Sunday, May 13, 2018

How I Came to Science Fiction


Recently my son Gabe gave me back a book of mine he found on his shelf: Andre Norton's Star Rangers. This was quite a cool "reunion" for me because not only was this the first book by Andre Norton that I read — I've been a huge fan of hers for over half a century and have read most of her many, many works! — Star Rangers was the very first book of science fiction I read.


I remember distinctly that it was my first SF book (not counting comic books . . . a "book book," in other words) because I recall very clearly how I came to read it. During 5th grade at St. Agnes School in San Francisco (that would have been 1963-1964) we kids had been reading the Oz books by L. Frank Baum. This was not part of our schoolwork; it was like we were a book group before we knew book groups were a thing. We just all read the Oz books together for fun. After we got through the Oz books — 14 by Baum — we moved on to read The Borrowers series by Mary Norton.

We ran out of Borrower books pretty quickly; there were only 5 novels. I then discovered that right next to the Borrower books in our school library was a novel by another Norton: Andre's Star Rangers. I remember being captivated by the cover image, a spaceman poised on a rock spur points to our right, silhouetted against a bright orange and scarlet sky. Here's that entrancing cover.


Well, my 11-year-old self found the story pretty entrancing too: a crew of military spacemen crashland on a planet far off their star charts and must learn to survive there. I was a tenderfoot Boy Scout and so living off the land was probably something much on my mind at that time. My father, a U.S. Army soldier during WWII, a member of the elite Philippine Scouts, had told me Army stories since I was quite a young child, so the military themes of duty and honor in Star Rangers must have been attractive to me as well.

After devouring Star Rangers, I began to seek out other SF writers in our school library as well as in our neighborhood public library and also in the library at the Presidio of San Francisco (my father was a retired Army officer and so I could borrow books from that library). It was a heady time, discovering H. G. Wells and Jules Verne, Isaac Asimov's I, Robot, Arthur C. Clarke's The City and the Stars, Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles, and many others. You'll notice that all of the authors named here are men; the SF field was dominated by men at that time and women often had to publish under male pseudonyms. In fact, Andre Norton is the pen name of Alice Mary Norton, who was eventually the first woman to be inducted into the Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame.

Reading Star Rangers again now, what strikes me, given the US's current political climate vis-à-vis ethnicity and immigration, is the novel's central theme of racism and its ills: in this case, humans vs. "Bemmys" (i.e., nonhuman aliens). The phrase "Bemmy lover" even comes up in the story, a thinly disguised allusion to the phrase "n----r lover" that was current during the time I was reading Star Rangers, using the n-word to disparage European Americans who felt the oppression of African Americans was wrong and unjust. ("Bemmy" is a fascinating coinage, an acronym based on the contemporary phrase "Bug-Eyed Monster.")

When I first read Star Rangers as an 11-year-old, I'm fairly sure I didn't catch on to this theme. I hadn't yet personally encountered racism and discrimination as I would soon enough, in later years. However, I was certainly well aware of the presence of racial prejudice as something that came up in current events and was alluded to in my parents' dinner conversations, so the novel may well have piqued my interest in that regard somewhat. In any case, Star Rangers is an interesting read now, highlighting how in the 65 years since its 1953 publication our country has been unable to shed racism. "Make America Great Again," indeed.

Reading Andre Norton's Star Rangers at the age of 11 changed my life. I have loved science fiction ever since, in all its lovely and incandescent forms. That I am now the editor of Star*Line, the print journal of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Poetry Association, comes directly from that moment.


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Monday, April 30, 2018

Day 30 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


          S P O I L E R   A L E R T
          Do NOT read below this line
          if you have not yet seen the
          movie Avengers: Infinity War.

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinating fact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird."

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "write a closing time poem. Or another way of coming at this prompt is to write a poem in which something is coming to an end–like this month’s poetry challenge. Could be the end of a concert, an era, or whatever else must come to a close."

My "strange and fascinating fact" is only within the MCU, and it is more unbelievable rather than fascinating. Though fact it seems to be. Within canon, that is. And . . . "closing time," yes.

The End

Infinity War.
Can’t believe the casualties,
so many undone.
Thanos snaps his fingers. Death:
leaves, ash, drift in a soft breeze.

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]



Well, friends, another April's worth of poems done. Thanks for reading! See you next year.


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Sunday, April 29, 2018

Day 29 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on the Plath Poetry Project’s calendar. Simply pick a poem from the calendar, and then write a poem that responds or engages with your chosen Plath poem in some way.”

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “write a response poem. Respond to whatever helps you get your poem written, but my thought is that you should respond to one of your poems from earlier in this challenge.”

My poem today is a response to this poem excerpt from the Plath Poetry Project: “The smile of iceboxes annihilates me. / Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one! / I hear her great heart purr.” (from “An Appearance” by Sylvia Plath). The combination of “iceboxes” and “purr” elicited a childhood memory.

Fifties Frigidaire

When I was around ten years old, I began to fear
the refrigerator in our kitchen on Woodland Avenue.

Some late Friday night, after my parents went to bed,
I watched the horror movie The Blob, which starred

a teenage-looking Steve McQueen, battling a monster
that moved like a humongous amoeba, dissolving

people left and right. Now, it’s all just cheesy schlock,
but to my ten-year-old brain, it was believable and

terrifying. How do you stop a giant gelatinous mass
that was both intelligent and hungry? Worst of all

was the gurgly hum The Blob would make, because
it was the exact noise that issued from our Frigidaire.

I couldn’t go into the dark kitchen for a midnight
snack because of that sound. And forget about jello!

I eventually got over it, but deep inside me a little boy
is afraid of the fridge. Watch out, it'll eat you! Glurg.

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]

That was fun, wasn’t it? Here’s a movie poster for The Blob (1958), though it doesn’t match my remembrance because that time I saw the movie it was on a black-and-white TV in 1962.



And here’s a photo of the door of one of those old ’50s Frigidaires. That handle always intrigued me, so reminiscent of automobile design and car culture: opening the fridge felt like opening a car door.




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Saturday, April 28, 2018

Day 28 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "we challenge you today to draft a prose poem in the form/style of a postcard."

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "take the phrase '(blank) Wave,' replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: 'Tidal Wave,' 'Next Wave,' 'Friendly Wave,' 'Heat Wave,' and/or 'Sound Wave.' "

Here's a haiga, with a haiku on an image of the San Francisco Bay Bridge.

>

Light Wave

curlicue necklace
of lights swings across the Bay
—starts playing leapfrog

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]

I hope you enjoyed this poem/postcard, my first haiga!


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Friday, April 27, 2018

Day 27 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "we challenge you to pick a card (any card) from . . . the tarot, and then to write a poem inspired either by the card or by the images or ideas that are associated with it."

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "write a story poem. Think of a story, could be a long, complicated, winding story, but for a poem, it may make more sense to make it a short, direct story."

Although I'm mainly clueless about the Tarot, I'm fascinated by The Hanged Man, who is typically imaged as hanging upside down, not hanged execution style.


Googling "the hanged man" I discovered this card drawn by Swedish artist Alexandra "Erkegris" Alexandersson. What intrigued me is that "the hanged man" is female and not upside down.


Frankly, I found this image a bit disturbing and decided to write today's story poem about it, undoing the execution vibe.

The Hanged Man

is not a man. She
floats, in a white silk dress, tied
to a huge oak tree.
Alex was at a cocktail
party, and then she woke here.

Hanging upside down
next to her, a dragon named
Alex too, somehow.
He wonders how this Alex
and he came to be here, now.

With a precise burst
of flame he burns through the rope.
Human Alex climbs
on Dragon Alex’s back,
and into teal sky they soar.

Alex and Alex,
white silk dress, jewel green scales,
seeking destiny,
knowledge: who they are and why.
Gold sun beckons, azure sky.

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]

For those interested in poetic craft, these are linked tanka in the traditional 5-7-5-7-7 syllable format. I'm aware that contemporary haiku and tanka writers in English generally do not follow the 5-7-5 patterns any more. To me, the 5-7-5 is a craft problem, a poetic puzzle: how to stick to the syllable count and yet still have purposeful line breaks; so, for example, while "she" at the end of my first line might seem over-enjambed, I've done it on purpose to emphasize the gender play in Alexandersson's card.


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Thursday, April 26, 2018

Day 26 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses. Try to be as concrete and exact as possible with the 'feel' of what the poem invites the reader to see, smell, touch, taste and hear."

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "write a relationship poem. Of course, there are human relationships, but there are also plant-animal relationships, animal-animal relationships, and even mathematical relationships. Good, bad, healthy, and not-so-much."

Melding both prompts today. Always fun. My fellow San Francisco natives will enjoy this story, I think.

Free Ride

My relationship with The City — my hometown,
San Francisco — was gray and dark, but that’s not
a bad thing. It’s a good, wonderful thing: thick fog.

As a kid, waiting for a bus, in the early morning
fog, to go to school, I would see the 6 Masonic appear
magically out of what was essentially a deep, soft cloud

resting on the ground. The bus would shoulder its way
through the misty gray like a green and yellow Triceratops,
the loud hiss of its air brakes, a breathy sound, punctuating

its mystical approach. The slight ozone scent of the trolleys
arcing above would counterpoint the salty taste of the cool
air, wafting through the city from Ocean Beach, the Pacific.

In my small hand, I could feel the crisp cardboard Muni
punch card, and the driver, rather than punching out one of
the 10 rides, would click the air above my hand and card:

a free trip. That driver smiled huge every morning, glad
to be giving a schoolboy a boost, a treat, a lovely memory.
I bet that driver is driving a Muni bus up in heaven today!

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]



The 1960s-era San Francisco Muni trolleybus pictured there is actually a 6 Masonic, same bus line I took to school every morning in grade school. Source: barraclou.com


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Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Day 25 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “pick an intriguing and/or seldom-used word, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.”

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “write a poem that takes the form of a warning label . . . for yourself!”

Prolix

don’t get me talking
                       ’cause I will talk your ear off
oh       oops         here’s your ear

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]



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Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Day 24 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "write an elegy — a poem typically written in honor or memory of someone dead. But we’d like to challenge you to write an elegy that has a hopefulness to it."

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt is this PAD Challenge's last Two-for-Tuesday, "so today I’m upping the stakes for anyone who wants an extra challenge!" (1) "a roundelay" and/or (2) "an anti-form poem."

Blending all three prompts . . . á là Maureen, today's poem is an elegy that isn't quite an elegy or is more than an elegy, and á là Robert, the poem is a roundelay that toys with the abandonment of poetic form.

Elegy for Poetic Forms — Or Is It?

Yesterday’s villanelle was marred
by a clumsily rhymed line I penned.
Lackluster refrains broken in shards
littered the poem — impossible to mend.
Should we give up on forms? So damn hard.
But form is all. Gotta go for it, friends!

Lackluster refrains broken in shards
littered the poem — impossible to mend.
This sestina’s six repeating words
wouldn’t cycle cleanly to the end.
Should we give up on forms? So damn hard.
But form is all. Gotta go for it, friends!

This sestina’s six repeating words
wouldn’t cycle cleanly to the end.
A sonnet refused to cooperate — third
form to detonate, self-mutilate and -rend!
Should we give up on forms? So damn hard.
But form is all. Gotta go for it, friends!

A sonnet refused to cooperate — third
form to detonate, self-mutilate and -rend!
But let’s not surrender. Let’s go forward,
poets! To our gardens: till, weed, and tend.
Should we give up on forms? So damn hard.
But form is all. Gotta go for it, friends!

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
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Monday, April 23, 2018

Day 23 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: write "a poem based in sound. The poem, for example, could incorporate overheard language. Perhaps it could incorporate a song lyric in some way, or language from something often heard spoken aloud (a prayer, a pledge, the Girl Scout motto). Or you could use a regional or local phrase from your hometown that you don’t hear elsewhere, e.g. 'that boy won’t amount to a pinch.'"

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "write an action poem. So many actions are available to the poet: singing, running, clapping, working, and–umm–poeming. Yes, there’s a world of possibility today — all ready to act."

I'm a fan of The Walking Dead. If you know that show, there's a specific kind of phlegmy vocalization that the walkers, the dead — okay, the zombies — make. (The actors are taught how to do that sound . . . they go through training to be a specifically walking-dead zombie.) Now, imagine yourself on the set during filming and hearing a crowd, a herd of the walking dead, making that sound, in chorus.

Director Yells, Action!

hrrughhh [stagger, reach out]
[shuffle feet, gurgle] arrhhrh eghrh
[eyes blank] grhhahrh ghhrerrh urhrh

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]


Here's probably my favorite behind-the-scenes photo from an early season of The Walking Dead. I think the person on the left is Greg Nicotero, who is the director I'm imagining in my haiku. I think this is a joke picture . . . but hey! zombies need love too.


And another behind-the-scenes photo: on the left is one of the cast members, Alanna Masterson, and on the right is director Nicotero, from a more recent season. Looks like there may be kissing here too, or at least an attempt.



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Sunday, April 22, 2018

Day 22 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "I’ve found this one rather useful in trying to ‘surprise’ myself into writing something I wouldn’t have come up with otherwise. Today, I’d like you to take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens."
The sun can’t rise in the west.
A circle can’t have corners.
Pigs can’t fly.
          The clock can’t strike thirteen.
The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.
A mouse can’t eat an elephant.
Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "For today’s prompt, pick a plant, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Pick a favorite vegetable or fruit, a flower, a tree, even a shrubbery."

Spider Plant

The sun can’t rise in the west but it did.
Though that’s not the first weird thing I noticed.
The baby spider plants hanging there started
shrinking. Snaking upwards, their little tethers
slid back into the mama plant. This took a few days,
almost imperceptible. And then I saw the sun setting
in the east. No one else seemed to notice the world
running backward. They just went on with their lives.
And the stars rearranged themselves in the sky,
forming a giant open mouth. With a humongous
forked tongue. And a forest of very sharp fangs.
The spider plant, terrified, pulled in its leaves and
slipped downwards into the dry soil of its clay pot.
I wish I could hide. Take me with you, Spider!

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]


Well, that took an interesting turn! I had no idea where that was going to go. And it wouldn't have gone that way if I hadn't had to put the plant somehow into the center of it all. It was also an accident that this ended up being 14 lines long. I didn't set out to write a sonnet, unrhymed or whatever. But there it is.


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Saturday, April 21, 2018

Day 21 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt today comes from her interview with "Antoinette Brim [who] provides us with several suggestions for generative writing exercises." Maureen challenges us today "to tackle her third one, which is based in the myth of Narcissus. After reading the myth, try writing a poem that plays with the myth in some way. For example, you could imagine that the water is speaking to you, the narcissus flower. Or you could write a poem in which the narcissus berates the Kardashians for stealing their neurosis. Or a poem that comments on the narcissism of our time, i.e. beauty and body obsession, etc."

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "For today’s prompt, write a danger poem. There are various levels of danger out there–from physical danger to the danger of being discovered doing something you shouldn’t (or doing something that might embarrass you–or someone else). Even the act of writing and sharing a poem brings with it the potential for danger."

Narcissus Tyrannos:
Clear and Present Danger


xxx x xxxxx xxxx xx x xxxx xxxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxx xx x xxxx xxxxx xxxx xx x xxxx I'm huge! xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xxx Tremendous! xxxx xx xxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xxxx xxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxxxx xx xxx xxx xxxxx I have the best words. xxx xx x xxxx best presidency ever xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xx xxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xx xxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxx x xx have more legislative victories than any other president xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx I’d have run into that school even if I didn’t have a weapon! xxxx xx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx My hands are not small. They’re slightly large, actually. xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx My hands — if they’re small, something else must be small. I guarantee you there’s no problem. I guarantee it. xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx I too have a Nuclear Button, but it is a much bigger & more powerful one than his, and my Button works! xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxx xxxxx But don’t worry xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxx Making America Safe is my number one priority. xxxxxxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxxxxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xx xxx xxx xx xxx xxxxx Believe me! xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxx

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]


Had fun merging the two prompts today. Mainly used things you-know-who said or tweeted. Also, I've been wanting to try a redaction poem since my student Aaron Olson at the University of Northern Iowa wrote one in our Poetry Workshop a few weeks ago. Thanks for the idea, Aaron!


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Friday, April 20, 2018

Day 20 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "write a poem that involves rebellion in some way. The speaker or subject of the poem could defy a rule or stricture that’s been placed on them, or the poem could begin by obeying a rule and then proceed to break it (for example, a poem that starts out in iambic pentameter, and then breaks into sprawling, unmetered lines). Or if you tend to write funny poems, you could rebel against yourself, and write something serious (or vice versa). Whatever approach you take, your poem hopefully will open a path beyond the standard, hum-drum ruts that every poet sometimes falls into."

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "For today’s prompt, take a line from an earlier poem (preferably from this month) to begin your poem for today. For instance, I took the final few lines of my poem from day 12 to start my example poem below. So scan through your earlier stuff to figure out where to start today."

As a poetry professor and also as a practicing poet, I tend to be very technical about line breaks. I teach my students to be conscious of when and how to endstop and enjamb. And so, mixing both prompts, today's rebellion poem . . . starting with the last line from my poem on Day 18.

Breaking Lines

no words that claim my
notice today are stronger
than rebellion: line
breaks done in all the wrong
ways . . . over-enjamb

every time, suspense
overdone as overkill
spun as a rule . . . wild melo-
drama, the sentimental
push beyond the pale, followed

by lines extending almost to the horizon plus
a short
line
or
2

that rhyme by chime-
ing, moon spoon June balloon some lun-
atic echo gecko Necco heck oh
yeah and that’s today’s poetic
fun

—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]

Another rebellion that occurs in the poem — or, rather, that I tried to work in — has to do with poetic form. This begins with tanka (in strict 5-7-5-7-7 syllables) and then goes wild! Hope you enjoyed that.



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Ingat, everyone.   


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Thursday, April 19, 2018

Day 19 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2018


Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "Today we challenge you to write a paragraph that briefly recounts a story, describes the scene outside your window, or even gives directions from your house to the grocery store. Now try erasing words from this paragraph to create a poem or, alternatively, use the words of your paragraph to build a new poem."

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "For today’s prompt, take the phrase '(blank) Thread;' replace the blank with a word or phrase; make the new phrase the title of your poem; and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: 'New Thread,' 'Old Thread,' 'Twitter Thread,' and 'Blue Thread.'"

I'd been fiddling off and on during the day with a transcript of Trump's speech justifying the recent Syria missile attack, hoping to get a decent erasure poem out of it. But no dice. So I went outside my office this evening and took this photo.


And here's a haibun on the photo. The closing haiku is an erasure poem teased out from the opening prose, rendered in red, including punctuation.

The Last Thread of Ice

Is this last thread of ice outside my office building Old Man Winter’s final foot-tall bulwark of hardened snow? A mere twenty feet from where some thin ice hiding in plain sight slipped my feet out from under me six weeks ago, and I broke a rib. A man of 60+ has no business falling down on concrete, whether here at work or somewhere else, the sidewalk in front of my home, say. No amount of planning can save you if winter is out to get you just one more time — I’ve broken a rib three times before. Maybe that’s what they’ll say someday about the late Dr. Gotera: he was a danger to himself on the ice. My ancestral DNA equipped me for Pacific beach sand and a summer sunset, not a snowstorm or the aurora borealis, beautiful as they are, you know? Listen, you gotta watch out for that old scratch, Mr. Winter — he’s a trickster.

Is Old Man Winter
hiding out somewhere, planning
one more late snowstorm?
 
—Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]

Here's to Jack Frost being done with us! Fingers crossed. Uncle uncle uncle.   


Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. To comment, look for a red line below that starts Posted by, then click once on the word comments in that line. If you don’t find the word “comments” in that line, then look for a blue link below that says Post a comment and click it once. Thanks!

Ingat, everyone.   


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