2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 3

For today’s prompt, write a location poem. The poem can be about a location, but it doesn’t have to be. It could also just incorporate a location into the poem (like a love poem in Paris or something). This poem could also state your feelings about location in general.

Here’s my attempt:

“Don’t let the heat escape”

There’s something holy about my morning
ritual shower. Hot water cleanses
and wakes me to the possibilities
of the day. But I have to close the door
to steam the mirrors, so I cannot see
my reflection when I re-emerge clean.

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Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

(And remember that you can Tweet your progress on Twitter using the #novpad hashtag.)

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Write metrical poetry with the assistance of Writing Metrical Poetry, by William Baer, featuring step-by-step instruction and non-intimidating guidance.

Click here to learn more.

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205 thoughts on “2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 3

  1. Taylor Graham

    NOVEMBER WALK

    Along the railway embankment
    a flight of swallows skims the field
    now touched with amber shades of fall.

    I’ve walked this way before,
    along the river’s willow edge,
    along the railway embankment.

    I’ve found the homeless camps
    where no one’s home – a tarp, a mattress.
    A flight of swallows skims the field

    and a chill wind tells me to move on.
    I have a house, a hearth, a window view
    now touched with amber shades of fall.

  2. alana sherman

    Evensong @ Canterbury

    Organ music and voices
    rise, saturate the great hall,
    resound from stone columns
    Light streams in and song
    caresses my bare shoulders.
    I am a stranger here but
    what I know—each person’s
    tale reflects something of every
    other person’s troubles and sins—
    is clear. The vaults
    make a dizzying pattern
    of stars and all the intricate
    glass, a mosaic of blue sky
    white clouds, the green of leafy
    trees leads the mind on a journey
    towards center and up. I do not
    care about the plaques, statues,
    the stories the windows tell—they
    are all a distraction from
    the knowledge we seek
    the journey that takes us towards
    ourselves in the cool stillness.

  3. Diana R. Wilson

    The Home I Found but Left Behind.

    When I was there, it was all about being back here
    Now that I am here, I am consumed with what I left there.

    I hated it

    The sticky, sauna heat, sullen and consuming.
    Those horrible drenching pop-up showers
    Rolling in every afternoon

    Everything hot
    From the steam in the air
    To the fierce spice in Broussard’s black-eyed-peas

    I miss it

    As I shiver under two blankets
    Blood thinned by that southern warmth
    Or, maybe by some Voodoo witch

    I want to hear the music thumping through the walls
    Feel the roof shake with the roar of thunder
    Smell that old, swampy comfort creeping in again

  4. Mel Goldberg

    LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE (A SESTINA)

    Let sleeping dogs lie, I’ve heard it’s best
    when you see dogs lounging at rest
    to walk circuitously around them
    let them stay as you have found them
    and never put them to a test.

    I learned that lesson after my quest
    and found some sleeping three abreast.
    I made a noise wanting to sound them —
    but sleeping dogs lie.

    I now believe they really guessed
    at my intent when out their nest
    they leaped up. Thankfully chains bound them.
    Never again will I try to hound them.
    A sleeping dog’s sly.

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