Day 16 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2025 // Stafford 90

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: James Schuyler's poem "Faurés Second Piano Quartet" (which can be read in today's NaPoWriMo post) "imagine[s] music in the context of a place, but more along the lines of a soundtrack laid on top of the location. . . . try writing a poem that similarly imposes a particular song on a place. Describe the interaction between the place and the music using references to a plant and, if possible, incorporate a quotation – bonus points for using a piece of everyday, overheard language." Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day suggestion: “For today's prompt, write a 'something fantastic' poem.” Mashing up today's two prompts with a shadorma (a Spanish six-line poetic form with these syllable counts per line: 3/5/3/3/7/5). I've pared down the NaPoWriMo prompts . . . no overheard quote, no plant — though there is a planet, one letter off. So, no bonus points for me today, but read the story right below the poem, which is related to bonus points! Astronaut on Mars             —a shadorma Rose pink sky, David Bowie’s glam “Life on Mars” is playing in my space helmet, lovely glorious blue sunset. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Photo of Mars Sunset taken by NASA rover Perseverance in 2023 https://sky-lights.org/2024/05/20/blue-sunset-on-the-red-planet/ There's a neat personal story that goes with this topic. When I was in college about 50 years ago, I took a very cool gen ed course called "Cosmic Evolution," which turned out to be about astronomy. (I took quite a few astronomy courses after that one, effectively switching to an astronomy major without officially doing so). Anyway, in the final for that first course, there was a bonus points question that went something like this: "If you are on a planet with a red sky, what color would the sunset be?" I didn't get those bonus points but some decades later, out of nowhere, that question came back to me, and I figured out the answer almost immediately . . . the sunset would be blue. And then I found out a few years afterwards, that that was the case on Mars. Isn't that an incredible — uh, fantastic — photo above? About remembering the question so many years later . . . was I working on answering that question all that time? I remember it bothered me that I couldn't answer it back then. Obviously, the knowledge to answer it was already available to us, since the question was appended to the exam. During the course, we would have learned what we needed to know to answer it. Memory is weird and amazing! NOTE: Thomas Alan Holmes's poem will appear in this space later today. Be sure to come back! Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 15 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2025 // Stafford 89

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day suggestion: “For the third Two-for-Tuesday prompt:  1) Write a poetic form poem, and/or . . . 2) Write an anti-form poem.”” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: You'll have to go to NaPoWriMo HQ to see Maureen's presentation of a rock warm-up by Brother J.C. and a small poem by Jane Kenion. The prompt is: “While Brother J.C.’s warm-up and Kenyon’s poem might seem very different at first, they’re both informed by repetition, simple language, and they express enthusiasm. They have a sermon/prayer-like quality, and then end with a bang. Your challenge is to write a six-line poem that has these same qualities.” Okay, merging all three prompts with a sonnet/not-sonnet. Ars Poetica To write a sonnet, you first have to think in sound, words with particular flavors, similarities. You may have a topic to demonstrate, but ground yourself in rhymes, echoes, and the magnolia trees in the background. They are singing arias to the wind. Hear their rhythm, their meter. Write your topic, but don’t forget the jazz then head resolutely for the volta— Forget that shit. Just write the fuck out of the verse, kick out the jams. Forget about rules. Rules are for armies and board games. There are no rules! Write whatever comes into your head. Let it flow! If you don’t think it’s any good, write it anyway. Fix it later, on the run. Write like a motherfucker! —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Photo by Seidenperle from Pixabay Here is Alan's poem today. Very subtle political satire. What do you think he's doing with the prompts? Won’t Get Fooled Again The provost called me in, perplexed, excoriated me an hour, and my response left her more vexed, annoyed, pissed off, aggrieved, and sour— my band alluded to Who’s Next around our campus’s clock tower. —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 14 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2025 // Stafford 88

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt is based on Kay Ryan's poem "Crustacean Island": “[T]ry writing a poem that describes a place, particularly in terms of the animals, plants or other natural phenomena there. Sink into the sound of your location, and use a conversational tone. Incorporate slant rhymes (near or off-rhymes, like 'angle' and 'flamenco') into your poem. And for an extra challenge – don’t reference birds or birdsong!” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “[W]rite a losing poem. Losing often comes with negative connotations, like losing a game or a family pet or socks (seriously, where do they all disappear to?). However, a person could also lose some weight, bad habits, and/or negativity. ” Here's a small Shakespearean sonnet in short Kay Ryan–like lines. Merged both prompts but cheated on the characteristics of the place described — no plants or animals — all human sounds. Losing the Earth on the Moon Actually, you don’t. If you expect to hear something, you won’t. You have to wear a space suit, and all of the earth’s manifold sounds are in there: breath, the loud rumble in your stomach, the distant crackle of your left trick knee. All those live noises — you’re alive! —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Photo oF Spacesuit on th3 Moon from NASA Alan's poem is a beautiful evocation of sound in a snowscape. Pinnacle View Road Impassible; Pinnacle Overlook Sound If I could stand there, where just last spring I watched hawks circling but always below me and felt rising warm air as the green musk reached even that vantage point, if I could permit time to lapse until the access road became impassable to ice, and I had only a moment to withstand the cold in the clothing appropriate for late spring, I would hear downy impact as quarter-sized flakes layered upon themselves, the plop when branches dipped to their weight, the soft white noise of erasure, even as the flakes caught my lashes, my curls, and brought me to shiver, a vulnerable human sound lonely, only to me perceptible so high above the huddled who cannot hear it. —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 13 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2025 // Stafford 87

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “[T]ake the phrase "Full (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: 'Full Moon,' 'Full Throttle,' 'Full Tank of Gas,' 'Full Monty' and/or 'Full Tank of Gas.'” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Donald Justice’s poem, “There is a gold light in certain old paintings,” plays with both art and music, and uses an interesting and (as far as I know) self-invented form. His six-line stanzas use lines of twelve syllables, and while they don’t use rhyme, they repeat end words. Specifically, the second and fourth line of each stanza repeat an end-word or syllable; the fifth and sixth lines also repeat their end-word or syllable. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that uses Justice’s invented form.” Today, I have a riddle poem, melding the two prompts above as usual with a third prompt I found online from poet Savon Bartley: "Write a poem about where you're from. The only rule is you can't say where you're from." Anyway, three prompts mashed up this time. Full Tilt Boogie Riddle à la Donald Justice I’m from the home of king-size lighthouse burritos. I’m from hippie heaven in the summer of love. I’m from Quicksilver, Grateful Dead, The Charlatans. I’m from orange and gray bridges you gotta love.             I’m from thick fog, deep foghorns booming in the night.             I’m from myriad neighborhoods, ethnic scents each night. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] I'd love it if you could comment below where you think I'm from. And also which of the clues led you to that conclusion. Thanks! Alan's poem today has a wonderful voice. Has the feel of a real person speaking! 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!     Photo from GLady in Pixabay We are so grateful to Bruce Neidt, our most faithful reader. Check out his blog, Orangepeel, where he wrote a curtal sonnet yesterday. Woo-hoo, Bruce! Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 11 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2025 // Stafford 85

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “write a nature poem. Your poem could be about natural nature (think flowers, rivers, mountains, pebbles, weeds, trees, insects, fish, etc.), but don't neglect other iterations of nature (like human nature or the nature of baseball and so on).” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Your challenge is . . . to write a poem that incorporates song lyrics – ideally, incorporating them as opposing phrases or refrains.” The model poem today is Kyle Dargan’s “Diaspora: A Narcolepsy Hymn,” a non-rhyming villanelle. Merging the prompts as usual. The "nature" connection is a bit offhand . . . just added a new detail to the myth I'm playing with. The poem is a standard villanelle, with quite short lines, I'm proud to say. If you don't know the myth, click here: Orpheus. Orpheus Using lyrics from Smashing Pumpkins and Johnny Cash The world is a vampire. I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher. I’m Orpheus, called Nature Boy, enchanting trees, stones, but the world is a vampire and took Eurydice, my lover. I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher. Hades allowed me to take her, but don’t look back. Damn, the world is a vampire. Almost up, I turned. After going down, down, down, again flames went higher. Eurydice disappeared. For nothing, I went down, and the flames go higher. The world is a vampire. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Christian Gottlieb Kratzenstein, Orpheus Glances Back at Eurydice (1806) Because the Johnny Cash lyric was so long (twice as long as the Smashing Pumpkin lyric), part of it had to come first in the previous line before that refrain each time. The middle of the Cash lyric also restricted my rhyme options. Fun challenge, though! Worked out well, I think. Here's Alan's poem today. He's also merging both prompts and using song lyrics. Aubade Incorporating Lynyrd Skynyrd Lyrics Though this feeling I can’t change, I would not, sweet love. The night whose sighs passed from us breath to breath, so strange to take three steps, lie down, lie with, arise— If I leave here tomorrow for a path into the swamp, music from the peepers and the free bird, call me the breeze that would return. Let us be sleepers with things goin’ on. I ain’t the one, a simple kind of man, to be untrue. You make Saturday night special, and your eyes like the skies are so blue. —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] About this poem, Alan wrote, "I think I have covered both the prompts, and special credit to those who pick out the nine Lynyrd Skynyrd songs alluded to in this piece." Come on, friends, what songs? Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 10 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2025 // Stafford 84

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that . . . uses alliteration and punning. See if you can’t work in references to at least one word you have trouble spelling, and one that you’ve never quite been able to perfectly remember the meaning of.” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day suggestion: “For today's prompt, write a number poem. The poem can focus on one number or several numbers. It could involve counting, adding, subtracting, or some other form of simple or complex mathematics. Or the poem could have a number in the title.” Merging prompts today with a curtal sonnet, in decasyllabic lines (except for the ending half-line). For the NaPoWriMo prompt, pretty much just the alliteration, in B (and consonance too in the middles of words, like "Ibanez" and "rumbles") . . . but, unsure spelling or meaning, no. For the Poem-a-Day prompt, check out the title. My Number One Bass —curtal sonnet I’ve had several basses in my life. First, an SG bass, blood-red, counterfeit. I refinished that one in sparkle blue. An Ibanez Ergodyne in bronze, shaped from resin, not wood. McCartney Beatle bass, violin. Pitch-black Danelectro Longhorn. Tiny Mikro bass in purple. The one I play out is my favorite: Cort Curbow 5-string bass in brilliant blue. Bright and bassy, it reverbs and rumbles,                                     best bass I play for you. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] In his poem today, Alan also melded the prompts: number in the title, alliteration in D (as well as consonance too, like the d's in the middle of "leader," "Adderall," and at the end of "around" and "world"). Plus . . . you can sing this one to the theme of a childhood show I'm sure you'll remember. National Anthem, 2025 Who’s the leader of a country yearning to be free? D-O-N-A-L-D T-R-U-M-P! Who intends to stay in office for eternity? D-O-N-A-L-D T-R-U-M-P! Donald Trump (Elon Musk)! Donald Trump (Elon Musk)! We’re glad you’re all on Adderall and high, high, high, high! Everyone is welcome if they join the GOP. D-O-N-A-L-D T-R-U-M-P! We’ll do things and we’ll see places. All around the world we’re marching. D-O-N- In no time, you’ll say there’s too much winning! A-L-D- Deny! Delay! Defend! T-R-U-M-P! —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 9 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2025 // Stafford 83

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “[R]ead Robert Hillyer’s poem, Fog. It uses both rhyme and uneven line lengths to create a slow, off-kilter rhythm that heightens the poem’s overall ominousness. Today we’d like to challenge you to try writing a poem of your own that uses rhyme, but without adhering to specific line lengths. For extra credit, reference a very specific sound, like the buoy in Hillyer’s poem.” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “[W]rite an ekphrastic poem. An ekphrastic poem is a poem inspired by another piece of art, whether that's a painting, photograph, sculpture, mixed media, or some other medium.” Brewer provided several examples of artwork for ekphrasis. Here is the one I chose to write on.  Unwavering by Martin Klein Here's the poem, merging both prompts. To satisfy the NaPoWriMo prompts, it's a sonnet with lines of varying length, rhymed Shakespearean style. In response to the Poem-a-Day prompt, it's an ekphrastic poem as well as a concrete poem! Uneven Sonnet —after Unwavering    by Martin Klein My hair blows sideways in the harsh wind unwavering always. My shoulders bear the layering weight of my tattered clothes, windstorm torn and shredded, blades of seaweed bared in a hurricane and stretched out, wedded to the typhoon’s locomotive, the long train of buffeting air behind. I stand, also unwavering, daring the gale to blast its hardest derecho wind. I am still, a pillar a boulder. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Alan's poem today also merges both prompts . . . an ekphrastic poem with rhyming couplets of varying line lengths. The Wound After Thomas Hart Benton, The Ballad of the Jealous Lover of Lone Green Valley (1934) The image winds. One finds a spiral from the bottom left that carves a cleft between the man blowing harp and the fiddler, whose sharp fingers look like claws as he draws his bow across the fiddle’s strings, and a young man as he sings, his vacant stare into some space before him, a glare at violence he’s describing in his verses, which makes us wonder what the trio is imbibing from the corked jug and the two mugs on the table (where’s the missing mug?). These corner atmospherics distract us for a moment from the image that the lyrics are conjuring, how a jealous lover, knife in hand, still seems to hover over one he thought he had possessed as she presses her breast from which he’s pulled his bloody knife. Is she his wife or fiancée? Who can say? Could she have violated vows to cheat on an unwitting spouse? It doesn’t matter. Everything’s so out of kilter that it’s difficult to filter out conventional murder ballad morality semi-justifying how the lover watches her dying; the landscape doesn’t make any sense— the kneeling cow’s outside the fence, there’s stumps left in the furrowed field, the sinking sun can barely wield from its own furrow light to backlight what’s not even been a fight but an unexpected mortal wound that does not make a sound because the action’s in the corner, where the trio can’t think of anything forlorner than a barefoot woman, a broganned man, the starting of a rhododendron hell, and an old-time ballad meant to tell about deceit, the sweet belief in having been loved by someone dear, the bitter sorrow once it’s clear that when somebody wants you body and soul, it’s the soul they’re after, never you whole. —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Thomas Hart Benton, The Ballad of the Jealous Lover of Lone Green Valley (1934) Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day 8 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2025 // Stafford 82

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt asks for a ghazal today . . . first she describes this poetic form, and then says: “Now try writing your own ghazal that takes the form of a love song – however you want to define that. Observe the conventions of the repeated word, including your own name (or a reference to yourself) and having the stanzas present independent thoughts along a single theme – a meditation, not a story.” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day suggestion: “It's that time again; time for another Two-for-Tuesday prompt. For the second Two-for-Tuesday prompt:  1) Write a love poem, and/or . . . 2) Write an anti-love poem.” Melded all three prompts today: a ghazal that talks about both "love" and "anti-love." I also added the ghazal characteristic Maureen didn't mention: the rhyme sound immediately before the repeated word at line breaks, here a long I (ī, pronounced "eye"). Love Song And so, everyone’s eternal question: what do I love? And its eternal converse as well, what don’t I love? I appreciate all foods, tastes — sweet, sour, salty, bitter, savory — but not escargot, my first anti-love. I cherish many genres of music, ’60s rock and roll, for one: Santana, Quicksilver, Cream . . . try Love! On the other hand, I gotta tell ya, except for Heart, I’m not crazy about ’80s rock . . . a bit of anti-love. My love life now came through music: playing guitar onstage, I saw a lovely head of white hair—why, love! She often says, “Vince, you are the love of my life.” Renee, love of my life, you’re also the life of my love! —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Vince and Renee cosplaying Redshirt from Star Trek (TNG) and Tsuru from One Piece Alan's poem is a formal experiment on the ghazal form, also melding the prompts: ghazal, love, anti-love. Ghazal for the Goddamned Cat Awakened by gagging I hope is a hairball and certain it’s likely a bad patch more terrible than that, long before the sun rises and I can brew me some coffee, a songbird’s first warble an hour away, there it is on the carpet to be tidied up, a portent so horrible of troubles to come. Crouching on all fours, retching profanity crude but nonverbal as tuxedo mollie named Millie just watches, I clean up the mess, and I feed her. She’ll garble a yowl that will not wake the women who love her. At night while they cozy and drink something herbal, they coo and assure me the cat really loves me, so I keep my peace, tolerate that damned furball. —Draft by Thomas Alan Holmes    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] The ghazal repeated word is, in Alan's poem, a partial word, and the couplets are not separate and discrete. Very interesting. Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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