Tag Archives: rwp

And the hour draws near.

One last quip / tanka for NaPoWriMo 2010:

closing out this month
by thanking those who always
give their words to air
never expecting return
but feeling the sky open

(Time zones do rather remove the drama.)

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A kinda silly terminal entry for NaPoWriMo 2010

I started being silly and clichéd to loosen up for another idea I have, but this stumbled out.

it’s the final night
and still i must write
palm thwacked against face
words laugh at my chase
quicker than my wit
they do confound it
left in swirling dust
ideas turn to rust
falling apart they
never find their way
except slowly down
into the deep ground
a fertilizer
from each separate burr
that ground against sky
as words said good-bye
and were buried deep
feeling sky’s tears seep
through the hard kernel
’till after vernal
up sprout words their own
that words’ scorn had sown
stretching out their leaves
unfurl to perceive
the light breath of wind
and feel the sun’s grin

Thanks again and again to the contributors at ReadWritePoem and at Poetic Asides for prompts, poems, and feedback.  You could say I used the “free prompt” at RWP, but it feels more like it used me.  Left me with smile, though, so I can’t complain.

(Oops. And I can’t count. Fixed a line. Except that I really do pronounce “separate” with two syllables. Sorry.)

NaPoWriMo #27

Trying to remember the fun part with today’s RWP prompt:

Just a quick note
another in a long line
sometimes stretching clear ’round the block
outside, waiting, drizzled upon, fading, but
never once butting ahead.

Well, um, fun in the sense that I just wrote it quickly without endless frittering.  Now off to my mountain of technical writing.

Hunting morels

I don’t consider this finished, but today’s RWP prompt pushed me to at least bring it to light.

Train your thoughts on the image
and let your senses wander the ground
Look for undulating forms, pockets cradling
caught light until it flows softly as
something else entirely
different with how it treats the eyes
softly against crinkled brown litter

You know you have the right idea when
every perforated leaf, tight tiny pinecone,
dried prickly blossom tugs your senses.
Each opens possibilities sprung from the
season’s fertile ground
permeated freshly with Spring dampness
that yields to the morel’s firm insistence.

You’re searching for a different light than
the rest, a glowing, blushing white that’s
not the typical white, a glowing, soft black
that’s not the typical black, in all for
light that’s atypical
coming from within the Earth at dusk and dawn
all washed away by featureless midday light.

Whatever you do, don’t look up away into
all that openness shoving the true ground
to back ground, fluffing details to pillows
resting your eyes outward. You need watch
little things subconsciously
when they spring from those few moments
when the world opens, ready for them.

NaPoWriNo #25

Weekly errands and the RWP prompt stumbled into another senryū:

Hello, it begins.
What passes next continues
without true meeting.

NaPoWriMo, the factorial of four

I’m not comfortable wearing free verse.  So I’ve tried it again.  I like imbuing structure, and this one didn’t quite want it.  Something here falls flat for me, too, but I’m feeling flat after the last week.  I might have pushed the prompt-found phrase, one more for the road, too obviously.

dusky storms and a wren in the dark
calling out one more for the road
and really the clock nags it’s time
to go to solo alone in place and
place one foot in front of the other
one. more for the road than the stop
that sequenced placement for progress
though pulling the stop alters tones
sounding out all crazy ideas stumbling
escorts the same simple route adding
one more. for the road home through
light splashes and wet beams is just
long enough for gestating ideas to
desires just one more step turn and
there’s the door. in and hit the bed,
one moor’d fore. the road’s outside
now and with it all those thoughtful
escorts dismissed by the nod with
not even a good night kiss.

If I wouldn’t throw off the sampling, perhaps wearing better free verse would be my immodesty for Boobquake.  Or I might throw off the sampling anyways.

NaPoWriMo #22

Skidding into the prompt and just under the wire:

A chime of rust echoes through empty stalls.
The emporium lies fallow, memories
reverberate around skeletal walls,
olden posted bills now only a tease.

The trailing edge of gentle summer squalls,
having allotted the day’s drip to wait,
clutch their saffron hue as evening falls.
Kisses on the iron to ruminate.

The slowly growing crystal tendrils pierce
metal meant to last until forever.
Or so felt youth looking forward and fierce
not yet feeling time’s taste for sharp pepper.

Wandering now? A dizzy nesting house finch,
and a wizened old crow picking a cinch.

It’s a start for later work.  Given how this conference has sucked the air from me, I’m surprised this came out…  Also, I tend to cut a syllable, bringing “wandering” to “wand’ring.”

Plus two more sentences, assuming I still can count:

A day of unscheduled activations has left my switch set to off.

I stand outside the spiraling glass heights but within myself.

An Oomph-less NaPoWriMo #19

I have something in mind.  Some phrases are scattered in my notes.  Other people have similar but photographic thoughts.  But I can’t quite release enough to bring the thoughts and phrases and images together yet.  Instead, an apt off-shoot of today’s RWP prompt became a tanka:

my crazy schedule
reveals lightning’s other half
tines branching upward
darting flash shoots up to send
the insight back down to Earth

The anatomy of a lightning strike is pretty fantastic.  Lightning does not simply shoot from the sky.  The charge follows a path that minimizes the total action in an electric sense.  It’s an illustration of the calculus of variations, an illustration of nature seeing every path but following the only one that can be.

Clouds are gathering outside.  They have that slightly off color that sometimes turns into a cathartic thunderstorm.

NaPoWriMo #18

Another quickie, but at least it’s to the RWP prompt:

orange fast blurs of fur
tumbling through smiles and laughs
into stretched out naps

Another poem’s floating around my head with the scent of morels and dirt, but we’ll see if it makes it out.

Smell.

Way out of time today.  An American sentence based on today’s great RWP prompt and various other things upon which I’ve wasted far too much time:

Reading comprehension is a fast-food fueled, nose curdling lost fart.

Hopefully I’ll come up with a serious submission later.