I hope everyone’s having a good experience with this year’s challenge. I’ve been pleasantly surprised with many of the poems I’ve written–and excited by many of the poems I’ve read by others (and I’ve read a lot). I’m hopeful that I’ve made some good progress on a chapbook manuscript myself this time around.
For today’s prompt, write a poem that responds to a statement. You can use any statement, quote, etc., that you wish, but I’ve included a few to make it easier. That said, feel free to find and use a different statement for your poem.
Here are some quotes:
- “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss
- “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” – Mae West
- “Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci
- “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” – Virginia Woolf
- “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” – Mark Twain
Here’s my attempt at a Respond to a Statement poem:
“Amelia Island”
“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” – Virginia Woolf
She woke with the sound of steam,
hijacked a plane,
and was never seen again.
*****
Write the paranormal novel!
Learn the rules of writing a fascinating and engaging paranormal novel.
*****
Robert Lee Brewer
Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and a long-time fan of aviation history (maybe because he was born in Dayton, Ohio, also known as Wright Brothers territory). He thinks Amelia Earhart is one of the most fascinating women in history. Robert is the author of Solving the World’s Problems, and he’s married to the poet Tammy Foster Brewer, who helps him keep track of their five little aviators (four boys and a flying princess). Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.
*****
Check out more poetic posts here:
- Poetic Forms: Rispetto. 8 lines, 2 versions.
- Poet Interview With Terri Kirby Erickson. A fellow Press 53 author.
- 5 Ways How to Write a Poem. As if prompts aren’t enough.
Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.
~Vivian Greene~
dance in the rain
sprinkling, drizzling, raining, pouring,
drop, drop, drop, – stream,
step, step, wet, – scream!
spinning, jumping, laughing, soaring,
people staring, gasping, pointing,
wind – sharp, cold – whip,
face – hot, skin – slip,
running, falling, sky-anointing,
shrugging, talking, arms flailing,
up, de-fi-ance,
eyes smile! drink! dance!
people leaving, you – staying.
Statement
“All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.” Kahil Gibran
Much of mine is scooped up by evening’s low
breezes after the day packs her
harvest, direct and indirect light.
They become word of mouth
with information that expands
lost lore, silence, and dust.
The man on the corner is standing forlorn
he is lost looking, shirt tail hanging, and jacket it slightoly worn.
The man looks both ways when the light signals walk
and steps off the curb surrounded by unstoppable, chattery talk.
Opinions on politics, on restaurants, on shoes, and who’s right,
endless babble, never ceasing, never caring, no one watching the light.
He notices the change from go to slow down
and watches as people keep meandering around.
Standing across from the corner from where he just ventured
he watches as the pedestrians talk and overly gesture,
No one paying attentionto their fellow passengers on this earth,
as if loud spoken words were of anything of worth.
The man’s shoulders sag much lower than before
as the light changed for crossing, another large crowd to abhor.
Same people, same chitchat, same personal gloats,
they think only of themselves for time to devote.
The man looses confidence in people of the town,
really, it’s the whole world that’s bringing him down.
Is mankind so insistant that it’s their right and opinion,
that no one really cares if it’s some other’s dominion?
“We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.”
the man pondered secretly, his hopes for mankind deeply distraught.
Quote from President John F. Kennedy
“Don’t cry because it’s over,
smile because it happened.”
My dream about you.
Posted at http://shannpalmer.blogspot.com
Thanks for reading!
was not happy at all with my previous post for this prompt, called ‘segregation’. so I remixed it for the 25th prompt, and replace it with the following for the 24th.
“Never, a brilliant woman told me, trust a man
Who has not been beaten.” – Rodney Jones, from his poem Blessed Assurance
-thunder in a bottle-
father takes a shower because he feels half full. in order to revere him in a detached way I have to run a hot bath and sit on the floor while holding a bar of soap with a plastic fork stuck in it and I have to be blind not to see it’s a sailboat. mother has to be blind not to see it’s an iron. I lift it to her unnoticed and there is only so long my hand can burn before it feels like a hand again. father makes his hands into bunny hands at his bare chest and hops into my mother who squeals and covers her mouth and allows her face to look as one who’s given up the ex-con. father removes his towel and she whips him with it and he goes naked laughing and swatting at hanging model planes the guns of which he reports to memory. she fixes him a plate of food knowing he’ll throw it from the roof and say he’d rather eat a bullet. when she is outside for the plate my father controls her with a remote he claims doubles as a detonator. she sees me kissing the ex-con and mouths goodbye like a paratrooper.
Penny pincher
“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” – Mae West
if you work hard
and save and scrimp
never spend
to hide it
in the garden,
under your bed,
in an investment portfolio
who will take your vacations,
surprise your kids with time,
leap into your life,
learn the lessons
that are free
but may not stick
if you pay them
good money
Perspective
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss
We seek our attachment, dismiss
the music mingling in the moment,
though we have two hands for grasping
and sense receptors countless as stars.
Mine is here: http://wp.me/p1bqY3-1gM
Go Black
Say, papi,
I’m sure you heard
once you go black
you never go back
so let me be
your afro’d Aphrodite
your afro’d aphrodisiac
your black magic
woman— brown
and profound
betcha keep comin
around
cuz
this bush baby
be made of
that can’t-get-enough-
stuff
that so-good-make-
you-knock-on-wood
stuff
That Mississippi-goddamn-
take-it-out-on-you
stuff
I ain’t jivin,
sucka
ask any
muthafucka.
Ha our poems are together 🙂
“I’m sure you heard…” — love that and the rest that follows.
THIS POEM is good. This poem is fun!!
loved reading it!!
Blackberry
They say
the blacka
the berry
the sweeta
the juice. I say
that’s bs.
I’m bitter
than an mf.
Haaa. Love it!
I’ve Got Eyes in the Back of My Head
My Mum said that.
She meant we kids better not
do anything naughty
because she would see.
When I was little
I thought they were real,
those eyes, and I didn’t
know how they stayed hidden.
Did the lids blend
perfectly with the skin behind
her hair, as if invisible?
How was it possible?
Why weren’t they exposed?
Did she keep them closed
except when checking on us?
It was most mysterious.
If they were really there,
under her hair,
didn’t her hair spoil the view?
How did she look through?
I never solved these mysteries
but I still believe she could see us
doing what we didn’t ought.
We always got caught!
Moms are amazing, aren’t they? You did this well.
“Cartesian Reduction”
I think; therefore, I am.
I am; therefore, I think.
I drink; therefore, I jam.
I sweat; therefore, I stink.
I brink; therefore, I brim.
I weep; therefore, I blink.
I will; therefore, I’m weak.
iamb; therefore, I ink.
I see; therefore, I seek.
I sink; therefore, I swim.
I strip; therefore, I streak.
I lived; therefore, I grew.
I spark; therefore, I click.
I clink, therefore, to you.
iPad; therefore, I link.
I am; therefore, I do.
I dig; therefore, it’s cool.
DA
“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” – Virginia Woolf
Anonymous
Don’t think you can make me
your angel of the house,
stick me behind a stove
in pleated skirts meant to hide
my body,
leave me alone at night,
scribbling poems by kerosene
only to stuff them in drawers.
Instead, you can feed me bread
I’ve won
spread with butter by your hand.
I’ll wear jeans that ride my curves
and write poems about my desires
and maybe yours,
but don’t think you can make me
Anonymous.
WRITING DOWN THINGS
“Memory is the scribe of the soul.” Aristotle
She sits in a chair at a table, by a window in the back,
a photo album opened on her lap
Her coffee has long gone cold but she picks it up
now and then, sips at it, stares at it, sets it down
again…and again
She has started a list, another one, it seems
If only she could remember, but no, it seems
she cannot; and what of these pictures on her knees
The people look familiar but does she know them?
No, she doesn’t think so — why is she looking at them?
She closes the book and sets it aside
Maybe if she drinks some of this drink, she thinks
Oh…it’s so cold…what is it, she wonders
She’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to be cold
She sets it down and picks up a pencil,
sees she has started a list — what a good idea
She’ll make a list, it’s always good to write
things down, she thinks and feels a little bit
better just then.
“Those high plains people
They’re different somehow” – John Hiatt, “Circle Back”
He surprised me by building a deck
He’d never picked up a tool before
Never so much as changed the oil
Then one Saturday morning
He sketched something on the back of a bill
And left for the lumber yard
I helped him unload,
Held boards, passed tools
Several times, I said
“This will not be level”
“It won’t hold up”
He didn’t smile
Although he must have been smiling inside
I marveled at the work and at the father
I had known my whole life
Without knowing this
About him
The quote I chose was “Never,never,never give up”–Winston Churchill
I wrote a Cinquain Rhyme titled “Never Ever”. It is posted on my blog at: http://leonaslines.com/2013/11/24/never-ever
GROWING OLD
Lives lived in separate anonymity,
you and I are relative strangers
but there is no danger present
and the promises of futures shared
are there for the taking. There is
no mistaking how we feel. It is as real
as we’ve ever felt. Having knelt at the altar
of sad despair, it is there that I begin again.
A heart full of love, and a friend who
brings the same to this game. It’s a shame
we hadn’t met in an earlier time. All this rhyme
wouldn’t have been needed to seed this heart.
From the start, our words held sway and
every day we learn what we want for the rest
of our lives. A chance to grow in heart and mind,
and find no fear in growing old together.
Only the best for us in all ways, in our coming days!
Beautiful
Its a Job being Me
“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken” Oscar Wilde quote
Fallen through
A trap door
Trying
To be someone
Else rather than me
Sinking quick
In this stinking sand
Of mine rather than
Just being free
I’m the simplicity
In Simon
Quirky facet
On a vast diamond
Of poetry
I’m the cat
With nine lives
Not sure how many
I’ve got left
Still in my write
Mind to wobble
Scribble a verse
With just remnant breath
I’m a quiet man
You see
Who speaks
In the reckless beauty
Of the word
Solemnly
Testifying to the matters
In life and lived
What I’ve seen and heard
Its all
In a days work
But sometimes its a job
Being me
This feels achingly familiar. Love your form and your language.
Thx Cameron
🙂
“Wherever you stand, be the soul of that place.” ~ Rumi
Be the spark, the knowingness,
the mother of the moment,
be the dream, the home, and the hope.
Wherever you stand, be the stone
and the wind. Yes, be the wind
in the trees of the soul of a place.
Wherever you stand, be a memory,
a hope of the future remembering
how
once
we all lived together in peace.
Yes!!! I was SO hoping someone would choose Rumi for inspiration. Really beautiful poeming here.
Awesome
Uuf, today’s was a little hard! Looking forward to revising all these poems…
“We do not merely love ourselves more than we love duty; we actually love ourselves more than we love joy.” – G. K. Chesterton
MORE THAN I LOVE JOY
It seems I love this place.
It is the default, the space where I escape
when I’ve annulled the duties
and canceled the plans.
I fold into this room—warm, cloistered,
dry and full of sandman’s dust.
Solitary, silent, no breath nor voice
but my own to disturb my dreams.
The coffee and tea flow from the kettles
and the cakes and cookies tumble
from the cupboards like apples from trees.
All manner of books, read and unread
lining the walls and tottering on tables.
All matter I own, gathered about me, mine.
No office nor laundry nor grocery
to pull me outside these four walls.
All I should ever want,
here inside, festooned with my fantasies.
I whisper again, I’m happy
to be here; I can be happy
again. I’ll be happy
this time. I’m happy.
And it’s a happiness full
of sighs and stares
outside the small dark window.
“Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking of yourself less.”
C. S. Lewis (Nov. 29, 1898–Nov. 22, 1963)
November 22, 1963
When shots rang out in Dallas
and America’s Camelot
came to an end, the grief
and shock around the world
overshadowed another death
—not Camelot but Narnia.
One whose pen wove fables
and fairy tales for children
long grown up, parables
of devils, lions, queens
and witches, temptation
disguised as Turkish delight.
He shared the wisdom
acquired through love and loss,
but slipped away, his death
obscured by another grief
observed around the globe.
Oh, wow! What beauty – what sadness!
“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci.
Painted poetics
The words did wash like liquid oils,
across the moment’s page,
and brushed reality in strokes;
released the form once caged.
With light, deft touch and heavy fall,
poetics painted slow,
and drew the image full complete;
each letter truth bestowed.
In vibrant, rich, raw colourings,
the energy was born,
as painted, pure poetics;
gift through voice transformed.
“It takes considerable knowledge just to realize the extent of your own ignorance.” -Thomas Sowell
Oh, you can certainly fool some
Sometimes more than others
Trouble is the day always comes
When you end up fooling yourself
The mirror is a dangerous thing
Like a friend that calls you out
What you see is what you get
Not necessarily what you saw