When God created men
she thought: “I’ll create as many as I can
to see how long it takes them to wreck the earth
so I can create humanity 2.0 when I next give birth
Almost a #clerihew, for today’s prompt on napowrimo.net: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a creation myth.” #NaPoWriMo day 19.
Well, the sky was grey, but she never complained about it, because everything was grey anyhow, so she didn’t notice that sky, she didn’t even look at it, really.
Colour is overrated anyhow, you know, all those poets and painters always going on about it, but truth be told, colour never fed the hungry and didn’t attain world peace either, right? So bugger off with all your pinks and yellow and greens. Ash grey and cinereous will do, thank you very much. Tyrants!
So 6 lines, 8 lines, circles, squares, what do I care? Bop ‘till you drop, but make it fast, I have other things to do.
Again, I tried my hand on one of the prompts I’ve skipped, and digressed 🙂 I wanted to keep this for later this month, when I’ll have to do a day of travelling. But I feel really bad after a huge fight with my son this morning, so this fits my mood. And the amount of inspiration I feel at the moment to create something new 😦
I’ll have to have another go at the bop some other day: In the basic Bop poem, a six-line stanza introduces the problem, and is followed by a one-line refrain. The next, eight-line stanza discusses and develops the problem, and is again followed by the one-line refrain. Then, another six-line stanza resolves or concludes the problem, and is again followed by the refrain.
Here’s a beautiful example of a bop, by a fellow participant: She just could not conform to their ways.
Published, and interviewed… I’m excited. And it feels very weird too 🙂
Angela van Son, 42, Utretch, Netherlands, is a dutch procrastination coach and poet/writer, Angela explains that she began learning English at the age of 12, and while thinking she never had any creativity, took up a creative course that has led her to rekindle her love for creative writing.
“I loved writing when I was a child, and I’m happy it’s back in my life. I love to play with words, I enjoy the challenge of writing in English, and I love the surprise of an unfolding story or poem. I never know what I’m writing about until I do it.” – Angela van Son
Angela van Son
We wanted to find out a little more about Angela:
Can you tell us a little about yourself?
“I’m self-employed, working internationally as procrastination coach. I like to help people move forward when they’re stuck, and to work on what’s holding them…
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Dear mother,
I know you’ll find this hard to understand, but this is not a suicide note.
It’s what fate has in store for me.
It’s what I was born for.
It’s what I have to do.
Please don’t blame my friends, they could have done nothing to prevent this.
None could’ve averted fate.
Nobody could’ve halted what I was born for.
They did what they had to do.
Please don’t denounce the soldiers, they just followed orders.
They were to execute fate.
Even though they didn’t know what I was born for.
All of them did what they were supposed to do.
Don’t miss me mother. I’ll stay around, I’ll be back before you know it.
Losing me is your fate.
It’s what you gave birth for.
It’s what you have to do.
Love,
your baby J.
Why? Why? My son’s on repeat
I don’t know, I say, and, … repeat
But what if? As always, he won’t give up
And for the umptieth time, I have to repeat
Please leave my brain alone, I need a break
let me breathe, stop asking questions, I repeat
Why? He asks. And corrects himself: For how long?
For at least ten minutes, do you understand, please repeat?
Silence
Breathe
Repeat
Mum?
Silence
Breathe
Repeat
Mum!
Why? I ask
I don’t know, he says
I give up, I reply
Silence
Breathe
Repeat
I tried a ghazal but digressed (the prompt a few days ago): A ghazal is formed of couplets, each of which is its own complete statement. Both lines of the first couplet end with the same phrase or end-word, and that end-word is also repeated at the end of each couplet.
The prompt for today was to write a letter. I vaguely remembered writing a correspondence poem once so I searched for it. It turns out that was the one that made me featured participant last year 🙂 It’s a bit crazy, and you can find it here.
Half way through my funeral
the doorbell rang
– the wrong door
Half way through my funeral
the choir sang
– the wrong song
Half way through my funeral
the church bells rang
their tower swayed
Half way through my funeral
the angels sang
our preacher strayed
Half way through my funeral
the walls crumbled
I turned around
Half way through my funeral
you removed the lid
without a sound
Half way through my funeral
I left
through the right door
Half way through my funeral
You stayed
You wanted more
Day 15 of #NaPoWriMo, we were invited to write a poem that reflects on the nature of being in the middle of something. So I’m on prompt – but I’m off illustration. I had planned to use only my own work this year, but this poem called for Hieronymus Bosch. At the least the photograph is my own. That counts for something, right? 😉
If you were to scratch my skin, lightly
again and again
anew
you could see rebuke shimmering through
If you were to take a needle
and pierce my hide
just once
a drop of remonstrance would well up
If you were to take a razor blade
and cut me, slowly
you’d encounter a stream of truth
crimson damnation
Please don’t make me bleed words
My mind won’t wrap itself around a clarihew, the prompt for NaPoWriMo day 14. I’m looking forward to reading other people’s clarihews – a four line poem that’s a satire of a famous person. I’m posting something serious instead.
Somehow it reminds me of one of the first poems I wrote, which happened to be for NaPoWriMo to, in 2013. It’s called unfinished business. It features words filling a bath.
Linking to some clarihews in case you’re in need of a smile:
Oscar Wilde, Marie Antoinette and Rasputin
Scarlett O’Hara
Sean Spicer and Jeffrey Dahmer
Sigmund Freud
John Coltrane
Sartre, Becket and Kafka
Darth Vader
King Richard Lionheart
Edgar Allen Poe
Thor, Zeus, Isis and more
Jesus and more
Added note April 16: I just remembered I did try a clerihew once. I ended up with something political instead of satirical: Permission denied
A bag of anything
A bucket list of dust
Different shades of luck
The last compilation poem for now. Three days in a row of creating a poem by blog titles and posts of fellow participants in #NaPoWriMo. I might do more later, but I don’t want it to become a gimmick. And I’m behind on some interesting prompts, so time for a new challenge!
You can find the poem that provided the title here.
Roshni the moving finger writes
just another wakeup call
Ride the wave
Unlucky in luck
our mothers and fathers mad heartsmad hearts knew
resilience is a Friday’s fairytale
In the stilly night
The confused angel’s trumpet
blows a night song
(The title comes from this poem by J Luukkonen)
I had such a blast yesterday! It was great to be the featured participant on napowrimo.net. I’ve never had so many visitors on my blog before. It was such a joy to have you visit, like and comment. Thanks to everyone who dropped by.
I also thoroughly enjoyed reading all the bop poems. What a fabulous prompt! I hope to try my hand at it, but not today. I’m still tired from a very long working day yesterday.
I love today’s prompt (alliteration and assonance), but I already had a second poem based on websites and titles of you, my fellow writers (like yesterday’s).
For me this is a lovely way to pay tribute to the gems you create. Again please don’t take it personal if you’re not in it. There are too many beautiful options to use all of them.
I realise I haven’t asked permission, I hope nobody minds that I to linked to their work. If you do, please let me know and I’ll remove the link.
My dearest Grapeling
it could be that
the ordinary average thoughts of us
are but instructions for not living a life
So maybe
yogic release
and looking in the mirror
can wipe the thoughts of words
and bring back the glitters of life
Until that annoying voice
of a bad fairy
in the guise of a poet
whispers – again:
A poem is a machine for making
a writer’s fountain
so write, ally, write your
soul structured lines
Once more we are temporary saints
our faith unlocked
bitten by a timorous beastie
Had I but one more day
I’d heal our elusive verse
We have a thing for words
Did you know there’s poetry in your poetry? This poem is based on websites and titles of you, my fellow writers. It’s an ode to your beautiful words.
Please don’t take it personally if you’re not in this one, it doesn’t mean I don’t like your words. I gathered so many beautiful snippets that I have enough for three or more poems I believe. Today’s is just the story that this poem wanted to tell. Please don’t take that story personally either.
I don’t have a clue yet what the prompt is for day 10 of #NaPoWriMo. I’ll be away all day, so I wrote this in advance.
You can find the website that forms the title of this poem here.
Unassorted stories 