Personal note: I had the prompts for this challenge figured out about a month before we started this challenge. We’re 17 days into the challenge now, and I think I’m finally figuring out my theme for the month–for my own poems. We’ll see what I come up with during the final 13 days, but I may finally know what I’m trying to do. Or not.
The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve been contacted by quite a few poets who haven’t figured out a theme for their poems. I’ve let them know one-by-one that a theme is optional for this challenge. After all, I created the prompts, and I’m just now “maybe” striking upon a theme.
The main goals of this challenge are to poem and to have fun. If you’re doing those two things, then you’re having a successful challenge.
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For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Tell me why (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles could include: “Tell me why 1+1=2,” “Tell me why I’m wrong,” “Tell me why my hand always gets stuck in the Pringle’s container,” etc. Get silly; get serious; get poeming!
Here’s my attempt:
“Tell me why we get lost”
Even the dead know when to quit trying,
so my father waits for the world to end,
because this life is all about dying.
My father believes, so he’s not lying:
He speaks of orbs, the messages they send.
Even the dead know when to quit trying;
they know when living’s too death defying.
I can’t see them, but I hear the sirens,
because this life is all about dying.
I used to care; there used to be crying,
but after a while he’s hard to defend–
even the dead know when to quit trying.
What father’s selling, I won’t be buying.
His mind is buried in its own coffin,
because this life is all about dying.
Brother worries, but I’m only sighing,
“What will father do if the world won’t end?”
Even the dead know when to quit trying,
because this life is all about dying.
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As I try to get caught up – I’m assuming these are poems that got wiped out accidentally – hope I’m doing the right thing by reposting mine …
Tell Me Why Oh Why Oh Why
I watch you baby boy as you stumble to the door
Sobbing as if your heart is truly about to break
Apart; you are screaming hysterically once you
Get there and shaking your wee head like a much
Older person, as if in disbelief, you try to fit your
Chubby baby fingers between door and jamb
An impossibility but you keep at it – you know
Your parents, but especially your mama, went out
That door just minutes ago and you heard the outer
Screen door slam shut as well, a sound that sets
You off all the time these days
The doctor says he thinks you are experiencing
Night terrors and extreme separation anxiety
I am not sure what I think – neither of my children
Suffered like this and I feel so helpless in the face
Of your pain; I pick you up to try and comfort you
And you arch your back and stare at me with so
Much “why?” in your baby blues it is like being
Sprayed with pepper spray or at least how I
Imagine that might feel
You shake your head at me and strain your arms
Toward the door again – your mother has warned
Me of this behaviour so I knew it might happen,
Would happen, I guess – I just didn’t want to believe
It; I decide to try and distract you – take you to your
Room, dump out the toys, and all your books – you
Love books – you look at me like I have lost my mind
And I see more “whys” as you raise your eyebrows
Looking the very picture of your Dad, sceptical except
For the huge tears and the unchecked sobs, your throat
Growing raspier each second from so much screaming
I ask you if you would like some juice and finally
You look interested in something; take the big-boy
Sippy cup, grab your blanket, glare at me as if
I am the betrayer of all betrayers and climb up
Beside your Grandpa on the couch, lay your head
On his lap, sling your cup back like a real boozer
Close your eyes and proceed to pass out.
TELL ME WHY ?
Tell me
(you hate me)
Tell me why
(you berate me)
Tell me why
(you denegrate me)
I’m born
(pinky white)
clothed in skin
(purple from cold)
in these bitter wates
(blue)
Tell me why
(again)
I’ve done you no wrong
(brought here all unknowing)
besides living
(in your space)
breathing
(your air)
Tell me why
(you hate me)
the sins of my forefathers
(never committed)
against your people
(disease)
your pride
(living on handouts)
your way of life
(no longer nomadic)
Tell me why
(you hate me)
again?
Tell Me Why Philosophy Matters:
Philosophy is the can opener of the mind,
Cutting through a firm wall and exposing
New thoughts into the air.
“Why am I here?” you may wonder
And then ask yourself:
“Why is there a universe?”
Philosophy is not about answers,
But about the questions, the “why”s
Posed to the world around us.
Tell me why in a month of chaos
When my mind is blank
I struggle for a few words
To call my own
When my mind is blank
I hang onto a kernel of inspiration
To call my own
To share ideas
Calling my own
Time to be free
To share ideas
To breathe
Time to be free
I put this aside
To breathe
Then focus again on your unfocused mind
Tell me why in a month of chaos
I put this aside
Then focus again on your unfocused mind
I struggle for a few words
Tell Me Why Again
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Tell me why again, do you wish this to be over?
Have I not passed each test you’ve thrown my way?
Did I not prove my strength, my loyalty?
Why do you think me so cruel?
There was a time when you liked my cat-like prowess,
said it made you feel loved, protected, insane
said it all excited you, cloak and dagger, fang and claw
said it made you feel powerful, Mafioso, above the law.
Both friend and enemy loathe you now,
kiss your ring hand out of fear and respect,
lower their eyes whenever my sleek form pass.
wait for the day we’re put in the ground.
Take a good look at this vast kingdom I’ve given you,
know it’s too late to take it all back now.
Blood has been drawn in your name on this paper, my love
so tell me why again, do you wish this to be over?
© 2010 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Tell Me Why
Tell me why
The white of clouds
Can mute so to brooding black
Or the restless wind leaves
And sun’s warm fingers
Need closed eyes.
Tell me how
The rush of river water
Against your legs can slow
The beat of time, each
Tick a longer tug
At skin.
Tell me what
Does it mean when
Two crows fly silently
In the blue sky when
A bush of sparrows
Chatter on.
Tell me where
A badger digs home
Under a layered bone
Of earth rises, or a
Mule deer curls up
Nose to flank.
Tell me why
Stars shine brighter
In the fresh dark air
After a passing rain
Has done its sweet
Dance
Tell me when
The long dark field
Moans a sweeter rest
Under starlight that
Winks slowly into
The low hills.
Tell me please
Who can trod a
Pretty trail in pines along
A canyon rim and not
Smile into the dusk.
Tell Me Why We Must Walk in Someone’s Shoes to Feel How They’re Laced
The window had her by the top right corner
when I saw her move in my direction. She said
the purple chrysanthemums and yellow dandelions
were love-bites, but all over her arms?
This time her hair hung in a loose braid
with red wiry strands. The large t-shirt
and jeans on her gaunt frame made the fabric
wave like flags from a country of one.
Torn black converse seem to hiccup
as she disappeared from my watch.
Apparently many comments have gone missing. All my posts are also on my poetry blog (click on my name below). And perhaps I am lucky to be running late!
Tell Me Why
Why do you still think of Bali
after all these years?
Love is the answer to every question
and this one too. I fell intensely in love
with the place as you might a person.
Why did you burst out crying
so often on that first visit?
As Bill said at the time, understanding first:
it was the Indian in me. I was seeing
memories of my grandparents’ house —
bowls, carvings, vases, jewellery….
And after your third visit, why did you sob
uncontrollably, all the way home on the plane?
I knew I would never return to Bali,
never be with my love again. I was right.
Life has a way of cancelling our plans.
And now it’s too late; my Bali is dead.
Why are you writing so many poems
on your Bali? Why not let go?
I am old at last, and selecting
what is precious out of my tiny life.
I offer the essence to God, and I feast.
Tell Me Why They Have To Take Down Trees
The ancient ficus rubiginosa
is required by the council, who deem its old
twisting limbs and roots “at risk of failure”
to be replaced with a “more advanced species.”
From where I sit across the park
it looks healthy enough. A woman
is in its shade, she has her shoes off
and she rises and sits in the rhythm
of prayer. Parrots and crested pigeons
fly to and leave the tree’s knobbly branches.
The tree swirls in the breeze.
The woman’s hands cover her eyes
and she bows her head. It is clear
she has been watching me as I have been
studying her. And I realize she is crying.
I shouldn’t let the kids watch Paranormal State while I try to write….
tell me why
tell me why he creeps
ensnaring minds,
entrapping souls,
bent on stolid destruction
of all that is holy and good.
he entered this world made his
through a decision eons ago
when a serpent hissed
into her ear
and she listened
and acquiesced
and tempted another
and they blamed one another
and they blamed the serpent
but they never blamed themselves.
he crouches at the door
to deface
to devour
to destroy
to enter the weak and
swallow them whole,
leaving behind not a crumb.
do not succumb.
you may bend, perhaps, but do not break.
you are hedged by the Light
that glimmers in dankest night–
brightening as Grace approaches.
sorry–very rough….
Moon
Moon, tell me why
you follow me through
the open windows
of this empty house?
Let’s try again:
Tell Me Why I Can’t Get Started
It’s almost midnight
and I haven’t revved my engine.
I got a prompt for my key
and turned the ignition
but all I got was a whine,
a sputter and shudder,
as bad as any sub-zero morning.
The brain won’t turn over –
maybe I need antifreeze
(make that a few antifreezes)
or some new spark plugs.
Maybe I should read
that manual again.
Or I could write about writing,
use some clever auto metaphors.
Call it "cars poetica".
Okay, who broke the PAD?