from today's Poem of the Day email. It's from "User's Guide to Physical Debilitation" by Paul Guest. I can't say I love the poem, but this section made me laugh awkwardly...oh sex.....
When not an outright impossibility
or form of neurological science fiction,
sexual congress will either be with
tourists in the kingdom of your tragedy,
performing an act of sadistic charity;
with the curious, for whom you will be beguilingly blank canvas;
or with someone blindly feeling their way
through an extended power outage
caused by summer storms you once thought romantic.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Colors and Ideas and Possibilities, Oh My
(alternately titled: It's Finally Looking and Feeling Like Spring!)
http://appalachianphoto.org/members/mary-tortorici
I am fascinated by these photos of topiary in front of a small Applachian house with laundry drying on a clothesline. There is a poem in this, for sure. Actually, the entire photo project is really cool.
Today's PAD challenge was to take a color, make it the title of your poem, and then just write something. Very open-ended, but not a bad prompt. Here's a link to all today's responses. You can find mine by searching for my name, or the title "White, Through Four Seasons".
http://appalachianphoto.org/members/mary-tortorici
I am fascinated by these photos of topiary in front of a small Applachian house with laundry drying on a clothesline. There is a poem in this, for sure. Actually, the entire photo project is really cool.
Today's PAD challenge was to take a color, make it the title of your poem, and then just write something. Very open-ended, but not a bad prompt. Here's a link to all today's responses. You can find mine by searching for my name, or the title "White, Through Four Seasons".
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
13 Ways of Looking at a Cat
Wonderful PAD prompt today!!! Take the title of a famous poem, alter it in some way, and then write your own. You don't have to follow the form of the original, but I chose to. This was actually a lot of fun, and the responses today are really good.
13 Ways of Looking at a Cat
(after Wallace Stevens' "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" with my apologies)
I
Throughout my entire apartment
the only moving thing
is the tan striped tail twitching.
II
I am of three minds,
like the cat
who can not decide which bird to chase.
III
The cat dances in the window at night.
She is a small part of the ballet.
IV
A woman and a woman
are one.
A woman and a woman and a cat
are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
the beauty of accomplishment
or the beauty of anticipation,
the cat purring
or just before.
VI
Raindrops streak the wide window
with sad saltless tears.
The shadow of the cat
crosses it, back and forth.
The desire
traced behind the blinds
an unfillable need.
VII
O thin women of this city,
why do you imagine small dogs?
Do you not see how the cat
rubs against the legs
and nestles in the laps
of those you desire?
VIII
I know secret languages
and liquid, indescribable rhythms,
but I know too
that the cat in not involved
in what I know.
IX
When the cat darted behind your couch
she marked the end
of one of many relationships.
X
At the sight of a cat
sleeping in a patch of sunlight,
even the most industrious
would wish to nap beside her.
XI
You walked from downtown
in an old pair of flip flops.
Once, a dog followed you,
thinking the squeak
of your sandals
was the mewing of a kitten.
XII
The curtains are moving.
The cat must be playing.
XIII
It was morning all day.
It was raining
and it was going to rain.
The cat lay curled
on top of my pillow.
And if you need a refresher on the original, it's here.
13 Ways of Looking at a Cat
(after Wallace Stevens' "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" with my apologies)
I
Throughout my entire apartment
the only moving thing
is the tan striped tail twitching.
II
I am of three minds,
like the cat
who can not decide which bird to chase.
III
The cat dances in the window at night.
She is a small part of the ballet.
IV
A woman and a woman
are one.
A woman and a woman and a cat
are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
the beauty of accomplishment
or the beauty of anticipation,
the cat purring
or just before.
VI
Raindrops streak the wide window
with sad saltless tears.
The shadow of the cat
crosses it, back and forth.
The desire
traced behind the blinds
an unfillable need.
VII
O thin women of this city,
why do you imagine small dogs?
Do you not see how the cat
rubs against the legs
and nestles in the laps
of those you desire?
VIII
I know secret languages
and liquid, indescribable rhythms,
but I know too
that the cat in not involved
in what I know.
IX
When the cat darted behind your couch
she marked the end
of one of many relationships.
X
At the sight of a cat
sleeping in a patch of sunlight,
even the most industrious
would wish to nap beside her.
XI
You walked from downtown
in an old pair of flip flops.
Once, a dog followed you,
thinking the squeak
of your sandals
was the mewing of a kitten.
XII
The curtains are moving.
The cat must be playing.
XIII
It was morning all day.
It was raining
and it was going to rain.
The cat lay curled
on top of my pillow.
And if you need a refresher on the original, it's here.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Finally caught up
I couldn't come up with a good poem for Friday's prompt (which was to write a poem about Fridays - blah, sorry, dude, but that was a sucky prompt), then my internet was not working at home and I didn't go to work yesterday so I had to catch up with several days' worth of poems today, but I did it. I am now caught up. 14 poems in 14 days. Almost halfway there.
I ended up just doing a silly little haiku for the Friday prompt. Saturday's was to write about an object, and I wrote the following little piece because I've been shopping obsessively for shoes recently:
New Shoes
In the store, you are temptation,
possibility, elusive beauty,
impossible comfort. You are
quarry, I stalk you across town
through a maze of aisles.
When I find you, I am the hunter
victorious. In my closet
you are guilt, disappointment,
blisters and an empty wallet.
Sunday's prompt was to write a poem titled "So we decided to...." Mine was "So We Decided To Get Coffee", but it didn't turn out that great. Monday's prompt was to write about a hobby, and I used a poem I've been wanting to write this month about running. It's a prose poem, and I really really like it. Here's the beginning; it's about running on Easter morning (hence the title):
Easter 2009
The morning is all green and white and the dark wet brown of tree bark and mulch, drenched and glistening like kittens just born, sexless, blind, licked clean and new by an exhausted mother cat, each tiny mouth finding a nipple. There is no consciousness to this impulse.
It goes on from there. I actually have a long-standing habit of writing poems on or about Easter. The images of death and resurrection are potent for me and resonate in different ways at different times, and there is always the pull of religion or my fight against it, plus this is a time of year that always inspires me. I actually like that piece a lot. Today's prompt was either to write a love poem or an anti-love poem. Mine is kind of both, and it's not that good, so not posting it either.
I ended up just doing a silly little haiku for the Friday prompt. Saturday's was to write about an object, and I wrote the following little piece because I've been shopping obsessively for shoes recently:
New Shoes
In the store, you are temptation,
possibility, elusive beauty,
impossible comfort. You are
quarry, I stalk you across town
through a maze of aisles.
When I find you, I am the hunter
victorious. In my closet
you are guilt, disappointment,
blisters and an empty wallet.
Sunday's prompt was to write a poem titled "So we decided to...." Mine was "So We Decided To Get Coffee", but it didn't turn out that great. Monday's prompt was to write about a hobby, and I used a poem I've been wanting to write this month about running. It's a prose poem, and I really really like it. Here's the beginning; it's about running on Easter morning (hence the title):
Easter 2009
The morning is all green and white and the dark wet brown of tree bark and mulch, drenched and glistening like kittens just born, sexless, blind, licked clean and new by an exhausted mother cat, each tiny mouth finding a nipple. There is no consciousness to this impulse.
It goes on from there. I actually have a long-standing habit of writing poems on or about Easter. The images of death and resurrection are potent for me and resonate in different ways at different times, and there is always the pull of religion or my fight against it, plus this is a time of year that always inspires me. I actually like that piece a lot. Today's prompt was either to write a love poem or an anti-love poem. Mine is kind of both, and it's not that good, so not posting it either.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Perfect Scent (and other random info)
Haiku from yesterdays Poem-A-Day prompt. It was to write a "clean" poem. I am kind of obsessed with spring right now, so that's why this is the direction I went.
The Perfect Scent
April air is clean
all green and white, the wet browns
of bark, mulch, background
to daffodil notes
hyacinth, dogwood, nameless
sweetness, breathable
refreshing, never
too heavy, only beauty
overpowering.
Monday's prompt was to write about something missing. Mine ended up being about my ex, so I'm not posting it. And today's prompt was to write about routine. I am knowingly bad at routine, and could not come up with anything decent. I put something together, but it's one of those poems this month that I knew would be terrible.
I read on Monday at Poetry Forum Open Mic, after our featured reader Mary Weems. She was really fabulous, a Cleveland lady who came down to read and hang out on a Monday night. Love that! I read two of the new April poems - "Genesis" and the one about Longaberger. Got good responses on both, and had a nice chat afterward with Connie and Steve and Mary. I stuck around the bar after poetry because Stacey convinced me that the music would be good, and it was.
Also, I got my last rejection letter this week, so now all the results are in. They are, in order of the date I remember receiving them....
Penn State - Accepted
Alabama - Rejected
Michigan - Rejected
Minnesota - Waitlisted
Wisconsin - Rejected
Colorado State - Rejected
West Virginia - Accepted
NEOMFA/Cleveland State - Accepted
Columbia College Chicago - Rejected
The Perfect Scent
April air is clean
all green and white, the wet browns
of bark, mulch, background
to daffodil notes
hyacinth, dogwood, nameless
sweetness, breathable
refreshing, never
too heavy, only beauty
overpowering.
Monday's prompt was to write about something missing. Mine ended up being about my ex, so I'm not posting it. And today's prompt was to write about routine. I am knowingly bad at routine, and could not come up with anything decent. I put something together, but it's one of those poems this month that I knew would be terrible.
I read on Monday at Poetry Forum Open Mic, after our featured reader Mary Weems. She was really fabulous, a Cleveland lady who came down to read and hang out on a Monday night. Love that! I read two of the new April poems - "Genesis" and the one about Longaberger. Got good responses on both, and had a nice chat afterward with Connie and Steve and Mary. I stuck around the bar after poetry because Stacey convinced me that the music would be good, and it was.
Also, I got my last rejection letter this week, so now all the results are in. They are, in order of the date I remember receiving them....
Penn State - Accepted
Alabama - Rejected
Michigan - Rejected
Minnesota - Waitlisted
Wisconsin - Rejected
Colorado State - Rejected
West Virginia - Accepted
NEOMFA/Cleveland State - Accepted
Columbia College Chicago - Rejected
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Longaberger Basket Corporate Headquarters
From Sunday's Poem-A-Day prompt..... (the prompt was to write about a landmark, and this is one I drive past whenever I come from my parents' house back to Columbus)
The Longaberger Basket Corporate Headquarters
It rises above the trees
arched handles all you see
and you assume bridge
from a distance. You assume
it is rational but as you approach
its bulk appears south of the road
woven, windowed, a giant basket
shaped building complete
with outstretched handles
raised upward in supplication,
waiting for god to reach down
and carry it away and place it on a shelf
in his modern country home.
(if anyone is wondering what on earth I'm actually talking about, here is a link with a picture: http://www.longaberger.com/homeOffice.aspx)
The Longaberger Basket Corporate Headquarters
It rises above the trees
arched handles all you see
and you assume bridge
from a distance. You assume
it is rational but as you approach
its bulk appears south of the road
woven, windowed, a giant basket
shaped building complete
with outstretched handles
raised upward in supplication,
waiting for god to reach down
and carry it away and place it on a shelf
in his modern country home.
(if anyone is wondering what on earth I'm actually talking about, here is a link with a picture: http://www.longaberger.com/homeOffice.aspx)
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Isn't everything ordinary if you think about it?
I liked this, for reasons that may be obvious. It's from from the Academy of American Poetry's "Poem of the Day" email today.
Goldfish Are Ordinary
by Stacie Cassarino
At the pet store on Court Street,
I search for the perfect fish.
The black moor, the blue damsel,
cichlids and neons. Something
to distract your sadness, something
you don't need to love you back.
Maybe a goldfish, the flaring tail,
orange, red-capped, pearled body,
the darting translucence? Goldfish
are ordinary, the boy selling fish
says to me. I turn back to the tank,
all of this grace and brilliance,
such simplicity the self could fail
to see. In three months I'll leave
this city. Today, a chill in the air,
you're reading Beckett fifty blocks
away, I'm looking at the orphaned
bodies of fish, undulant and gold fervor.
Do you want to see aggression?
the boy asks, holding a purple beta fish
to the light while dropping handfuls
of minnows into the bowl. He says,
I know you're a girl and all
but sometimes it's good to see.
Outside, in the rain, we love
with our hands tied,
while things tear away at us.
Goldfish Are Ordinary
by Stacie Cassarino
At the pet store on Court Street,
I search for the perfect fish.
The black moor, the blue damsel,
cichlids and neons. Something
to distract your sadness, something
you don't need to love you back.
Maybe a goldfish, the flaring tail,
orange, red-capped, pearled body,
the darting translucence? Goldfish
are ordinary, the boy selling fish
says to me. I turn back to the tank,
all of this grace and brilliance,
such simplicity the self could fail
to see. In three months I'll leave
this city. Today, a chill in the air,
you're reading Beckett fifty blocks
away, I'm looking at the orphaned
bodies of fish, undulant and gold fervor.
Do you want to see aggression?
the boy asks, holding a purple beta fish
to the light while dropping handfuls
of minnows into the bowl. He says,
I know you're a girl and all
but sometimes it's good to see.
Outside, in the rain, we love
with our hands tied,
while things tear away at us.
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