Today is the final day of NaPoWriMo 2021! We made it! Thank you to my Uncle Brian, cousin Emma, and sister Stephanie who all attempted and mostly succeeded in powering through this challenge along side me. Today's challenge is to write directions to a place. Mine are a guide through NaPoWriMo to May. As with any road trip, this one is more fun
If you take someone with you. At first, you'll want to take the scenic route (everyone does), Back roads through fields of wildflowers Or passing under tunnels of tree branches Where the sunlight just Dapples through. Start by heading West (the direction of big skies and wild spaces) down Ambition Avenue. At the first intersection you will see An abstract art installation from the local university. Keep going. Then take the next left Down Rhyme Road (this runs parallel to Meter Street. So if you miss it, the next left Will work just as well). Continue for a few blocks. You will notice the houses here are quite regular In structure (No balconies or turrets or cupolas), But the colors are striking. When you come Across an ample A-frame, Adjust course right, down Alliteration Avenue. This will take you right out of town, but I recommend a detour down Memory Lane. The nostalgia hangs like wisteria, Filling the air With the scent of old paper And attic dust, And there is an old fashioned soda fountain Called the Fountain of Youth where you should Stop in to stock up On sustenance for the trip. Once outside of town The wide world will alternately Excite, exhaust, inspire, and oppress you. Press on. When you are half way there You will come across a traffic circle. It is obligatory to drive distractedly around it At least twice Before continuing on your way. At some point You should intentionally make some wrong turns, Then see how Google Maps Gets you back on track. This is how you discover fun roads like Via Villanelle and Haiku Historic Highway. There are no rest stops. Sorry About that soda I recommended early on! You'll just have to hold it. At this point, The drive may become tedious (It does for me, anyway). If you choose to hop on the interstate Near the end, that's okay. It may not be the prettiest way, But it will still get you to May.
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Today's prompt was to write about looking through a window onto a scene.
In my living room is a window through which I see The lives of others (it's called TV), But windows go both ways. How bored must be The people on the other side watching me? Today we were told to compose a poem which poses a series of questions. This reminded me of the comedy improv game where two players carry on a conversation using only questions. The first to answer with a statement, take too long to respond, or laugh is out. -Do you want to play a game?
- Are we already playing? -How did you know?! - Can you guess? - Was it because we were just talking about that improv show we saw last month? - Have you been tested for Mensa? - What's "Mensa?" - Ha! Well, that answers that. I know. I lose. -Do you want to play again? - Are we already playing? -What do you think? -Would you explain the rules? - Can you have a conversation consisting only of questions? - Can you? - Can I change the subject? - Caaan you? - Maaay I change the subject? - To what would you like to change it? - What are your dreams? - What dreams do I not have? - Should we maybe focus on the realistic ones? - Should they still be called dreams? - What goals do you have then? - ... - May I change the subject? - Do you not have goals?! - Do you ever find the menu too long making it impossible to choose an order? - Are we still talking about goals? - How do you decide where to direct your energy and talents? - Do you have no passion? - What would that feel like? - What do you think about when your mind is free to wander? - Like before I sleep? - Exactly. - You lose. - Do I? - What? Today's poem is inspired by the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. We could run with an entry, or come up with our own, which is what I did. Postvas n. from the Latin "post" meaning after
after the getting acquainted or the catching up after the brunch or the tea or the dinner or the dancing after the toasts, the host is left alone. the home from the Spanish "vacío" meaing empty notices the absence of conversations misses the extra lumens which shone from eyes and smiles feels the dip in degrees as the door closes behind the last warm body. all gone except the host who is left from the Spanish "vaso" meaning drinking glass with a sink full of empty glasses in an empty house all previous enchantment lifted, left with vasos vacíos (empty glasses), evidence that it was not a dream. Ex: Positively paralyzed by postvas, the host went to bed, leaving the empty glasses where they stood. Today we are supposed to parody a poem. I chose "Paul Revere's Ride" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Now, the original is very long, and I was very busy today. Therefore, I only parodied the first two stanzas. Perhaps I will come back to this one later with further details of Wendy's late night snacking habits!
Listen my grazers and you shall hear Of the midnight snacks of Wendy Weir. On a given night when she's up too late, Too many hours since she ate, How could the munchies not appear? She says to herself, "I'll just have a snack To quell the hunger. I just need a bite..." Doritos to start, then a pudding pack: (With impulse control always losing the fight) One if she's sober and two if she's not And now she's boiling water in a pot For ramen noodles she plans to slurp. The role of sleep and rest more snacks usurp, And with no one around, she lets out a BURP! Today we were to write a poem for a special occasion or event. I didn't have the emotional energy to dive too deeply into some of the possible directions this could go, so I went with an event I am greatly looking forward to!
This happy day we have awaited. Our friends are now all vaccinated! Too long restricted to two can play, I'm so excited to finally say, "Hey there! Welcome! COME ON IN!" Once more let the games begin! I'll pour the wine or other drink (Sipping and snacking helps one think). We'll test our luck and strategize, Consult the rules and fraternize. The shelf is stocked with games galore. Solitaire was such a snore. Even cowboys playing cards Did so in saloons with pards. In anticipation of good times with friends, I've planned a game night that never ends! Today we found an article about an animal, replaced that animal's name with another word or phrase in each instance, and edited as necessary to create our poem. I did this perhaps too diligently, but it was an interesting experiment. I pulled the original "article" (it's actually a video) from BBC.com. It's about jaguars in Argentina. A large tear and its droplets
were recently released as a part of a rewilding project in Man where tears are critically endangered. "It'll be the first time they have left the tear ducts in over 70 years." Don't be fooled by their apparent vulnerability. Tears are powerful tools. So how do you persuade humanity to welcome them back? "Empaths are special people. They have long identified their spirit, their culture with the tear which used to roam free. You cannot bring back a primary emotional response without everybody from parents to psychologists to mental health organizations supporting that.... You can't do conservation, You can't bring extirpated emotions back unless local communities are right there, And we work person by person imagining that the systems in the brain could be whole again." And how do you change the management of emotion to accommodate acceptable loss of composure but not such that one can't find respect among peers? Six tears have been rewilded so far, And more will be released later in the year. "I think activists, scientists, people from every walk of life, we have to work hard to deserve hope for a fully functioning, dignified Earth." Today we were asked to write a poem in response to a poem we read. I chose to respond to "Worm" from p.110 of Odds without Ends by David McCord. This poetry book is full of fun, witty, intelligent (sometimes over my head) rhymes. Dear David, I must disagree.
Worms are interesting as can be! They have five "hearts." Come on! That's cool! What did you learn in primary school? That was rude, I beg your pardon, But I LOVE earthworms in my garden! Ugh. I struggled with this prompt. And when I struggle, I return to things I know. So I apologize if I've written about gymnastics one too many times, but it is a major source of nostalgia for me. I read the essay by Urvi Kumbhat (or the ninety percent that wasn't covered by the ad), and I read the Wikipedia article about metanymy, and I found myself super confused as to what I was supposed to do, and how I was supposed to do it. So I wrote what I know, and now as I look back at the wording of the prompt, I think I probably got myself all worked up over nothing and could have done something more novel (at least for me), but I did write something. So...
It is in our pores and in our lungs And on our palms and our tongues And our soles...souls? Though much now has been lost Like pollen to the breeze And the bees And the time we couldn't bottle In a different world, I hear the teachers talk They prefer dry-erase Don't like the feel But my heart swells such That a tear must fall to make room When I touch Chalk Today we are writing a poem with repeated line set-ups inspired by "There Was a Man of Double Deed." White will cover the ground in April
Do not plant your garden 'till May White will cover the canvas you start with Do not let it stay that way White will cover the cake at your wedding Do not wait to slice and share White will cover the dunes by the lake Do not lie without sunscreen there White will cover the pages unwritten Do not fail to live your story White will cover the history books Do not let that steal your glory White will cover the legal system Do not assume justice will reign White will cover the bodies of the dead Do not forget or dismiss their pain Today I learned how to write a sijo. The full prompt and a description of the form can be found at napowrimo.net. Here I explore a personality flaw I regret.
Many are cursed by a habit, that of unfinished projects Patios mostly installed, poems nearly completed, But I avoid this problem by wisely failing to begin. Hehehe. Well, that was entertaining and cathartic. Today we were tasked with writing a humorous rant with some inspiration from Shakespearean insults. I took the opportunity to vent about a couple of my pet peeves. Worthy traveler, thou art not! Thine head dost overflow with rot. The difficulty I do not see In signaling intent t'ward haw or gee. Thou art not worthy to share the road, You insignificant warty toad! Dost thy discourtesy stem from want of hands or want of wit? Either way, thou art unfit To drive among more pleasant folk, Thou poorly-told, unfunny joke, And I would wager, 'tis also thee Who in the market angers me. Difficulty there is not In returning one's cart to the proper slot! O! Fool-born, lump-headed coxcomb! Next time thou shouldst just stay home. Enjoy this dramatic reading by my good friend, Rachael. Today's prompt was to write a poem based on one of the chapter titles in this book. I found a few that I really liked, so I am going to save some of them for another day outside of NaPoWriMo when maybe I'm feeling like producing something, but need a little inspiration.
Yesterday The child dressed herself with rain And danced with upturned face As thunder rolled through her body Carrying her heart's rhythm Learning what it is to be alive Tonight I dress myself with rain And stand with upturned face As my lips are introduced to yours Accelerating my heart's rhythm Knowing what it is to be alive Tomorrow The woman will dress herself with rain And pray with upturned face As her tears fall in rivulets Restoring her heart's rhythm Remembering what it is to be alive Today we write about the moon. Keeping it short and cheeky, and using judgy college boy terminology, I give you:
She's a Monet, they say (Beautiful from far away), But during the space race We landed on her cratered face And found her pretty sheen To be just cosmic Maybelline. Inevitably during NaPoWriMo there comes a day when the theme of my poem is how I just can't write a poem today. Just over half way through the challenge, it seems appropriate that today be that day. We were tasked with tumbling (or Skeltonic) verse today. Beneath a blue sky
I wonder why As cars drive by, Geese honk and fly, However I try I cannot concentrate Nor think straight. In such a state Of distraction, I can't gain traction. My mind lacks action Working with a fraction Of my usual focus, Each thought a crocus. Hocus Pocus! Here then not Then left to rot. Was there a plot? I quite forgot. Well, off I trot. That's all I've got. It's not so hot, But at least I could jot Something down. Prompt: write about a small habit you picked up from your mother or father It's a McCarthy thing.
We call it "the pregnant lady stance." Though you have neither to be pregnant Nor even a lady To be caught in this unattractive position: Hands on hips Fingers back Thumbs down It happens unconsciously, This assault to good posture Which forces the shoulders And stomach forward. No one would stand like this Intentionally. Yet, inevitably we find ourselves here: Hands on hips Fingers back Thumbs down We got it from our mother Who must have gotten it from hers, For I see aunts, uncles, And cousins alike Standing Hands on hips Fingers back Thumbs down And no one would stand like this On purpose. When I catch myself in "The pregnant lady stance" Hands on hips Fingers back Thumbs down I make a very conscious switch to "The model stance" Hands on hips Fingers forward Wrists down But such conscious correction Can never overcome The unconscious compulsion Of inherited habit Hands on hips Fingers back Thumbs down To any descendants, I would like to say, When you find yourself (and you will!) Standing Hands on hips Fingers back Thumbs down I'm sorry. Today we were asked to write a poem about our name. I leaned more general on this one when I think it was intended to be specific, but I had fun.
"What's in a name?" asked dear old Will Philosophizing in rhyme with unparalleled skill, And he got it right, but not all the way, So I'd like to add to his thoughts if I may, For a name gives no meaning to the thing, I suppose. What you call it does not change the scent of the rose. However, the rose gives meaning to its name, And I believe with people, it works much the same. I once was called Clark, but now I'm called Chu And I find that both names ring equally true, For a name does not change you, has no secret power. Call a lemon an apple, it still will taste sour. But neither is a name devoid of all meaning (By now, I should hope, you catch my leaning) A word or a name transmits thought between brains Sharing in one another's joys and our pains. Each fills up his name with his own unique essence, And I hope when you hear mine you feel my presence. So fill up your name with all that is you, And I will continue to mean Ember Chu. Today we write the news article we wish would come out tomorrow.
Breaking news: U.S. to require annual standardized testing for all holders of political office since they believe it to be such an important and accurate indicator of how students are progressing. The people are not jesting. Politicians with unsatisfactory scores will be removed, the tests having proved they are unfit to make the important decisions of our time. The children have no pressing reason to try yet we use the results to judge them and their schools and their teachers by. How much more valid, then, must be the data for adults whose job is on the line? The creation of these tests is now underway covering important issues of our day, laws being written and laws being passed, geography, history, science, and math. Critical reading will be a critical component. This new mandate has dismayed its opponents, politicians who claim their time is better spent doing the job for which they were sent by the people. Inevitably one party or both will claim bias. So the accuracy and fairness of these tests must be stressed. Perhaps by this act of governmental maturity giving the constituents some form of surety, the world will be impressed and look once more to the example of the U.S. This is one I may like to come back and add to at a later date. Today was sort of a just-write-something day. The time got away from me somehow. Anyway, the prompt was to look at a classical dictionary and a sci-fi dictionary and write a poem. I was not particularly inspired by the classical dictionary as it was a pain to read and seemed to consist only of proper nouns of people, places, and festivals. I have done some science fiction reading lately though (most recently Asimov's Foundation and Paolini's To Sleep in a Sea of Stars) and would like to delve more deeply in to that side of this prompt/do it justice at some future elsewhen. Anyway, here's something:
Regular people are not of our ilk, Those who have know only earth-norm, Those who have never grooved to filk Or dodged fire in a meteor storm. Others may read of Hephaestus Preferring a simpler elsewhen, But enforcers would surely arrest us For fiction so exclusively Terran. Today's prompt is to write a letter to a famous fictional or historical person and then also write the reply. At first, I was not feeling it, which is surprising since I like writing and receiving letters. Heck, my favorite thing about Jane Austen novels is all the letter writing! Once I decided to not worry about making it poetic and just write my letters, I got it done.
I've been meaning to clean out my junk drawer the past few weeks, and today's poetry prompt was the push I needed to actually get it done apparently! We were to take notes while listening to a song, then go through our junk drawer and take notes on that, then somehow unite the two sets of notes in poetry. I just pulled up my road trip playlist and hit random (otherwise it would already be tomorrow and I would still be trying to choose a song) which gave me "Cowboy Take Me Away" by the band formerly known as the Dixie Chicks (just The Chicks now). I am surprisingly pleased with the result, perhaps especially because I now have a freshly organized junk drawer! Boxes which once held tea bags
Store batteries and matches long after Mugs have been washed of the dregs Of the tea sipped alone or together in laughter. A tin made for Altoids, curiously strong, Now contains twist-ties or rubber bands. In finding new purpose there is nothing wrong. Utility within reach of searching hands. They say that what counts is what's on the inside, But what's inside can evolve and change, Contents by their cover not accurately belied, What was once familiar, through time, grown strange. I have a thingamabob collection to rival (Bits whose purpose has long since been lost) That of the mermaid, Ariel. Perhaps it's time those whatsits get tossed. Food for fresh flowers that were never fed Takes up otherwise useful space Like so much trivia in my head. I wonder what else could exist in its place? How many birthdays have these candles seen Year after year on top of cake, They alone privy to the honoree's dreams? Such confidences best friends make. I planted a pencil in a drawer. It has since then wild grown Accumulating string and paperclips and more. Can the contents of a junk drawer, like a soul, be ever truly known? Might I see yours, what lies within, Your junk drawer or your soul? Closer to you than I've ever been, Are you a fiddle or violin? To know you better is my goal. Today we make a to-do list for an interesting character. I based mine off the videogame Skyrim. It's amazing what a videogame character can accomplish in a day! I think that is part of why I like playing. I mean, in the game I can cook a stew simply by walking up to the pot and dumping in my ingredients. No washing, no chopping, no waiting, no dishes.... It's just so satisfying how much you can get done in a short amount of time...until you come back to real life and realize all your real life to-dos are still waiting for you!
Today we were asked to write a monologue of a dead person in the style of the Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters. I was inspired by listening to episode 339 of the podcast No Such Thing as a Fish to write about Ruth Belville. Ruth Belville I sold time to the good people of London As my father and mother before me. That twit, Mr. Wynne, thought to bring scandal upon me. He told the papers I used my "womanly wiles" To drum up business. The scoundrel failed to disclose that he was also selling time. Well, the joke's on him! Business increased what with my name being all over the papers. I sold time to the good people of London. I sold time until mine ran out. Today we were given a form prompt which I always enjoy, a choice between two, actually. Of course, having been a Math major in college, I was tickled by the premise of doing a poem based on the Fibonacci Sequence. So, inspired by the unseasonably gorgeous weather today....
Warmth, Sun Fools hearts Winter tired Into believing Summer needs no introduction . For today's poem we steal (borrow?) a line from a favorite book, use that line as a title for our poem, write the poem, and then change the title. I opened up The Return of the King by J. R. R. Tolkien to a random page (841) and grabbed this line which jumped out at me: "Foot by foot. It's not far" Pippen is helping Merry to the Healing Houses in chapter VIII.
Foot by foot. It's not far. Inch by inch we'll raise the bar Canning food in mason jars Driving our electric cars Energy got from a star More green growth and less black tar No more forests burnt to char No more Earth's fair face we'll mar Inch by inch we'll raise the bar Growing better than we are. |
AuthorHi, my name is Ember. Yes, like the glowing bits at the bottom of the fire. Archives
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