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

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a palinode – a poem in which you retract a view or sentiment expressed in an earlier poem. For example, you might pick a poem you drafted earlier in the month and write a poem that contradicts or troubles it. This could be an interesting way to start working on a series of related poems. Alternatively, you could play around with the idea of a palinode by writing a poem in which the speaker says something like ‘I take it back’ or otherwise abandons a prior position within the single poem.” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “write a surprise poem. This prompt was actually changed at the last minute after reading Laura Shovan's ‘How the Neuroscience of Surprise Can Improve Your Poetry Practice,’ and it got me thinking about all the good and bad surprises we encounter on a daily (or almost daily) basis. Let's finish this month by focusing on one or three of those.” This Shovan article is quite a good one and gives three suggestions for writing surprise poetry. On Day 17, I wrote a curtal sonnet called "The Dandelion Wars," in which I imagine a speaker with a vendetta against dandelions. In this palinode, the dandelions talk back. The surprise theme is encapsulated not only by the unusual point of view in the poem but also by what this speaker says in the final line. The poem's title is borrowed from Robert Silverberg's short story "Sundance," in which a Native American scientist dances with aliens on a distant planet, an image and narrative that inspired my characterization of the dandelions here. Again, a curtal sonnet on both prompts. Sundance: The Dandelions Speak We dance in this field of eternal green, we dandelions, heads like glowing suns, blossoms of lemon-colored light, our leaves blowing in the gentle breeze, communion of water climbing our stems, oxygen and chlorophyll, sacrament with the trees, our brothers, all of us rising to sky, ocean of blue, bright heaven. You humans misunderstand us, you do not believe we are beings with purpose and love. Why                                 not — surprise! — let us live? —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]             Image by Marc Pascual from Pixabay And here is Alan's last poem for the month, with a surprise at the end. April, I Surrender Every year the same jokes among literature professors about your cruelty, forcing us to complete so many tasks, but I made my own mess this year, wanting to engage with writers, going to extra readings, presenting some of my own work, and taking a graduate course in “Appalachian Foodways,” too. Who knew you would grant me food poisoning on your last day, saving your cruelest April Fools for when I least expected it? You win, you win, you win. —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] I hope you recover soon, Alan. Thanks so much for being my April poem buddy again! I always enjoy the poems you write during April. Good luck with the end of the semester. Some great poetry news: my poem "Old Soldier, New Love," which was one of 102 poems under 50 lines nominated for the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Associations' Rhysling Award (best poem published in the previous year), has been chosen by a jury as one of the 50 finalists. The association membership will vote in July to select the award winners. You can read my poem here, in the journal Eye to the Telescope (issue 46) where it was first published. It's the 10th poem down. You can also read it here; just click on the image of the journal page directly below and you'll see it enlarged. Enjoy! Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 29 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “For today's prompt, write a sight poem. If you can see it, poem it. If you can't see it, poem it. If you can see another interpretation of this prompt that is neither of these, then, please, poem it.” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Start by reading Alberto Rios’s poem “Perfect for Any Occasion.” Now, write your own two-part poem that focuses on a food or type of meal. At some point in the poem, describe the food or meal as if it were a specific kind of person. Give the food/meal at least one line of spoken dialogue.” A two-parter on both prompts, though I must confess the "sight" aspects are pretty much just a mention of "seeing" in each of the parts. Halo-Halo 1. The prime unrivalled Philippine dessert made of fruit gels, like sugar palm fruit or kaong, strips of young coconut or macapuno, jackfruit or langka, various jellies, sweetened beans, layered with shaved ice then evaporated milk poured all over, finally topped with custard or leche flan, and ube ice cream. This is only one of the many ways to make halo-halo, with diverse variations in different areas in the Philippines. The word “halo” means “mixed” in Filipino, and doubling the word suggests it’s an ultimate blend: a "mix-mix." Ever since I was a young child, halo-halo has been my go-to. If I see a tall dessert glass full of the lovely mix it has always said to me, I must be eaten right now and right away! 2. I am Halo-Halo. I am the ice-cold King of the dessert world. I am constructed of the sweetest substances to be found throughout the known world, confection of the gods. You can see me in food carts on Manila streets as well as in 5-star hotels in metropolitan paradises around the globe. I am ambrosia, I am heaven. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Alan also worked with both prompts, with the two parts being recipes in Southern Living and also (sort of) in To Kill a Mockingbird. With regard to sight, there is a mention of "eyes" near the end. So Much Shinny The editorial staff of Southern Living magazine authorized a revision of the classic Lane cake, giving it peach filling to augment its traditional bourbon ingredient and enveloping it all in a rich buttercream, creating a sugary icing upon fruity filling upon rich white sponge. In To Kill a Mockingbird, Scout says her neighbor has baked a Lane cake “so loaded with shinny it made me tight.” I followed a recipe that calls for ¼ cup of bourbon, but I have seen recipes calling for two cups. There comes a point where one must acknowledge that some offer the cake as an excuse to deny their desire for bourbon. By comparison, my Lane cake is nuanced if naked, offering filling but no icing, a subtle bourbon edge to its nutty, butter filling, a demure cake that says, “Take your time and enjoy,” permitting the eyes and nose to have their turn before the palate can. —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Some good news: do you remember Catherine Pritchard Childress, who was my NaPoWriMo buddy in April 2012? She was at that time a grad student of Alan, my NaPoWriMo buddy this April (and other Aprils in the last several years). Well, Catherine has a new book of poetry titled Outside the Frame. Here's a link to Eastover Press's webpage on the book. "In Outside the Frame, Pritchard Childress gives full-throated voice to those who are historically silenced, while bearing witness to a complex culture that both perpetuates that silence and cries out to be heard and to be seen. . . . Outside the Frame is a book of light and dark, of strong voices and wide-ranging perspectives. These poems will linger in the reader’s mind long after the last page has been turned." I hope you will pick up a copy of Catherine's book, available on Amazon. Congrats, Catherine! Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 28 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo suggestion: “here’s our daily prompt, optional and once more taken from our archives. . . . I challenge you to write [an] index poem. You could start with found language from an actual index, or you could invent an index.” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “take the phrase ‘You Are (blank),’ replace the blank with a new word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: ‘You Are My Only Hope,’ ‘You Are Really Pushing It,’ ‘You Are in the Wrong Room,’ and/or ‘You Are a Poeming Machine.’” An abecedarian poem today, by necessity because of the index mode. Both prompts as well. You Are Lost adrift, 29, 45, 98 astray, 1 Atlantis, 84-91 Babylon, 63-71 Barsoom, 21-24 befuddled, 105 castaway, 93 disappeared, 2 discombobulated, 73 down the drain, 11 drew a blank, 56, 64, 99-102 exanimate, 88 fallen between the cracks, 98 gone, 48, 72, 176 hidden, ix invisible, 0 Jumanji, 179 Kadath, 43-47 kiss goodbye, 17, 153 Lilliput, 105-09 missing, 124, 132 Mordor, 166-172 Macchu Pichu, 78-83 nonexistent, 0 off-course, 68 out the window, 2 perplexed, 8, 62 Pompeii, 51-55 quandary, 96 R’lyeh, 26-28 Shangri-La, 93-97 thunderstruck, 9 Tír na nÓg, 183-89 unaccounted for, 29, 96, 153 voodoo, iii vanished, 57 wayward, 74 without hope, 160 Xanadu, 156-59 Yuggoth, 28-32 Zathura, 180 —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Alan's poem is also an abecedarian poem . . . an interesting exploration of the 1990s. You Are Desperate: Quotidian Items Listed in the Index for Dr. Ruth Westheimer’s Sex for Dummies (1995) Africa, 136-37 America Online (AOL) 256-57 anticipatory anxiety, 295 appearances do count, 360 Beverly Hills Hotel, 138 camping, 139 changing diapers is sexy, 364-65 Compuserve, 257 cooties, 279 Desert Shadow Inn of Palm Springs, 138 doing things with your spouse, 115-16 doormats, 61-62 e-mail, 258 English-speaking countries, 135-36 Europe, 135-36 flat moment, 307 friendships, 51-52 gigolos, 373 Hawaii, 134-35 hydraulic prosthesis, 297 icons used in this book, 5-6 Israel, 136 jacuzzi, 162, 250 kissing, 161-62 Las Vegas, 137-38 local motel, 139 Maho Bay Campgrounds, St. Johns, 134 minitels, 255 modems, 257 newsgroups, 258 outercourse, 179-80 Pocono Mountains, 137 Prodigy, 257 pubic lice, 279 radio and sex, 263-64 Stern, Howard, 264 stuff technique, 294 time-wasters, 62-63 TV and sex, 264-65 two-career family model, 113 U.S.A. vacations, 137-38 vacations, 133-38 vestibule, 33 virtual reality, 260 World Wide Web (WWW), 258 X-rated photos, 259-60 you can’t hurry love, 361 —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 27 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “write an anapodoton poem. An anapodoton is an unfinished phrase that a person can fill in the blanks, phrases like 'When in Rome,' 'If life gives you lemons,' 'Speak of the devil,' and 'Where there is a will.' For many (if not all) of these, you probably filled in the second half of the phrase, because you know it so well. So write a poem either responding to, playing up, or subverting a popular anapodoton. Personally, I think it would be fun if poets make the titles of their poems an anapodoton before jumping in and poeming.” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Today, begin by reading Bernadette Mayer’s poem “The Lobelias of Fear.” Now write your own poem titled “The ______ of ______,” where the first blank is a very particular kind of plant or animal, and the second blank is an abstract noun. The poem should contain at least one simile that plays on double meanings or otherwise doesn’t quite make “sense,” and describe things or beings from very different times or places as co-existing in the same space.” Here's today's ditty: a curtal sonnet melding the two prompts. The Hummingbirds of Abandon All Roads Lead To We all have friends who are like hummingbirds. They flit from this to that, from one thing through another. Run stop signs in front of cops who don’t notice. Not a care in the world. They constantly win: from lotto prizes to twenty-dollar bills found in parking lots. Lady Luck loves them. But you know we all have to pay the piper, as they say. You can’t rely on fortune forever. Gaps open in front of you, sudden sinkholes.                                 All roads lead to . . . oops. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Here is Alan's poem for today. His title, like mine, combines Thorson's "The ____ of ____" phrasing with the anopodoton. Which, it occurs to me, I have no idea how to say out loud. The Housecat of the Lord Works in Mysterious Ways The housecat of God’s will comes between you and your laptop screen, rubs its chin against the flapping dustcover enough to wake you, chews leaves of remaining houseplants and old books, butts its head against your wrist and bites your hand. It is ordinary in its schedule, insistent upon feeding, demanding of lap time. And, yet, were there a mouse, it would sit; were there a fire, it would curl in a far window, watching the vine of ivy lasso in the wind, only to scoot and run as you attempted to take it outside to your mutual safety. Its purr assures only its momentary ambivalence, seemingly mindful, a moving red dot will focus its attention; calling its name to find it makes no difference. —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 26 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “write a portrait poem that focuses on or plays with the meaning of the subject’s name. This could be a self-portrait, a portrait of a family member or close friend, or even a portrait of a famous or historical person.” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “write a response poem. The poem could respond to one of your poems from earlier this month (or ever). Or it could respond to a poem by another poet, whether it's Emily Dickinson or Ocean Vuong.” Today's curtal sonnet arises from both prompts. For Thorson's name/portrait assignment, I'm going with Emily Dickinson again, partly because Brewer mentioned her today. To fulfill Brewer's response assignment, I am responding to Dickinson's poem "How many times these low feet staggered" (238). Emily at Work             a response to Dickinson’s “How many             times these low feet staggered” (238) Emily Dickinson’s given name means rival, laborious, eager. Would these be the qualities you connect with her? She: “Indolent Housewife — in Daisies — lain.” Emily labored hard on poems, no ease there, “Vesuvius at home.” Calm fervor. She did not do housework. “[A]damantine fingers / Never a thimble — more — shall wear.” And “the cobweb swings from the ceiling.” Swish a broom? Not she. Poets do not need a clean                                           house. Just words on fire. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] I am grateful to the article "Domestic Labor in the Dickinson Family Households" from the Emily Dickinson Museum for information about Dickinson and housework, especially with regard to her poem "How many times these low feet staggered" (238). Also, the phrase "Vesuvius at home" comes from Dickinson's poem "Volcanoes be in Sicily" (1691). Alan's contribution today is a prose poem. He told me, "Pat Cronin was a member of the East Tennessee State University faculty until recently. During the early days of the pandemic, I encountered him and his wife at a local supermarket, at a time before anyone of us common folks had any real idea of how we should conduct ourselves in public, how often we needed to clean everything, and, sometimes, how to be cheerful. So this poem is based on that experience." A Kroger in Johnson City What thoughts I have of you tonight, Pat Cronin, for I walked over the sidewalks under dogwoods and black oaks, listening to the mockingbirds on campus,             Exhausted from another long day now three years into the pandemic now termed an endemic yet forcing additional cautions nonetheless,             Relieved to be among the company of others nevertheless, although sometimes feeling jarred by the renewed acquaintances in their new appearances. Some of my younger friends have grayed, others have lost their youthful step, some have mourned to creases.             I saw you early in the pandemic, Pat, at a Kroger, and we recognized each other despite our masks, my hair gray and woolier than it had ever been, since I kept it trimmed up until the pandemic forced me home after I stopped patronizing the barber who grew more racist as the Trump administration continued and I decided I owed it to someone to let it grow,             And there you were, bright-eyed and cheered to be among folks although we still in our ignorance of the coronavirus kept our arms-length distance from each other, reluctant to touch even the packaging on the ground meat for what its surface might harbor.             Entering the supermarket, I had heard your voice pitched to reach even the SRO members of the audience, ringing from the meat case to the produce on one side of the supermarket, the dairy case on the other, lifting above the shelves of breakfast foods and canned vegetables.             Would we have hugged were we not afraid that doing so might lead the other to a premature death? I believe so.             Where were we standing, Pat Cronin? Your spouse ducked away as we talked, maybe to purchase ordinary items. What did we talk about?             (I wonder if she calls you “Patrick” sometimes, because I just can’t.)             I know we spared ourselves the talk of work for a bit, you being so close to retirement, and I being underwater with the sudden demands that all classes shift to online delivery in spite of the unequal access to the internet because the GOP congressmen during the Obama administration struck down the proposal to make the internet a utility like water and electricity.             I know we talked about health and our eagerness for a vaccine to be discovered and for the hasty end of the Trump administration.             I remember, you old iconoclast, that like me you sometimes express affection in reverse by condemning those who punch down, and so many punch down and enlist too many of our thoughtless neighbors in their ranks, and I will never have your stage presence or your film credits or your ability to draw an audience, but I can tell folks that while many people radiate their personal hell around them, you sop yours up like an unlucky spill, as I hope to do, too. —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 25 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day suggestion: “For today's prompt, we have our fourth (and final) two-for-Tuesday prompt, which means you get two prompts, and they are:   1) Write a dream poem, and/or . . .   2) Write a reality poem.  You get to decide how to blur these (poetic) lines.” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo suggestion: “Today’s prompt challenges you to . . . write a love poem, one that names at least one flower, contains one parenthetical statement, and in which at least some lines break in unusual places.” Okay, here we go. A curtal sonnet working with all three prompts: love poem, dream poem, reality poem. P O E M   R E M O V E D while being submitted for publication.   Please come back later. The poem may return at some time in the future. Thank you!                 Image by Foto-RaBe from Pixabay Alan also did all the prompts today. More and Earlier than You Think More and earlier than you think you sleep even in the time you think you only doze. I hear your soft snoring before I drift off while remembering the pledge we made each other years ago that each of us could when the other was asleep fiddle around a bit as long as the fiddler did not awake the fiddlee, delight of the mischief stemming from the thought budding in our imaginations like violets (because affection is innocent, unlike the rose, whose stem is thorny and likely to draw blood if clasped). —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 24 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo suggestion: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem in the form of a review. But not a review of a book or a movie of a restaurant. Instead, I challenge you to write a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed. For example, your mother-in-law, the moon, or the year you were ten years old.” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day suggestion: “For today's prompt, write a touch poem. For the senses, I'm thinking of touch as a hand reaching out, though it could also be a foot or just bodies pushed close like in a concert or public transportation. But that's just when thinking about the senses. . . . I'll also accept other interpretations of touch, like someone who has the winning touch in a game or has a special touch in dealing with people.” Here's a picture of what I got for dinner at a BBQ restaurant tonight. Always on the lookout for a potential poem, I thought, what if my dinner could talk? Here's a blank verse ditty, again both prompts. Apologies to my vegetarian friends. My Dinner Speaks Beef brisket chunks on a bed of salad greens, that’s me. We dinners never get to say what we think of the diners we feed each night. This is my review of you wielders of knife and fork. First, this old guy, ombre with black hair, gray mustache, and white beard: too finicky, too focused on not getting dirty, dabbing his lips too often with his napkin. Second, the four people, two couples at the next table. Probably two generations: elderly mom and dad, son and his wife. Young guy just talks too much, blah blah blah. Not eating at all and the other three are just picking at their food. What fun is that? Third, a younger mom and dad with a kid, probably two years old, in a high chair. They’re eating with gusto, hard and fast with lots of enjoyment by all three. Especially the man, whose face is covered by tattoos, obviously someone who takes on the world with verve and panache. He’s the winner. He’s the one with the touch. If it was up to me, I’d touch their lives with huge luck. Maybe a lottery jackpot with a million-dollar payoff. Enough to keep them in brisket and ribs and steak for the rest of their lives. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Alan's poem is tangentially about food (if that's the right term). He says it could be "R-rated" . . . consider yourself suitably (and gently) warned. P O E M   R E M O V E D while being submitted for publication.   Please come back later. The poem may return at some time in the future. Thank you!     Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 23 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “write a fear poem. The poem could be about a fear you have or a fear of someone else. Maybe you feel the fear; maybe you cause someone else to have the fear. And there are different levels of fears, like the fear of missing out on the last piece of piece or the fear of dying.” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “try to write a poem of your own that has multiple numbered sections. Attempt to have each section be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view. Set the poem in a specific place that you used to spend a lot of time in, but don’t spend time in anymore.” I haven't written any hay(na)ku yet this month, so here's a rhymed reverse hay(na)ku sonnet in numbered sections. Both prompts again. FOMO 1 Worried I missed a delayed announcement. 2 Afraid my friends went somewhere grand. 3 Right now something unbelievable is happening. 4 UFO landing while I’m not looking. 5 Blink your eyes and you'll miss . . . —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] In case you're not familiar with the hay(na)ku, it's a poetic form that was invented by the poet Eileen Tabios in 2003. The basic form is a three-line stanza (a tercet) in which line 1 is one word, line 2 is two words, and line 3 is two words. I happen to have given the form its name (a pun on the Filipino expression "ay naku," a rough translation of which might be "oh my gosh"). In 2012, I invented the hay(na)ku sonnet, which is made up of 5 hay(na)ku stanzas, where the last one is condensed to two lines of three words (in order to get 14 lines overall, the typical sonnet length). The poet Bruce Niedt in 2020 devised a rhyming pattern for the hay(na)ku sonnet, echoing the last word in the first two stanzas, and then the last word in the next two stanzas, and finally the two ending words in the closing couplet's lines. In my poem above, I am using reverse hay(na)ku: 3-2-1 words. Alan also worked with both prompts today. He said about this poem, "Mainly to the tune of different songs from Sgt Pepper." See if you can figure out what songs. Have fun singing! Fear of Father 1. One day when they see that name they’ll think of me, His legacy is a joke to them now. Only I can save our name and our image. I can imagine just how Riding a yacht that’s the size of New Hampshire, Snorting a pile of cocaine, Seat leaning back and my sandaled feet crossed on my desk: Junior flies when senior’s diving Junior flies when senior’s diving Junior flies when senior’s diving Ah! 2. Saturday night they have me eating my tie again— Like a five-year-old with uncertainty, They make their jokes about me I’m (he’s getting short-shrift again) am really (he’s following smart drift again) smart (he’s understanding his role in his life). He’s really smart and he’s playing the part of a faithful son. He’s really smart, all right. 3. I’m the one who’ll stay on top. I have the self-awareness, and I could not care less what people say. My husband deals with royal assassins, but real estate is his real passion— no one knows that better than little ol’ me. I’m my father’s public favorite but I have no way to savor it as long as he can lay his little finger on me. I’m the one who’ll stay on top, the only brains in this outfit unless a reporter comes to outwit me. I’m the one who’ll stay on top— 4. When I get older, move out or here, leave my mom behind, Mar-a-lago will fade from my memory. That is perfectly fine with me! I’ll go to college, I’ll find a girl, I’ll get a perfect score— I’ll live my name down, earn my own renown, when I’m out this door. I’ll go to law school, get a J.D. then I’ll join a firm slap a bunch of lawsuits down to win my case, make those plaintiffs suffer and squirm, run for the Senate, be the nominee for 2044— will his domination wreck my nomination when I’m out this door? —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 22 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2023

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Find an Emily Dickinson poem – preferably one you’ve never previously read – and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it!” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “take the phrase ‘What (blank),’ replace the blank with a new word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: ‘What Are You Doing Here,’ 'What a Great Time,’ ‘Whatever You Say,' and/or ‘What Kind of Poem Are You Going to Write?’” The Dickinson poem I'm altering is "Wild nights - Wild nights! (269)." Again, both prompts, slapstick. What Greens? Wild lettuce, wild spinach! If there are no croutons Our wild salad could use Fritos or Funyuns! Where are the forks? All in the dishwasher? Done with silverware, Full disclosure! Let’s use our hands, Damn the blue cheese! A loaf of bread, a jug Of wine, and fingers — jeez! —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] The Dickinson poem Alan is working with is Come slowly - Eden! (205). About his poem today, Alan says “Dickinson's ‘Come slowly — Eden!’ mistakenly refers to the worker bee as a male. This poem addresses that error.” What Did Dickinson Know? Misgendering the worker bee in verses kept in privacy, or sublimating private hour thoughts of nectars from full flower? —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Here's a little caricature of how I imagine Emily Dickinson might look if she could read our alterations of her poems. This is based rather loosely on the only authenticated photograph of her. Wikipedia has a list of all Emily Dickinson's poems, almost 1800 of them: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Emily_Dickinson_poems Have fun checking them out! Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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