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

Day 33 — 3·3·3 — THREE CUBED. Prompts — Maureen Thorson: "nursery rhyme or clapping rhyme" — Robert Lee Brewer: "The Trouble Is ________" as a title — Andrea Boltwood: pantoum. Too bad each of them didn't give three prompts; then I could have said "THREE POETS CUBED." Today, I'm taking on Andrea's suggestion of a pantoum. But first, some back story. Twenty days ago, I posted a poem titled "Black Encounter on the Eve of Easter" which deals with aswang, those Philippine monsters who have so many avatars: vampire, ghoul, shapeshifter, and more. Those of you familiar with my aswang work (both in poems and in illustration) know that my favorite is the manananggal, a woman who breaks herself apart at the waist and whose top half then grows wings to fly. The following poem is a response to that earlier NaPoWriMo poem . . . you might want to take a look at that one before reading this. In the comments to that Day 7 post, I had bantered with readers about the possibility this might be a love story in the offing, and perhaps today's poem below may be the start of that story. We'll see. How the Aswang met Jesús on the Eve of Easter — in Cutud Village, north of Manila, 1921 — (a reply to "Black Encounter on the Eve of Easter") So there's Jesús de los Santos in his bedroom, sleeping. I've been watching Jesús from a distance for many days, so handsome, his black hair glowing in the sunlight when I would see him at market selling his vegetables. I've been watching Jesús from a distance for many days, and tonight I decided I would visit him, see him at home, and not just when he's at market selling his vegetables. So I split my body, breaking in half as usual at the waist, since tonight I decided I would visit him, see him at home. I stood in my bedroom, slowly unfurling wet black wings as I split my body, ripping in half painfully at the waist. Then I looked towards the wide beautiful moon, so free after long minutes in my room, unfurling my wet wings. I launched myself into night air and headed into the sky, then flew towards Jesús’s house, so beautiful, so free. The village was lovely, candle lamps glowing in windows. I turned down toward the earth, falling out of the sky and alighted gently, so gently, on his woven thatch roof. His house was lovely, a lamp gleaming in his window. I took care not to upset even the flame as I entered and floated gently, so gently, up near the woven roof. Now I watch Jesús, his sweat glistening as he lies in bed. I took care not to awaken or disturb him as I entered, but now his eyes open, dark brown irises glowing. I watch Jesús, keeping very still, as he stirs in bed. I stay as still as I can, my wings softly fluttering. His eyes are open and staring, brown irises growing. And then I see he has spotted me. He can see me. I stay as still as I can, slow my wings' fluttering. From the way Jesús's brows knit, his arms tensed, I know he has definitely spotted me. Can he see me trying to blend into dark ceiling, blend into black? Then his brows grow more black, his arms tensed with spreading darkening fur, his teeth growing long. I try to hide in the ceiling. His body grows black and blacker — his body distorts into a giant wolf with black fur, feet and hands clawed, his fangs long. And then I realize the truth: we're both aswang! We both start to laugh and laugh, this huge wolf and I. Waving blithely to him, I turn to fly away. This truth will open up our lives: we're both aswang. He's so handsome, black fur glowing in the moonlight. Knowing I will see him again, I turn to fly away. And there's my Jesús, head up to the sky, howling. —Draft by Vince Gotera     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] By the way, if you're interested in learning more about the pantoum, you might consult my article on pantoum form and history in the book An Exaltation of Forms: Contemporary Poets Celebrate the Diversity of Their Art, edited by Annie Finch and Kathrine Varnes (Michigan, 2002). This is available at Google Books, but my article (page 254) is not displayed, alas. No poem from Catherine yet. I'll post her poem for Day 27 when it's ready. Our featured poem-a-day blog today is Susan's Poetry where Susan L. Chast has been very faithfully producing more than a poem a day during the month. This April is a crossroads for Susan who very recently retired and whose NaPoWriMo poems are the start of a new life in art and performance. I particularly like Susan's "Nursery Medley" for today: a light-hearted "zombies and vampires" reboot of classic nursery rhymes. Take a peek . . . you'll be charmed. Okay, three days to go, friends. Please leave a comment below. Also, do go back a day to see the sixth-graders' NaPoWriMo site I featured yesterday. Ingat. Added 4/30/12: Everyone, here's Catherine's poem for Day 27. She'd like the sixth graders of Griffin Lit to know that she was inspired by them and their Day 30 prompt to imitate George Ella Lyon's "Where I'm From" poem to write this one. Wonderful, Catherine! And great for you, Griffin Lit kids, you inspired another poet! Where I’m From — after George Ella Lyon I am from the red dirt seat of cut-off jeans, from Hostess Ham on weeknights always served with quarts of green beans, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese. I am from an out of plumb, white house, birthplace of my daddy and his, where falling rain on rusted tin serenaded my crowded sleep. I am from a creek full of salamanders, almost climbed maple tree, sweet peas picked while I dawdled to church, wild violets gathered in tiny bunches. I'm from guilt trips and tenacity, from Lela's eyes and Philo's brains, Pritchards I didn't meet. I'm from old money and clogged arteries, from don't slay the King's English, hair like a stump full of Grandaddy's, Hellfire and brimstone, Walking through the valley of the shadow of death. I am from The Queen City and Curtis's Creek, egg sandwiches and thickened potatoes, from my grandfather's crooked pinky I tried to straighten and my father's lazy eye. I am from the empty pages of a third child's baby book, hidden pictures of kinfolk in caskets, from the milk table and milk glass that survived the faces in page after page of my black and white reflection. —Draft by Catherine Pritchard Childress     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] POEM-A-DAY 2012 • Pick a day in April: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

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

Welcome to Day 26, everyone. Amazing how April seems to be moving so quickly, don't you think? Today's first prompt comes from Maureen Thorson: an elegy or anti-elegy. Catherine's poem for Day 26, while not strictly an elegy, certainly leans toward the elegiac. Heartache Sitting on a yellow polka-dot cushion I listen as the pit in my heart unfolds to the surface like an accordion, bellowing out a blue tune, in and out of itself like a well-traveled road map. —Draft by Catherine Pritchard Childress     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] Wonderful small poem, like a jewel — I particularly like the accordion image, Catherine, how the wants and lacks of our lives enlarge and diminish, ebb and flow. So true to the experiences of many, I would suggest. Getting back to prompts, Robert Lee Brewer suggests an animal poem. And Andrea Boltwood says: "Write a pocket poem to carry in your pocket today." I like that last prompt quite a lot. According to the Academy of American Poets, today is "national poem in your pocket" day. For a moment, though, let's depart from our usual order and announce our featured NaPoWriMo site for Day 26 now: Griffin Lit. This wiki is a NaPoWriMo project by sixth graders: Ms. Danielle Filas's Language Art 6 class in Village Academy Schools in Powell, Ohio. Ms. Filas told me via e-mail: "I am so excited for them. They have been absolutely fearless in their poetry making!" Yes, indeed they are, and they have been staying on schedule. Check out their lovely poems, friends. If you'd like to say something to the Griffin Lit sixth graders and Ms. Filas about their poems, please leave a comment to this blog post below; they will be checking back here to see if anyone has responded. There is NO way to leave a comment on their site unless you join their wiki. So comment away here, gentle readers! In honor of their brave venture, I've written the following "pocket poem" for the Griffin Lit kids. This poem is in the hay(na)ku form, which we've seen quite a lot this month: first line, one word — second line, two words — third line, three words. Blue Bravura — for the Griffin Lit sixth graders and Ms. Filas poems like gems in my pocket gleam and glisten in the dark glowing always with their blue light saying hey you pay close attention bluebirds blueberries sky blue blue blue blue egyptian jewels sapphire tanzanite turquoise blue lapis lazuli azurite aquamarine topaz blue jade dragon breathing carnelian flames blue steel blades crocodile kampilan swords blues blazing rock guitar bass timbales blue prophecies ballads in yours mine our blue pockets brilliant breathtaking words —Draft by Vince Gotera     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] Okay, that's it for today. Go write a poem. Or carry a poem in your pocket, not just today, but till the end of April. And beyond, even. Leave me a comment below, all right? Especially, a shout-out to the Griffin Lit sixth graders? Ingat. Added 4/27/12: For people who are posting comments to the Village Academy Schools sixth graders: you can address the students and Ms. Filas directly here. No need to filter your comments through me. Thanks! POEM-A-DAY 2012 • Pick a day in April: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

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

Hello, everyone! Day five squared, with a square five left to go. As far as prompts go, Maureen Thorson suggests a cento. Robert Lee Brewer says, "write a poem about a sport." And Andrea Boltwood recommends a "questioning poem." I'm afraid none of those prompts worked for me today. So, no prompt at all. Just winging it. Here's an idea from my early undergraduate courses in astronomy, when I was virtually an astronomy major, though I never ended up declared it. Tried to write this very poem 30+ years ago, but I didn't yet have the skill or the mileage to pull it off. bary in a binary star two stellar bodies of similar mass outside themselves she with her etsy shop her handmade knickknacks her gardening and cooking blogs both never in the same place never at the same time their barycenter not the dodge caravan minivan that sat interminably in the garage because neither of them drove it where neither of them ever were where nothing is except their children amy and sam in the snow globe of their frozen lives girdled by and her orbits center revolve around a common center he with his job as a loan officer his maserati his fender stratocaster both coming and going going and coming orbiting each other not the house in the suburbs not the vacation home in the poconos their barycenter an invisible point except their children sam and amy forever suspended where not even snow fell where not even their breaths steamed where the kids stood forever his orbits orbits —Draft by Vince Gotera     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] No poem yet from Catherine. I'll post that here when I get it. Looking forward to her poem! Today's featured blog is MiskMask: Alphabet Soup de Jour. Head chef Misky is plating for us, with lovely presentation, sparkling and sprightly Poem-a-Day and NaPoWriMo sweets. Check out, for example, today's fun cento, channeling Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear, among others: "Onward the Noseybum." Also take a peek at Misky's other blogs on gardening, cooking, and more. That's the end of TWO-FIVE. Doesn't that sound like CB slang? "TEN-FOUR, good buddy." Or police radio lingo: "My TWO-FIVE is in ten minutes." Anyway, you know what to do below in the comment section below . . . thanks. Ingat. Added 4/30/12: Friends, here's Catherine's poem for Day 25. It's viciously delicious. Or deliciously vicious. Or something like that! After School Snack Barrel pressed cool against her pulsing throat, haute couture, leather-gloved, slender fingers demurely caressed the trigger before she kissed the shell loaded just for the occasion, Greeted her children with crimson mud clotted in vacant eyes, sharp slag barbed in skull splinters, empty fifth of gin, warm milk, cookies, red mess to clean. —Draft by Catherine Pritchard Childress     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] POEM-A-DAY 2012 • Pick a day in April: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

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

Hey hey hey, poets and readers. Happy 2·12, 3·8, 4·6, 2·3·4, 2·2·2·3, and (in deference to our favorite, the word problem) two cubed times three and of course one times twenty-four. Math, math, math. Now I can say 4/5 of National Poetry Month 2012 is gone. Hail and farewell. Ave atque vale. Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres. Semper ubi sub ubi. Back to the work of the day: prompts, prompts, prompts. Maureen Thorson says, "Today’s challenge is a lipogram/Beautiful Outlaw/Beautiful In-Law." Robert Lee Brewer tells us his "final Two-for-Tuesday prompt" is a love poem or an anti-love poem. Andrea Boltwood suggests "an exaggerated or fictional autobiography." Okay, here is a little ditty from me that responds to only one prompt (finally) with a pair of linked hay(na)ku that invoke Robert's love and anti-love. Falling Petals She loves me. She loves me NOT. Oh damn. Damn damn damn. —Draft by Vince Gotera     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] Earlier in the day, I was saying to myself that that's not really going to be my Day 24 poem. But, as the day went on — it's now 8 p.m. — I've thought more and more that the little ditty is my Day 24 poem. I originally wrote this poem in, really, just a couple of minutes and thought of it as a lark. A joke. But as my various daily activities unfolded and the poem resonated and echoed in the back of my mind, I slowly began to realize that it actually is much more than a joke. The flexibility of the hay(na)ku to express strong emotions and ideas in such a small space, in so few words, is incredible. Although we all know the formula that's spoken by the speaker pulling off flower petals is an alternation of "yes" and "no," the one word / two word / three word structure allows the phrase she loves me to repeat twice in the first stanza, as if to expand and magnify its power and significance. The word NOT, since it is forced into the second stanza by the hay(na)ku format, is separated from the positivity of that double she loves me. But then that same word demolishes the house of cards that is the opening stanza, in a much more devastating fashion than the simplistic alternation of the childish back-and-forth formula she loves me / she loves me not would seem to allow. The second stanza then becomes a repository for negativity with almost all six words forming the speaker's knell of increasing sorrow and loss. If the poem were not in the hay(na)ku structure, I think this probably would be just a small farce. But the rigidity of the form's architecture underlines how the speaker is limited and constrained by the situation, by the unmitigated and unrelenting circumstances of this love or anti-love. Moving on . . . no poem from Catherine tonight. I'll post it later on when she finishes it. Our featured NaPoWriMoblog today is Jennifer Bullis: Poetry at the Intersection of Mythology and Hiking. Isn't that the most glorious subtitle ever? I'm imagining Loki and Thor in matching Gravity Defyer sneaks speedwalking up a mountain trail. They'd be movin! I know, right? I really appreciate Jennifer's attitude to the whole NaPoWriMo/poem-a-day busyness; her current post's title is "NaPoWriMo Day 16 (Day 23 for Everybody Else)." She's not scrambling like many &mdash I'm guilty too — to write 7 more poems to get that 16 up to 23. No fuss. And that poem for Jennifer's individual Day 16 has the funniest lines I've seen all NPM: "I can hardly hear the chickadees / screaming Cheeseburger! Cheeseburger!" When I read that, man, I fell out! I could hear Belushi (John, that is) and Ackroyd yelling, back in SNL's salad days, "CHEEbooguh CHEEbooguh, CHEEP CHEEP!" Ha! Sorry, kids, ya had ta be there. Anyway, back to Jennifer's lovely poem . . . that loud chickadee moment is followed by this whispered sentiment, "I seek and find silence / in the alder leaves' / slowly / opening / eyes," accompanied by a photo of alder leaves that indeed look like little half-opened eyes. Such a sweet moment. Take note also of Jennifer's poem for her day 11 (18 for others), titled "Lullaby for the Obsessive-Compulsive." Make sure you're not drinking something while you read it . . . if you don't want to make a mess, that is. Enjoy Jennifer's mixology of mythology and hikingology! (Loki insisted it was "Vikingology" . . . imagine the nerve of that guy!) Okay, done for the day. Exhausted from hiking with Loki and Thor, those @%¿#& show-offs! While we rest and recover, the world of poetry will be winching towards 5x5, with 5 left. Comment below, 'k? Ingat. Added 4/25/12: Here's Catherine's poem for yesterday. Brava, Catherine! ========= ===== ==== = ====== == ====== = == === === ===== ======= ===== ======= ========== === === === ===== === ==== ==== === = ====== == ======= ===== ===== ==== ===== ======== == ==== ======== ====== === ==== ====== == === ======== ==== === ==== = ===== == ===== = == === === === === ===== ==== ========= ==== ====== ======== ===== ==== ====== == ==== ==== ==== ======== ======== === === === === ======= ==== ==== ==== ==== === === ==== ===== ===== == ======= == ==== ===== ======= ======= === ===== ===== ====== == ==== ========== ==== ===== == === === ===== ==== = === ==== ==== === ==== = ====== == ====== ====== ==== === === == ====                         Poem removed for publication purposes. Sorry. It may return at some point. Thanks. —Draft by Catherine Pritchard Childress     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] POEM-A-DAY 2012 • Pick a day in April: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

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

Happy Day 23, everyone! I'm going to start off differently today by giving you a poem before reporting on prompts. Here are a pair of linked haiku from Catherine. Pay close attention, now. ======= === === === ====== ========= ==== === ====== ====== ======= ==== === ===== ==== ===== == === === ====== ==== === ======= ===== == ==== === =====                         Poem removed for publication purposes. Sorry. It may return at some point. Thanks. —Draft by Catherine Pritchard Childress     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] That one bears some thinking. And rethinking. Quite a bit of wisdom there. Sneaks up on you. Okay. Prompts, PDQ. Maureen Thorson: ekphrastic poem — Robert Lee Brewer: morning poem — Andrea Boltwood: "noise-y" poem. Once again, I've decided to mash up all three prompts, though I said I wouldn't. I'm an inveterate masher, I guess. Or masher-upper. Anyway, to do Maureen's ekphrasis, I needed an image to work with. When in doubt, make your own. So I took a photo today of one of my vintage electrics, a guitar I played in bands during grade school and high school. A Sears Silvertone. A lot of parents in those days (mid- to late '60s) bought their kids guitars from Sears. This is called a Silhouette, modeled loosely after the Fender Jaguar. Ironically, I eventually gravitated toward Gibson guitars, Fender's main competitor. My main six-string now is a Gibson SG. Anyway, held the Silhouette up to the sky and snapped this shot with my phone. Head to the Sky — after Elizabeth Bishop The sun, a ruddy egg poised on the pale wavery horizon, rose like a shimmery balloon into a bright robin's egg cumulus-clustered sky. Trees whispered their breezy sussurus into the thin violet haze of early morning.   redburst finish   On the spaceport’s wide, white concrete, cracked and overgrown with green, the vast ship stood warming, its mirror-like engine housing thrumming and steaming with liquid oxygen. A single chrome fin arced upward like a pointing arm.   whammy bar   On the side of the spaceship, its massive magenta hull plated with cardinal and amber ceramic armor, the shiny bubbles of the bridge and engine room lit up like angular bars of silver soap, chrome lozenges flashing morning sunlight back to the heavens.   silverfoil pickups   The sleek thin parallel armatures of the faster-than-light drive streamed from the black base of the ship’s tail, laddering up to its stiletto nose, high in azure air, pointing like a slim spike, a bright arrow, set to needle into the bleak vacuum of interstellar space.   slinky strings   With the blaring clamor of a thousand thunderstorms, a million Jimi Hendrix feedback howls, his Woodstock “Star Spangled Banner” magnified a billionfold, the gigantic space ark Silhouette, a handmade Titan larger than a city, rose like a majestic frigate into the air, poised like a resplendent phoenix on its column of fire, this final vessel of humankind, leaving behind a ruined, exhausted Earth, this last sliver of Homo sapiens flinging itself outward into the obsidian brightness of the universe.   rock and roll —Draft by Vince Gotera     [do not copy or quote ... thanks] So there you go: an ekphrastic poem, set in the morning, with over-the-top soundplay. Whaddayathink? Today we feature poem-a-day blog Marilyn Cavicchia, Editor and Poet. Marilyn has been writing marvelous April poems — I particularly like her parody on Day 15 of William Blake's "The Tyger" (with its own humorous "y" misspelling). This blog is also somewhat of a business venture for Marilyn . . . so if you need an editor, etc., dig deeper into this blog and what Marilyn has to offer. Okay, that's it for today. As usual, please leave a comment below. See you tomorrow! Ingat. P.S. Catherine's poem for Day 19 is up at the post for that day. Take a look! P.P.S. I added another morel mushroom photo to yesterday's post. Check it out. Yum! POEM-A-DAY 2012 • Pick a day in April: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30