GloPoWriMo 2020: 6/30

Today’s challenge asked me to write a poem from the point of view of one person/animal/thing from Hieronymous Bosch’s famous (and famously bizarre) triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights. I had never heard of this piece of art before, so I was quite intrigued to give this a shot.

The Gryphon 

Commanding the chariot that Dante sees,
I am legend,
Arriving when beckoned,
Guardian of all that is gold,
Taking good into my protective fold.
Few other creatures have legendary offspring,
But, I, and my hippogriffs, fly on clouds like they are
Soft spring,
Earthly delights when given to me  – are
Treasures,
Nobody but you can see.

GloPoWriMo 2020: 5/30

Today’s prompt is honestly the toughest prompt I’ve seen the good folks over at NaPoWriMo put out.

It’s called the “Twenty Little Poetry Projects,” and was originally developed by Jim Simmerman. The challenge is to use/do all of the following in the same poem. Of course,  if you can’t fit all twenty projects into your poem, or a few of them get your poem going, that is just fine too!

  1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.
  2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
  3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
  4. Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
  5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
  6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
  7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
  8. Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
  9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
  10. Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
  11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
  12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
  13. Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
  14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
  15. Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
  16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
  17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
  18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.
  19. Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
  20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.

I do not see myself weaving all 20 of these into a singular piece – for the most part because that does not interest me. Thus, I will be incorporating one of these things.

Peach Perfect 

“You’re a peach!”,
Merriam-Webster exclaims is the best example of a metaphor,
To call someone pleasing.
Au contraire, my peachy friend,
Peaches are not pleasing,
Their colour, in fact, they’re merely leasing,
Their appearance?
Round gluteus maxima, I say.

Oh, and the descriptions of their taste,
“Juicy orbs of sunburst deliciousness”,
Clearly, you pick fruit with haste,
But, come now, we must do our due diligence –
and spot the fur from a mile, nay, a marathon away.

You may think we’re brothers,
Maybe the hair gives you that notion,
In reality, we’re third cousins,
My genes contain some of the worse portions – and
as a result my appearance is a gag,
“A potato with fur”,
“A haggly sack”

I so dislike this peachy business,
Why must he get all the praise,
The next time you see someone please you,
Please call them a kiwi, I say.
“You’re a kiwi!”
You see, it rolls off the tongue,
Kiwi is two syllables,
While peach is just one.

GloPoWriMo 2020: 4/30

Today’s prompt asks me to write a poem based on an image from a dream.

I get this recurring dream of me floating around in space after having a heavy meal – a literal gas giant, if you will. It isn’t so bad, I’m enjoying my life up there, till I realize nobody has the power or ability to bring me down. Quite often that is where the dream stops, and it’s what I’ve chosen to depict today, tugged along by Wordsworth dearest.

Gas Giant

Ballooned up,
No strings attached –
I floated around in empty space,
Without the ability to move around freely
Something kept me in place,
Unbeknownst to me,
I caused a crisis,
An eclipse
Preventing the sun’s rays from brightening up
Anyone’s days,
I lingered,
Lonely as a cloud.

 

GloPoWriMo 2020: 2/30

Today’s prompt is to write about a specific place.

School

Primary school was a 3-minute drive from home,
Exit the car park,
Take a left,
Take a right,
Make a U-turn,
Take a right,
You have arrived.
Every morning, I’d be a passenger, witness to this route in my semi-dazed state,
Each afternoon, I’d be a compatriot to my father, awake and
Describing every minute of my day.
Take a left,
Make a U-turn,
Take a left,
Take a right,
Enter the car park,
You are home.
In those 3 minutes, I’d fill my dad’s ears with all sorts of stories,
Excitedly babbling away – never paying attention,
To the road that he’d take,
If only I had,
Perhaps I would have recognized,
That the shortest route to my school,
Was just a straight line.
Unfortunately, that was not to be,
My grandfather and I walked, in 40 degrees,
We exited the car park,
Took a left,
Took a right,
Made a U-turn,
Took a right,
We had arrived.

GloPoWriMo 2020: 1/30

With tradition in mind, we embark on a fresh edition of GloPoWriMo. Last year’s Challenge was quite lovely, insofar as my mother participated alongside me and shared poetry daily – leading to a self-published anthology of our poems, dedicated to my father. It was a really wholesome family event, especially because we released the book at a celebration of my dad’s 50th birthday, and my mum recited a spoken-word piece we weaved together for that event.

Today’s prompt is “Metaphors”. The challenge is to write a self-portrait poem that makes an action that occurs in specific circumstances a metaphor for my life.

Can You Hear Me?

The world and I coexist harmoniously thanks to technology,
Telecommunications devices and the Internet, but invariably,
On calls, I ask, “Can you hear me?”
Not “Hello”, or “Is everything okay?”
Rather, “Can you hear me?”, seeking affirmation
Instead,
Responses splutter across interrupted time and disrupted space,
Weaving blurred videos and buzzed tones
Offering up a patchwork of known faces and voices
Yet breeding unfamiliarity.

“Can you hear me?”, I ask once more,
Pixels move and reorganize, and in an instant,
Echoes and lags relay through warping time to synchronize and
Restore normalcy.

That repetition, however is a foe, for it,
Makes those seconds feel like supereons and, success feel like failure, because
Connections are never made to be broken.
But words do not always reach intended faces, and images rarely reach familiar ears
Yet, simultaneously, repetition nurtures security as the
Conversation moves forth and I answer “I can hear you”
Feedback creating growth.