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