Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “write an unexpected mess poem. Like maybe somebody spills their milk or forgets to put away the groceries. Or maybe the dog leaves a present. Or perhaps the cat is in a gift-giving mood as well. Or maybe the mess is a little more situational (like falling behind on paying the bills or getting caught up in a love triangle.”
Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “It’s the rare human structure – be it a bedroom, kitchen, dentist’s office, or classroom – that doesn’t have art on its walls, even if it’s only the photos on a calendar. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem about living with a piece of art.”
Today, I'm mixing the prompts in a doidotsu — a Japanese poetic form with four lines of 7, 7, 7, and 5 syllables, respectively. Here's a write-up on the doidotsu: https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/dodoitsu-poetic-forms.
Abstract Expressionism
—a doidotsu
At my home, mail and clutter
are an unexpected mess,
Jackson Pollock art piece . . . just
gotta live with it!
—Draft by Vince Gotera [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]
In case someone doesn't know abstract expressionist Jackson Pollock's artwork, here's an example.
|
Jackson Pollock, "Convergence" (1952)
|
Here's Alan's poem today. His title reflects both prompts.
Unexpected Art
I am driving a van north,
up to Washington, DC,
out of Appalachia
with four of my classmates, all
of them women, all of them
young enough to be my kids,
to make a presentation
about community health
in a depressed area
of Johnson City. They picked
me to drive them. They made
a playlist on Spotify
so I could hear the music
they wanted to share with me.
We’re all graduate students.
They are smart and creative,
funny without weariness,
open with emotional
intelligence. I love them
just like favorite cousins.
They put Steely Dan, Bob Wills,
and Dolly in for me, but
suddenly a hard two-beat,
rebounding and metallic,
prompts them all to rap along,
“Whatchu know ‘bout me?” I laugh.
There is joy here—the shy one
is rapping along, the gal
from Texas, the newlywed,
the former teacher who came
from north Alabama, too,
self-empowering lyrics
about a middle schooler
needing lip gloss confidence.
I can hear the border twang,
the sweet voice usually
much softer, the nasal drawl
of the one from the holler,
the accent from ‘way back home,
“‘Cause my lip gloss is poppin’.”
Nothing messes me up more
than when someone goes to sleep
while I am driving or when
they sing along to a song
that gave them what they needed.
I guess they all decided
somebody else could use 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 |
Posts
2 comments:
I always thought Pollock was a mess too, LOL. Nice metaphor, good doidotsu. I liked Alan’s “road trip music” poem too - reminds me a bit of my Jersey friend BJ Ward’s poem “Roy Orbison’s Last Three Notes,” which won a Pushcart Prize - look it up, I think you’ll love it.
Sorry, that was me in the first comment - forgot to sign in.
Post a Comment