Change of Address

This Child of Aslan is now blogging at Pushing the Bruise.  Hope you’ll join me over there.

NaPoWriMo Day #27–off-prompt

Another for Day #27, off-prompt.

"When, in need of leisure, I ventured out of doors to lie on the drive"

 sandwiched by sun,
 warmed from behind and above,
 vitamin dosage on the driveway,
 blindness prevention with crossblocked arms,
 leafshine and armhair illuminations,
 unannoyed by kittybother,
 only sounds of finchchatter and
 wind’s quiet assurance of saturday rest.

		
	
			

			
												

NaPoWriMo Day #27

The prompt for Day #27 is here.  This one is semi-on-prompt and semi-off.

 

"Poetical Magpie"
 
Aren't all poets and writers
magpies of a sort,
collecting shiny words and names,
people and stories,
hoarding them
in the cluttered nest
of the mind?
									

NaPoWriMo Day #26

The prompt for Day #26 is here, but in short, we were to find a poem in another poem via erasing. I had to marinate on this for a while.  Then it came–it had to be Erasure.  Right?  Didn’t it?

Erasure of Erasure: “Chains”

How can I explain
when I get broken?

Together we’ll break those chains of give up.
Don’t give up, now.
(Together with me)
“Break the chains.”

Once upon a time
there were open doors,
            an invitation,
                        the world.

            …We
            were
            falling,
            looking
            for
            others…

How can I choose?
How can I explain words?

We used to talk,
making plans;
days would last forever…

Cover me.
Hold me together.
Break these chains of give up.

NaPoWriMo Day #24–on-prompt

When I had a little more time, I played along with the prompt for Day #24, which was quite fascinating.  We were invited to plug our own names into an anagram generator (I didn’t even know these existed!  wicked cool!) and then write a poem using words buried within our names.

Using words from anagrams of my name (first nickname, last, and middle—there weren’t any for just my first and last;  oh, the difference an “e” and a “t” and a “y” can make).  SO many possibilities!  I could write poems from this list for a month.  I have added basic words in order to make sense, though.

“All that I contain”

All nettle and spleen and retort,
standing under pylons of error,
tensely, testy,
sorry to be made of sterner stuff. 

This is an open letter of ropy prose
to report, tersely, both proselytes and entropy.
I’m a Leo—it’s the pyre for my prey.
I am my own Troy toy,
leery to open,
leery to tryst,
leery of plot and ploy,
leery of rotten portent,
of leper’s leer.

Repel;  snort;  yelp;
repent and restyle myself,
relent and try again to be story,
enter a type of Lent with poetry.
									

NaPoWriMo Day #24–off-prompt

Due to time and responsibility constraints (namely grading and AP exam prep), and subsequent exhaustion, I was paralyzed to do much beyond work and sleep.  A wise woman suggested I write about that.  Hmm…yeah.

 

poetry paralysis

because I could not
move, I heard the rain begin,
an evening surprise.
									

NaPoWriMo Day #21

The prompt for Day #21 is here.  It’s the fortune-cookie fortune assignment.  Naturally I had to meld my current self with my inner junior-higher.  

 

“Oh, I am Fortune’s fool!”
 
 
If you go to bed earlier, you will enjoy more sleep.
(In bed)
 
 
If you work smarter, not harder, you will have a more successful life,
but you won’t because you do not know what smarter means.
(In bed)
 
 
You will receive an important phone call soon,
which you will miss because you screen all of your calls,
preferring only to text message.
(In bed)
 
 
You will soon find yourself in hell,
because your answering machine lies,
saying that you will call back soon;
you are a liar.
(In bed)
 
 
You will soon come into some money,
in the form of a tax refund,
but notice I did not say that it would be a large amount,
nor that it was not already as good as spent.
(In bed)
									

NaPoWriMo Day #20

The prompt for Day #20 is here.  I love stuff like this.  We were given a list of random words and invited to use at least five of them in a poem.  Mine turned into a prayer.

 

“Prayer in Five”

Elusive ghost of
wind and breath and salt and fire:
remind me; don’t let
my mercurial ego
squander the miraculous.
									

NaPoWriMo Day #17

The prompt for Day #17 is here.

To balance the valediction we wrote earlier in the month, we were invited to write a poem of greeting, a hello poem.  This one took the form of a recap of some of my musical experiences in the past several months.

 

 

“Hello to the Music(al)”

Hello, Dolly!  It was so nice to finally see you
after hearing lots about you. 
Take her wrap and find her a lap, fellas;
because this kid’s glowing and she’s not going away.

Hello, my name is Elder Price.
Overpriced, you mean,
and while you were quite funny,
I was sure the lightning was going to strike the blasphemy.

Hello, little girl! So many paths worth exploring.
Just one would be so boring!
Look at that red cape, plump flesh, and naïveté,
and Bettelheim and my course content splayed across the stage. 

Hello, hello, this is Romeo,
calling from a jackpot telephone,
the line a fresh blast from long ago,
and hello to no fear and no souvenirs.

Hello, darkness, my old friend,
I’ve come to talk with you again (every night).
A filled-up Central Park was never so silent
with people hearing (but were they listening?).

Hello…is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
But, child grown and dream gone,
my comfortable numbness is hurting.
									

NaPoWriMo Day #16

The prompt for Day #16 is here.  We were invited to find a poem in another language, not look at the translation, and “translate” it ourselves based on what the words look it.  It was pretty much a rape-and-pillage scenario up in here.  This feels almost disrespectful.

Here’s the original:

THIS WAY OUT

Mas há uma saída? Imagina
 na insónia as florestas que crescem
 a essas horas noutras regiões, os comboios
 que as atravessam para alcançar um destino
 no futuro dos outros.

Há uma saída? Imagina
 a noite cheia de cidades violentas,
 o retumbar das máquinas nos subterrâneos
 e a chuva a cair no plástico negro
 dos morangais, todo o sofrimento
 e incerteza do mundo.

E de manhã, repara, está bonito
 o tempo. Os amigos acordam no quarto ao lado,
 descem à cozinha para fazer o café.
Mas há uma saída?

© 2005, Rui Pires Cabral
 From: Longe da Aldeia
 Publisher: Averno, Lisboa, 2005

And here’s my attempt to find meaning:

THIS WAY OUT

Have you said mass?  Imagine
now insomnia as loud flowers
and essays of our hours, or combinations
that travel to our cankerous destiny—
no future for us two.

Have you said…?  Imagine
a dark night of violent cicadas;
return the machines to belowground,
carve a chair that’s not black plastic,
mornings, everything is sauce
and inserted into the world.

It’s man, repaired;  it’s beautiful,
or it’s time.  Or it’s friends who accord no quarters or larder;
go down to the cozy for father or coffee.
Have you said mass?