive into this one.

isolation

isolation is a verb,
an action I was learning to perform
in the first two sessions of
an eight-week beginners’ belly dance class
my friends and I had joined for fun

moving a part of the body
separately from all the parts
surrounding it:
the ribcage, a hip, a shoulder

isolation is a noun
that put a premature end
to those classes.

We should be “graduating” tonight
but instead we still are on hiatus
alone in our homes
where we miss the music
and each other
and long to again browse through the spangled costume pieces
wondering which ones would look best
and when we would have learned enough to earn
the right to wear a jingly hip scarf
to punctuate the joy
of our togetherness,
our communal dancing

poem-a-day challenge: six words

Write a poem every day of April with the 2020 April Poem-A-Day Challenge. Write a six words poem.

For today’s prompt, write a poem that uses the following six words:
bump, embrace, fixture, howl, lonely, resolve

How did I come up with this list? Actually, it’s a tie-in to our Shakespeare Week that starts today, because the Bard is actually credited with inventing all six of these words. Pretty cool, eh? For sestina fans, I kind of intentionally made it six words for a reason. So let’s get writing!

(33 lamentable words coined by William Shakespeare.)

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

six words

I remember believing
the struggles brought on
by your depression and anxiety
were, while serious,
just a bump we would have to get over
in raising you
to the happy and successful adulthood you would have.
To the life you would embrace
when you could leave behind the petty pedantry
of compulsory education
and learn what you wanted to learn
and do what you wanted to do
create what you wanted to create
beholden to no one.

But the dark clouds
became a fixture
and your increasing discomfort
a howl, as they blocked out the moon
until there was no light at all
and you, lonely in the blackness
lost hope
even as we
with parental resolve unrelenting
and a love beyond explanation
tried to reach you.
Our every effort still failed
to illuminate the solitary place
in which you found yourself trapped.

In the end it didn’t matter what I believed,
what I still believe:
that you would somehow have found comfort
and ease
and satisfaction,
a life worth living,

if you could have held on.

When I read Robert Lee Brewer’s initial direction of writing a six-words poem, at first I thought of the idea of six-word stories. This poem was going to be pretty fast and easy (and short)! But then I clicked through and read the real instructions. Hmmm, it would likely be much harder than I thought.

After I worked the first two words into the poem, and realized they were in the order presented, I challenged myself to include the other four words also sequentially — not a requirement, but something I wanted to see if I could do.

The title, six words, obviously refers to the prompt. But I’ve also included my six-word story as the last line.

poem-a-day exotic species: orba parente

For today’s prompt, write an exotic poem. Set your poem in an exotic locale. Or maybe write about an exotic person, animal, or technology. And remember that your everyday things may be exotic to someone else. Honestly, I’ve found poets are a breed of exotic creature whenever I’m in a room full of “normal” adults. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

orba parente

the bereaved parent is an exotic species,
the sighting of which is prone to provoke
barely concealed gawking
and furtive whispering

having lost a child
is as if one were a dangerous creature
on exhibit at the zoo
where everyone wants to see
but no one wants to get too close

because who knows what might happen
best keep your distance
and hope that I am
a mere curiosity you can forget about
tomorrow

Forgive the poorly translated Latin title; I’ve never studied Latin, so I had to just plug “bereaved parent” into an online translator to try and achieve the effect of a species’ scientific name. I think “orba” has something to do with the root of the word “orphan,” and since there’s not an English word for a parent who has lost a child (the way orphan describes having lost one’s parents) the idea of it being applied in reverse resonated with me.

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.

poem-a-day challenge: dream breakdown

Once we get through today’s poem, we’ll be half of the way through this challenge. Cue the Bon Jovi. And let’s jump in to this prompt.

For today’s prompt, write a dream poem. The poem can be a remembered dream. Or it could be a dream about the future (like getting out and about without worry again). Of course, some dreams are good, but there are nightmares too. So let’s get dreamy with our poems today. After all, Blondie said it best: “Dreaming is free.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Your vast imagination
— which conceived fantastical worlds
and elaborate play scenarios
practically from infancy

and resulted in the creation of
innumerable board games
live action playground games
computer and video games*,
worlds in Minecraft
YouTube videos
musical projects,
more ideas than you had time to bring to fruition —

ultimately failed you
when you could not dream of a world
in which your life would have meaning
and bring joy, not suffering.

Just once, you were terribly wrong.

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.