Listen the protestors,
unkempt, thin and idealistic,
they are usually right.
(Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on the “Proust Questionnaire,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and adapted by modern interviewers.)
The leaves beckon me to reach higher
taunting with whispery voices
then I look down and can’t see the ground
Clinging tight to the trunk
until I hear the dinner bell
and friends gather laughing from the grass
It takes twenty minutes and my dignity
for the fire department to arrive
but at least I didn’t fall
(Written with my friends at Charles House after I read some arboreal poetry to them, including Birches by Frost and, of course, Trees by Kilmer.)
Things get stuck in my mind,
dates, places, trivia.
It was useful as a student,
less so as a husband.
Never forgot an anniversary
or a birthday or a lie.
Every time she said “no”,
I heard “never”.
I wish my memory were a fertile
field that could be watered
and weeded. Instead it’s a cemetery,
with every betrayal chiseled.
I could forgive but not…
Today’s Prompt: Reflect on the concept of memory and its impact on our lives.
For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt: Write a “(blank) of the Heart” poem, and/or… Write a “Heart of the (blank)” poem.
I’m also very proud to announce and a new poem of my has been published at MasticadoresUSA. You might think Cassandra is related to today’s poem. And you might be right.
Observing the teenage squirrels at play
and titmice foraging among the leaves
has convinced me.
I’m moving out of my apartment and building
a treehouse. Now that everything’s green,
no one will notice a studio in the branches.
I’ll leave my windows open so the birds
can perch on the sills. I imagine the crows
will be quite interested in my work.
The squirrels can run right through the living
room and I won’t care. Once they’re used
to me, I might even join the chase.
And I’ll observe the strange creature living
in my old place, face glowing, never singing,
never jumping, getting fatter and fatter
as more and more trees get buzzed down.
Happy Earth Day!
For today’s prompt, write an earth poem. The poem can be about nature or the planet. But it can also be about anything or anyone on the planet.
on her birthday
There once was a woman from Orkney,
who was always attracted to dorknies.
Quantum Physics, her game
and so she became
entwined with a strangely charmed quarkney.
Happy Birthday to my loyal reader and fellow writer, Bernie Bell!
Keen readers of this blog will have noticed that I did not post a poem-a-day yesterday. That’s because I was writing at a wedding with a couple of my fellow poets. We were doing poetry-on-demand for their guests at the reception. The three of us wrote a total of 28 poems, so I more than fulfilled my daily quota.
Asked my doctor why I’m sneezing and bashful
She prescribed happy pills but they make me sleepy
At least I don’t get dopey
For today’s prompt, pick an emotion, make it the title of your poem, and write your poem.
Rain on the tinroof
drowses me to sleep
in a brave new world
of annual thousand-year floods
this summer tempest
will be what dreams
are made of
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Tempest.
for both Ludwigs
Beethoven only gave it a number,
Piano Sonata Fourteen.
Years later the poet Rellstab
named it Mondscheinsonate
and I will not dispute his license.
For when Selene rises at sundown
behind the darkened trees
and casts a porcelain dagger
across the surface of the lake,
faint ripples from the breeze
tickle the pebbles on shore
then poets and composers alike
are reminded of your charm
and get to work.
Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that is inspired by a piece of music, and that shares its title with that piece of music.
This was obviously inspired by the Moonlight Sonata, not Clair de lune.
I live in a small Southern suburban apartment
and it could be wiped off its hilltop by a hurricane
and I wouldn’t care. It’s just where I sleep
and keep my stuff. I would miss the heirlooms
and library of poetry books
but my home is this laptop. Booting up,
is like inserting the key to the front door,
icons arranged on the desktop with Feng Shui,
data arrayed in tidy directories.
Technically, since I upgrade the hardware
every few years, the laptop is just the house
and the data is my real home.
I don’t live in the clouds
but my backups do.
Today’s Prompt: Create a poem that explores the concept of home and belonging.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 