Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Music features heavily in human rituals and celebrations. We play music at parties; we play it in parades, and at weddings. . . . Today, we challenge you to write a poem that involves music at a ceremony or event of some kind.”
Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “[W]rite a color poem. The poem could be about a color, mention a color, or be somewhat "colorful." Of course, the title of the poem could be a color (or include a color) and then not mention colors in the poem at all. So there's a lot of wiggle room with this prompt.”
Another curtal sonnet for the books — #7 this month — merging the prompts as usual. I hope you enjoy this poem, dedicated to a good friend.
Synesthesia
—for Lisa March Dunlevy
My friend, when she hears music, sees colors.
I wonder what that’s like. I imagine
myself in a concert hall, listening
to Santana: “Soul Sacrifice” in flares
of rainbow — cerulean, vermilion,
saffron, silver and gold flashes — filling
the air. Lis is a glorious singer
and guitarist herself . . . when she is on
stage, are clouds of color celebrating?
Teal guitar chords lighting up her fingers?
Indigo voice blending?
—Draft by Vince Gotera [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
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Lis March Dunlevy (photo by Renee Wilkie)
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Here's Alan's poem today, also merging the prompts as usual. A sad and funny story. Bravo!
Blue Funeral
One of the other English
majors when I was pretty
eager for graduation
told me that her family
made her biggest wish come true
by sending her to college
even though she was not well.
I didn’t understand her
at first—it did not occur
to me just how sick she was
until about fall break, and then
she came back from Thanksgiving
even weaker. Once, exams
about done, she asked me to
put together a mixtape
to play during her viewing.
“Only songs titled ‘Blue’ or
‘Blue Something,’ or ‘Something Blue,’”
she said. “Any kind, country,
punk, new wave, you get to choose.”
I borrowed so many discs
for the next few weeks, I had
to keep a running tally,
and I finally came up
with a practice mix. I gave
it to her to preview it,
and she brought it back because
Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas”
wasn’t on it. “It’s my mom’s
favorite,” she said. That March,
when the quad on campus glowed
yellow from the oak pollen,
her mother called me, invited
me to come. What I most want
to remember is how folks,
all teary, figured out her
last prank and waited for song
after song, laughing, groaning,
singing a bit of snatched line.
But what I remember most
is how her dad laughed hard
when he asked me if Terry
told me to put “Blue Christmas”
on the tape. “Her mother fussed
every time she played it.
It’s family tradition.”
—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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2 comments:
I enjoyed these both. Vince, your valiant attempt to understand synesthesia is colorfully fascinating. Alan, we were on the same wavelength with poems about making a mistake for a funeral. The difference is yours made me smile.
Sorry, "mixtape" not "mistake." Must have been auto-correct.
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