2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 5

For today’s prompt, write a metamorphosis poem. This is an excellent opportunity to use metaphors and/or show changes in a season, person, animal, plant, or whatever. (Hopefully, everyone won’t turn themselves into Kafka-esque roaches.)

Here’s my attempt:

“Development”

As a boy, I flew through clouds and jumped across boulders
without worrying about gravity. But then,
I realized–as if I were a cartoon character suspended in air–
boys turn into men. It’s not pretty, and I
searched out all the exits, but they were chained and locked.
Still, there are worse things than not being
able to fly. Now I can see past mountains and rivers and open
fields. Even with glasses, my vision travels
past outer space to the place where the universe expands,
and I am again a boy who’s happy and free.

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

(Tweet this month’s progress on Twitter with the #novpad hashtag.)

*****

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201 thoughts on “2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 5

  1. Taylor Graham

    HARVEST SONGS AT THE RAUHE HAUS, 1850

    First among the influences that opened their hearts…[was] music.
    – Elihu Burritt, “The Rauhe Haus in Hamburg”

    Charity’s Rough House: a tiny town with workshops,
    bake-house, wash-and-drying house, printing office,
    gardens, and at the heart, a little chapel.

    Here are shoemakers, tailors, coopers, blacksmiths,
    Carpenters by turn – each a child of many skills –
    working for the common good. Before they came here

    they had other skills – pick-pockets, beggars
    sleeping in pig-sties or under carts, in doorways;
    8-year-olds huddled against each other for warmth.

    Some dreamer brought them here; called them
    “sons”; gave them a meal, a bed, and evening song.
    They woke up next morning to find

    it wasn’t a dream, but hard work; sung
    to the rhythm of hymns and ballads learned
    at the bedtime fire. Do you hear that boy

    in the chestnut tree, mingling his song
    with November birds overwintering for spring?
    Elihu, how might a homeless Yankee

    in Hamburg celebrate that yet-to-be-
    declared American holiday, Thanksgiving?
    How better than in this Rough House of thanks?

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