uh… Who’s there?
Who’s on first.
That’s right. Knock-Knock
Today is Old-2-New Day. Dig back and find an old joke, or cross-stitch sampler saw, or hoary truism that makes about as much sense today as an ad for Carter’s Little Liver Pills.
1) Tired-but-(still) True
That is your starting point.
Now. Twist it around in your mind. Look at what it was trying to say, and find a similar context in the present. With that in your off hand,
2) come up with your own truism, catch phrase, Facebook meme, refrain, (whatever rocks you)
3) write a Call-and-Response
You can shape your poem in any way you choose, but repeat your line at intervals. It may ask; it may answer; it may irk, interrupt, be totally irrelevant. It’s your call/respond.
(Irene nudges Barbara who steps to stage left)
Sorry for interrupting but this being our last prompt, it behooves me to say something. I believe that poems are a sort of telepathy. For transmitting thoughts, prayers, wishes, ideas, prophesies. As poets, you do know that writing is a crystallization process. It plucks these things out of thin air, it would appear, and set them into a form. It is the process of art. As my friend, Christopher, would say, the result is a story. Poems are eclipsed stories. What is said carries the weight of what is not said. The best poems are richly interpretative and ambiguous. For the way it does, poems are excellent microcosms of the richness and the mystery and the multiplicity of narratives of an otherwise unknown universe. For poets they’re essential devices in our constant quest for narrative, as do painting, music and other art forms.
In my own quest, I’ve found this well of poems that never stops flowing. It’s as if the soul is constantly contextualizing and recontextualizing itself in an infinite manner. A universal narrative that is deeply personal on the soul level. A personableness. Good writing makes the poet and the reader feel more alive. I owe my own developing competence in churning out poems to the prompts I found on the Internet that had inspired serendipitous writing. The prompts foreground a writing practice and hone the practice to a constantly sharpened pencil. They’re pencil sharpeners. How apt that when I first got involved in We Write Poems prompt site, the precursor to Red Wolf Poems, my son had come up with an icon of a pencil for that site. Coming full circle.
I was also thinking how ironic that Barbara’s prompt asked for repetition. We do repeat. And we also cannot repeat ourselves. We’re fallen angels who need to create new myths everyday in order not to go stale. As we well know, every journey must end somewhere. It’s the end of this story. New stories begin elsewhere. If you like, you can still follow us at Red Wolf Journal.
As is our ritual, this week’s prompt is supposed to include a wordle.
Here’re the contributors:
Irene steps off podium and hands mike back to Barbara who then wishes everyone:
Have fun: today, tomorrow, and onward into your