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Food: Taking Poetry by the Throat
When Robert Lee Brewer handed out his challenge assignment this morning on Poetic Asides, I imagine his grin and his thoughts. “They’re gonna be all over this one. I can see it now.”
He was right, you know. We did stomp all over this prompt-of-the-day. Food is right up my alley, as my backside can attest. He wanted us to write about regional cuisine—either the food itself or some aspect pertaining to it. This was my response.
It sits, having conquered gravity
To reign over table and diners.
Six layers of diabetes, waiting
For consumption by the sliver.
Who’d’ve expected one pie
To feed twenty sugar addicts?
We wait, breathe held, for slicing
To begin so that we can let
Our portion melt, slither, find
Our centers to give that rush
To bodies needing Pilates more
Than three kinds of caramel in
Six stacked shells of doughy goodness.
© Claudette J. Young 2012
Meanwhile, over at Poetic Bloomings. I found In-Form Poet proceedings for the day. Poet Jan Turner invented a new form not long ago, which puts limits on some areas of form, while leaving others untouched. It goes like this.
Write a Tri-Fall poem:
- Three stanzas of six lines each
- Rhyme scheme of a,b,c,a,b,c
- Syllable count for each stanza: 6-3-8-6-3-8
- No specific meter
- Little to no punctuation
- Any subject will do
Since I was already subject oriented from the Poetic Asides prompt, I stayed on the subject of regional food, parked myself at Granny’s table, and wrote about what had been placed before me. My goal was to write a story in this poem. I’m hoping to capture a memory. You’ll have to tell me if I succeeded in telling the story.
Table long, groaning now
under weight
of platters, dishes, and elbows.
Ham, chops, eggs galore vow
to stay late
just to erase dieter’s woes.
Clasping hands for prayer
waiting now
‘til men get theirs and kids do too.
Smells so good this home fare
“Where’s the cow?”
Utters late-comer with “moo.”
“Stayed outside,” replies Gran
“Sit and eat.”
all bowls cleaned, platters empty too.
Belt loose on a lone man
children sleep
in laps of soft-talking moms.
© Claudette J. Young 2012
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The End Is Near
The Doomsday Conspiracy (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Doomsday is the theme for the day, and seemingly for the year. Poetic Asides used that trend for its prompt of the day is this April poetry challenge. Write a Doomsday poem. That’s about as straightforward a prompt as any could find.
So here’s my take on the subject for today.
It’s Coming, Pay Attention
White bears with patchy hair
Move inland in search of lair.
Seabirds take new route home,
Veering distant, old paths to roam.
Bees that make honey so sweet
Die away, less pollen to sweep.
Water/land dwellers all,
Gasping, grasping, failing, fall.
Weather gone insane ‘tween now and then,
Leaving us to ask, “This happened when?”
© Claudette J. Young
Enjoy your weekend, folks. Stay safe if you’re in the storm zone, watch the beaches for denizens of the surf that can cause harm, or sit in the sun with drink in hand. After all, it might be your last enjoyable weekend for a while.
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In the Shade, Tea in Hand
Poetry is an... (Photo credit: liber(the poet);)
Our daily writing prompt from Poetic Asides reads “Write a shady poem—Open interpretation” or words to that effect. You can see some of the possibilities here, can’t you?
No time to waste today on exposition. Let’s get to the poetry! Enjoy yourselves!
Expectations
She came in from the green field,
Ready but not willing to yield
To his warmed hands that awaited,
Nor would she stand, breath abated.
Instead, she called a long wavering note,
Seeming to cast her sole possible vote,
Concerning continual molesters of his ilk,
Saying “No!” to his stripping of her milk.
No anger answered her call, only sweet talk
To reassure her of his rightness, “No need to balk.”
She listened to his whispers, guided to her stall.
Once there she relaxed, finally willing to give all.
Shy, elusive, scuttling from leaf to leaf,
She listens, wary, knowing missteps cost
More than her own life, her children’s.
Twig snap!
Freeze; eyeballs only, scan for foes.
Birdsong allows for exhale amid
Thundering heartbeats; too long,
Gone too long, but close, very close.
Another length of ground gained,
Fast beneath the canopy, taking
Advantage of each dark haven
That hides the path home.
One tree between her and sanctuary,
She gathers strength and speeds toward
Those she nurtures within the hollow
Of her heart and beneath the pawpaw.
Safe, all safe!
Little ones gather round, nudging, seeking.
Onto the floor she spits out seeds, gathered
with care for this second feeding of the day.
She’ll endure fear and fatigue to mother them all.
© Claudette J. Young 2012
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Past and Future: Always in Sight
National Poetry Month Display @ Forest Hills (Photo credit: mySAPL)
When the Poetic Asides prompt rose before me on the screen this morning, my mind began to whirl. With a prompt that simply said “Write about something from before your time,” multitudes of possibilities vied for my attention.
What kind of things from the past? What memories of family stories should I tempt with an escape path? Should I do a poem about an event that occurred just before my birth that I could not have witnessed, but which affected me in a personal way?
The poem that I chose to do is one which speaks to and of times in the dim past; time when gods walked among men and creatures of lore were commonplace; a time, whether mythical or real, continues to form much of the basis of literature today.
I hope you enjoy this small effort of mine. It will soon take its place within a book of poetry that I’m working on titled “Forest Primeval,” after I’ve done a thorough rewrite of it.
In The Beginning
When moss covered your stone walls,
And days crept to the staggered step of age,
Memories became legend,
Legend moved to make myth of history.
Horses flew, Olympus reigned.
Dwarves burrowed deep, hammers ringing against gold,
Forging palace treasures bright.
Giants walked and played with gods on this Earth.
Gods fought, jealous foes did war,
Gods’ magics did turn, slaying their jester.
Fist-held power strangled all,
Lightning struck both bearer and those fleeing.
Winged horses, heroes gone,
Man-eating play things making Earth their home.
Beware, Mighty Ones, servants
Who have power to shape the world they own.
For magic ones did travel,
Living where whim allowed for freedom’s play,
Cared not for old gods’ verdicts,
But for personal power gain in time.
Only time will show what prompt will appear for tomorrow’s test of poetic endeavor. Be sure to stop back by to see what time will bring out into the open.
© Claudette J. Young 2012
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Opposing Sides
Poetry Workshop by Pooja Nansi 3 (Photo credit: Steel Wool)
Poetic Asides has its Two for Tuesday prompt up this morning for its challenge within a challenge. Apologize or not apologize, that is the prompt.
Isn’t it funny how we do both each day for the unlikeliest of reasons? We’re so conditioned that we even apologize to ourselves for piddly things that have little or no consequence. Or, even better to my way of thinking, is when I apologize to my computer because I’ve either entered an inadvertent command or taken too long to complete a function. Explain that one to me, if you can.
Like most poets who participate in this poetic marathon, I accepted the challenge to create two poems this morning following RB’s prompt. I place them below for your enjoyment.
“Sorry Doesn’t Cut It Anymore”
Why do words of encouragement
Ring hollow, without bringing hope,
Without helping to find solutions?
How can you keep holding me down,
When all I want is to soar among clouds,
White with purity of thought and intent,
Moist with possibility, light as a feather’s touch?
Where can I go to be rid of you, to not ever see you,
Waving at me again each time I window shop,
Each time I brush my teeth or comb my hair?
Why have I believed the excuses all these years,
Never expecting any better treatment from you,
When I expect even less from she who lives within me?
The time for “Sorry” is gone.
Today, I am ridding myself of your excuses.
Today, I am beginning my future without you.
I will not apologize for removing you from my life.
Today, Proboscis, you will leave my sight forever,
And I’ll not ever feel sorry about that!
Eavesdropping
A quick glance told the story.
She with fists balled,
He with hands raised in supplication.
Fear, rage, and confusion ruled her,
While he tried to explain that which
Filled her with hurt, a sense of betrayal.
She could only react, not hear words.
Hissed argument oozed from the room,
Barely above the whispers of those nearby.
Murmurs rippled from within, telling of joys
Gone, trust broken, futures destroyed.
No apology from him could be adequate now.
No apology will be accepted by her battered heart.
Another love story comes to an end, an eavesdropping
Interlude for those knowing all sides of the triangle.
I’m so happy that so many are stopping by to read these small offerings of a wandering mind. Feel free to leave a comment as you pass through on your way to another whistle stop.
Enjoy your day. If you’d like to read all or part of today’s Poetic Asides entrees, drive down The Street at: http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poetry-prompts/2012-april-pad-challenge-day-3/
© Claudette J. Young 2012
A Poem We Will Go
The Old English epic poem Beowulf is written in alliterative verse and paragraphs, not in lines or stanzas. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Poetic Asides’ annual April Poem-a-day Challenge has begun. Today’s prompt dial landed on aspects of communication.
Love poems, rejection poems, personal and impersonal, fast and future, funny, and poignant; words flow from diverse poems worldwide in this marathon of lyricism.
The first thing that came to mind when I saw the prompt this morning was conversation. People communicate on multiple levels the majority of the time. A voice’s tones, a word’s inflection, all communicate a separate message. Otherwise, sarcasm wouldn’t be as cutting as it is.
My mind focused on what one could overhear that says one thing on the auditory level. On the visual level, however, another conversation would take place. Meanings take on a depth that sometimes has to be seen as well as heard.
This was my first post on Poetic Asides (PA) this morning.
Five-Star Dining
“Did you eat?”
“Some hours ago.”
“Oh? Disappointing?”
“I hate dining out now.”
“And why is that? Please tell me.”
“I get no satisfaction now.”
“In what way?”
“Salivation.”
“Oh. Did you get bored?”
“My server had no taste.”
“Do you need help finding new foods?”
He shook his head as he drew her near,
Nuzzling close.
“You’ve got me spoiled.”
She threw back her head,
Laughing with abandon.
Power came with submission.
“Drink, darling, of my vintage wine.”
He drank deep,
Her essence warm,
Her love new again.
“You’re intoxicating.”
His bloody mouth left her throat.
“You’ve never learned. Home cooking’s best.”
For those who’re connoisseurs of fine poetry, forgive my liberties with form and subject. I had deliberate intent.
There is opportunity later in the day to post more poems for this prompt, and I might do just that given spare time.
I hope you enjoy my efforts throughout this month. Drop by often to see where prompts and personal thoughts take my poetry for this challenge. Be sure to drop in a comment when the spirit or Muse moves you.
© Claudette J. Young 2012
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