Day Ten. Exactly .33333333333333333333333334 done with National Poetry Month, almost. 
Maureen Thorson's NaPoWriMo prompt challenges us to "write a 'book spine' poem. This involves taking a look at your bookshelves, and writing down titles in order (or rearranging the titles) to create a poem. Some fun images of book spine poems can be found here. If you want to take things a step further, Lillian suggests gathering a list of titles from your shelves (every third or fifth book, perhaps, if you have a lot) and using the titles, as close to the originals as possible, to create a poem that is seeded throughout with your own lines, interjections, and thoughts. Happy writing!"
Robert Lee Brewer's PAD prompt: "For today’s prompt, pick an emotion, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “Happy,” “Sad,” “Angry,” or well, there’s a universe of emotions out there."
Okay, first up again today. Blending the prompts as usual.
eXhilarated
X-ray of Faulkner titles
Yo ho and two bottles of rum
miss Zilphia gant
As i lay dying
Barn burning
Country mice
Dry september
that Evening sun
a Fable
Go down, moses
Honor
Intruder in the dust
Jealousy
the Kingdom of god
Light in august
Mosquitoes
Notes on a horsethief
the Old people
Pylon
there was a Queen
Requiem for a nun
the Sound and the fury
Two soldiers
the Unvanquished
Victory
the Wild palms
—Draft by Vince Gotera [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Sorry, not my best poem. Instead of using titles on book spines, I used titles of books (blue) and short stories (red), all by Faulkner. The X line (first line) is me talking, not a title. Why "exhilarated"? Not so much because of what's in the poem per se, but rather because I was able to code this color collage successfully in HTML. Geekdom!
Ven was much more successful than I with his "book spines" + "emotion" poem.
Drug Store Malaise
The Lunatic is screaming inside The Big Drugstore:
Dark Lies the Island and all is
Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned.
No More Masks for Pretty Monsters today and
The Marlowe Papers are lies, mere Notes from
No Man’s Land you can’t hide, ‘cos I found ‘em!
Finders Keepers, with Some Luck
The Lives of Things will become Glimmer Train
Stories. Listen for I am the Sound and the Fury of
Angels in America . . . It’s mostly Mumbo Jumbo, but there are hints of A Profane Wit
at work. A crazy Cryptonomicon of sorts. Too much Glass, Irony, and God
has warped The Lunatic’s mind. The lines he tries to Steal Like an Artist
come out sounding like a poorly drawn Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror.
He is an Image on the Edge. A scent of rotten Perfume- the story of a murderer.
I consider the Strong Measures society takes to make sure we behave, to ensure that
The Divine Comedy of this Liquid Life continues in its current state. To ensure that
we don’t listen to The Lunatic. That we don’t question our Blindness.
Burning Down the House isn’t a viable option, and so I’ll go home
and take comfort in The Superior Person’s Book of Words
and Poetic Designs.
—Draft by Ven Batista [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Good for you, Ven. It's rock solid and it rocks solid. Quite a bookshelf you have!
Jed followed the Brewer prompt today.
Pain
Pain
Not like feelings.
More like fishhooks.
Big ones, digging in
Above the eyes.
Curving back,
Emerging
Through the cheekbones.
Rusty fishhooks,
Aching-dull.
Happy morning.
Dizzy-spinning.
Sitting still.
Or lying down.
—Draft by Jedediah Kurth [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
About this Jed says,"Pain is not an emotion. I couldn't remember the prompt very well, sitting in church . . . Before we went home early." Jed, you wrote a poem in church rather than paying attention, AND you left early? Glad God is easy-going or is she? Well, maybe since about the year 0001 BCE. ヅ I mean, AD.
And then Jed wrote to the Thorson prompt. Also better than my poem!
My Books
If you’re ever at The House At Pooh Corner,
You might hear Tales of Whimsy
About The Myth of the Robber Barons.
But holding up the weight of The French Revolution (vol. 1)
Is The Logic of Failure.
The Vision of the Anointed
Tells us that Witch Week is coming,
Brought to you by Kiki’s Delivery Service.
I think The Demons of Rajpur
Ate The Cucumber Stem
Right in front of Earwig and the Witch.
[Nihon no . . .] Something about origami.
The pictures matter; I don’t need to read it.
A Wind in the Door that leads to
America. Let’s hope it doesn’t lead to
The Gulag Archipelago.
The Communist Manifesto is spewing out
Quotations From Chairman Mao Tsetung.
The Population Bomb is defused by
The Abolition of Man.
The Masters of Deceit give
Eight Lectures on Labor, Capital, and Justice,
On The Wealth of Nations,
On the wealth Of Other Worlds,
On The Nature of Economies,
And on The Theory of Moral Sentiments.
And that’s not even one whole shelf.
(Emily’s on the other end, visiting The Faerie Queene.)
—Draft by Jedediah Kurth [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Great job, Jed. You have an awesome bookshelf too!
Here is Alan's contribution today. He says, "I took off from the expected with the writing prompts because it occurs to me that folks do not often pay that much attention to any books offered as atmosphere in an interview — clearly, if an author is selling a book or a talking head wants to present specific books prominently in the background, we cannot help but read the titles. However, I have seen some interviews where it was apparent that no one considered what books were visible, and they should. It probably would not do, for example, for an American politician hoping to attract conservative voters to have a big ol' copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves in the background. If this poem prompts anyone to pause an interview and take a look at the books in the background, I have done my job here."
The Videographer’s Assistant Becomes a Devilish Grip
It started when I saw the hokey sets
for interviews, bookcases in the background, filled
with stuff nobody read, except for what the subject wrote,
and I had seen my share on set of Reader’s Digest junk,
condensed and bland, and old encyclopedias,
and so I took my chance to rearrange the shelves.
Encyclopedias were my first props.
I started with some silly words, like “BARF,”
a subtle rearrangement on one set
that no one caught. Eventually, I raised the stakes
and made profaner words, then making sure,
once we were done, to put the volumes back in place
as I broke down equipment after shoots,
selecting words with no repeating letters, “shitfaced” still
my record, longest word. By then, I started carrying
my own old books for when we made location shoots,
because the rushed executives, administrators, stars
would step outside while I was setting up,
and I could add a title to the background, just for fun,
like Sex for Dummies, Ragged Dick, or anything
the school board might have banned.
I nearly stopped when we switched to HD,
the resolution made the titles clear,
but anyone who uses DVRs to freeze
a local newscast shot would get the joke.
My news director hasn’t said a word.
—Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
What a great story, Alan. Bet you did this in real life. This would make a great short story if you want to expand it into fiction!
Here is Sarah's emotion poem.
Grey
Doesn't seem like something tangible,
a feeling that wells up from a hidden
cavity in the heart or a thick wave
of unspeakable emotion.
This is absence. This is empty
space.
Colors fade away into nothing,
oblivion is a whirlwind of depth
in comparison to this wasteland.
It stretches for miles, beyond the mind's
horizons. It feels like . . .
Numbness.
—Draft by Sarah Smith [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
Great work, everyone! Thanks for the poems.
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Ingat, everyone. ヅ
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