Day Five ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2019

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "[T]oday we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that incorporates at least one of the following: (1) the villanelle form, (2) lines taken from an outside text, and/or (3) phrases that oppose each other in some way. If you can use two elements, great — and if you can do all three, wow!" Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "For today’s prompt, write a stolen poem. And no, don’t steal anyone’s poem! But you can write about doing such a thing. Or stealing hearts, stealing time, stealing minds. Or steeling your mind (remember: I don’t care if you play on my original prompt). Steal away into a comfortable place to write and break some lines today." Melding both prompts as usual. I've got a villanelle for you, where the refrain lines are excerpted from arguably the most well-known 20th-century villanelle, "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night" by Dylan Thomas. While I've stolen the refrain lines, a la Brewer, they're only half stolen, because I'm lifting only the first half of the lines; Thomas's refrains are "Do not go gentle into that good night" and "Rage, rage against the dying of the light," but I'm using only the first half of each refrain. Anyway, I've certainly covered the first two of Thorson's three elements there, but I may have also satisfied Thorson's "phrases that oppose each other" element, since there's an opposition here, with "fancy armor" and "Chivalry and valor" pitted against "extreme naked / rage." The poem is about the History Channel show Knight Fight, where participants don metal armor and fight each other with medieval weapons — swords, spears, maces, axes, and the like — not sharp, but nonetheless hard steel, full contact. Fascinating show, mega-testosterone and heavy metal, in the original sense. Fight Club or MMA with forged metal, not just fists. Knight Fight                 TV show where contestants                 in armor battle with blunt                 swords . . . all metal, no foam. Do not go gentle when wielding that sword. You gotta rage, rage against your opponent, who’s swinging a battleax at your head. Do not go gentle- man, genteel knight in fancy armor. Channel extreme naked rage. Rage! Against you runs everything you know about honor. Chivalry and valor do not go gentle when blunted blades are hammering against your body. It’s rage against rage in that arena. The crowd is screaming for blood. Steel pounds flesh, armored. Do not go gentle. Rage rage again rage. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. To comment, look for a red line below that starts Posted by, then click once on the word comments in that line. If you don’t find the word “comments” in that line, then look for a blue link below that says Post a comment and click it once. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day Four ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2019

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "Today, we’d like to challenge you to write [a] sad poem [that] achieves sadness through simplicity." Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "For today’s prompt, pick a painter, make him or her the title of your poem, and then, write your poem." Okay, here goes ... merging the two prompts on one of my favorite artists, a master of surrealism, dada, and hyperreal painting. Salvador Dali Nothing sad about this mustachio’d showman: bright burning giraffes, nuclear vortex faces, Mae West's lips for a sofa. But his eyes were sad. In the landscape of soft clocks, he, a young girl, lifts the sea’s edge: a dog sleeping, muffled, dumb, in mute darkness. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Dali at the Age of Six, When He Thought He Was a Girl Lifting with Extreme Precaution the Skin of the Sea to Observe a Dog Sleeping in the Shade of the Water by Salvador Dali (1950) [source] This was a tough assignment, melding these two prompts, because Dali was not a melancholy or somber person. Yet there has always seemed, to me, a sadness under the cultivated craziness of Dali's eyes. It occurred to me that a somonka, a conversation in paired tankas, might make it possible to bridge what I'm seeing as two sides of Dali, or perhaps his inside and outside, the fireworks and a possible shyness. Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. To comment, look for a red line below that starts Posted by, then click once on the word comments in that line. If you don’t find the word “comments” in that line, then look for a blue link below that says Post a comment and click it once. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day Three ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2019

Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: "write something that involves a story or action that unfolds over an appreciable length of time. Perhaps, as you do, you can focus on imagery, or sound, or emotional content (or all three!)" Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: "write an animal poem. The poem could be about an animal. Or it could just mention an animal in passing. Or include an animal in your title and fail to mention the animal once in your poem. Your poem, your rules." Today's poem is a mashup of both prompts, imagining a pet dog throughout his entire life. As a boy, I had a black and white cocker spaniel named Argus. As an adult, I have had soft-coated wheaten terriers; I still have Blue, who lives with my ex-wife. I melded those real-life elements into this dog-life narrative in annual snapshots. Anniversaries with Argus Soft-coated wheaten terrier pup, brown and black comet of fur — fun! Year 2, now ecru, the adult color, but still a silly goofball. 3 years old, Argus must stay on leash . . . he’d run off with any stranger! Age 4, bouncy boy, always the effervescent puppy, run run run! At 5, now square-jawed, with wheaten goatee — grown up? Nah, always a pup. 6th birthday, Argus shreds a throw pillow, feathers everywhere — snowstorm! 7 . . . how many years in dog time? 49? Still undignified. Now 8, he pulls hard while on a walk . . . he never learned to heel. Bunnies! 9 years old, starting to show some age: grizzled snout, still mischievous eyes. 10, tug-of-war king, cruncher of bones and meat treats, afternoon long naps. At age 11, cancer caught early, removed, dog smiles, laughs, relief. 12, hip dysplasia, Argus now moving slower, a pup in his heart. 13, while sleeping, his paws twitch and quiver, chase and hunt in dreams. 14, he didn’t wake up this morning. Last night, licked my hand goodbye. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Yesterday, I mentioned I was trying to keep the poems small for the first few days, just as a fun experiment, and I joked that after tankas on Day 1 and 2, I might go smaller, to a haiku or a single hay(na)ku. Well, okay, haiku today, but there's 14 of them! Technically, not full-on traditional haiku, but rather haiku stanzas, linked haiku. With regard to my inspiration for the poem, here's a photo of my dog Blue, from last September, 2018. Unlike the fictional Argus in the poem, Blue is still going strong, though starting to get old . . . yet still a puppy at heart, like most soft-coated wheaten terriers. Such a fun breed! Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. To comment, look for a red line below that starts Posted by, then click once on the word comments in that line. If you don’t find the word “comments” in that line, then look for a blue link below that says Post a comment and click it once. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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Day Two ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2019

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day suggestion for April 2nd is a Two-for-Tuesday prompt: a worst-case poem and/or a best-case poem. Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that . . . resists closure by ending on a question, inviting the reader to continue the process of reading (and, in some ways, writing) the poem even after the poem ends.” Like yesterday, here's a tanka mashing up both prompts (well, three since we have the double prompts from Robert). Unlike yesterday, when I titled my tanka, I'm going with no title today; some tanka purists complain that including a title can be cheating (like giving oneself an extra line). Worst case scenario? Or best case? Who knows? Who cares? Leeloo: “Chicken good.” Even a supreme being must walk a tightrope. Right? Right? —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Yup, that's 5-7-5-7-7 syllables, which some tanka purists eschew. In any case, I'm trying to go small these first few days. Maybe a haiku or hay(na)ku tomorrow! Or even smaller? That's Leeloo from the movie The Fifth Element. She's digging on chicken there. Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. To comment, look for a red line below that starts Posted by, then click once on the word comments in that line. If you don’t find the word “comments” in that line, then look for a blue link below that says Post a comment and click it once. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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National Poetry Month / NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2019

Friends, here we go again! It’s the lovely month of April, not at all the “cruellest month” old uncle T. S. Eliot called it. Won’t you join me in writing a poem each day throughout the month? Maureen Thorson’s first NaPoWriMo prompt suggests we “write poems that provide the reader with instructions on how to do something. It can be a sort of recipe, [or] you could try to play on the notorious unreliability of instructional manuals (if you’ve ever tried to put IKEA furniture together, you know what I mean). You could even write a dis-instruction poem, that tells the reader how not to do something.” Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “For today’s prompt, write a morning poem. Maybe you’re a morning person, maybe not. Your poem can be about a morning. Or it can be set during the morning. And those who’ve done this before probably already know that I have no problem with you interpreting this as a ‘mourning poem.’” Here's my tanka for the day, or for the morning, mashing up both of the prompts above. Not a Morning Person: How to Wake Up Just swim, ponderous dog-paddle and slo-mo kicks, bottom of the well, cylinder of thick liquid, till you break through, light too bright! —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.] Those of you who have followed my April poetry-writing in past years know that my good friend Thomas Alan Holmes has often taken part and I've posted his April poems alongside mine. Alas, Alan is unable to do the project this year. I've told him that if he writes an occasional poem in the month of April, I'd be glad to host them intermittently. Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. To comment, look for a red line below that starts Posted by, then click once on the word comments in that line. If you don’t find the word “comments” in that line, then look for a blue link below that says Post a comment and click it once. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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