Yippee. Funnily enough, I did get here haphazardly, ending poetry month with Writers Digest Day 29 Prompt (to write a haphazard poem), thanks to a technical glitch which meant I only got the prompt today. I suppose the poem itself isn’t that haphazard. The process sure is. I had no effing idea what I will write and then the poem just wrote itself. So is the poetic process haphazard or what? You just got to write and find out for yourself. Then when you’re done, and only when you’re done, you’re allowed to pat yourself and go have a cup of tea with cake.
What’s important, peeps? Peeps are important. Peeps make you happy. Peeps have their unique history. Peeps make the world go round. Well, the Writers Digest Day 28 prompt is to use the word “Important” followed by another word, in the title. So there you go, peeps. Answer the question. What’s important, peeps? I’ve been trying but cannot reach the site. Perhaps it’s too bombarded by poets. But that’s the least important of our concerns, at least for now. The issue will resolve itself tomorrow and then it’ll be of no importance at all.
Are you guys all too aware that April is coming to a close? Is it like two days away, the end of poeming, the end of poetry love, the end of the road? For those of you who are comatose, or would rather be doing something else productive, or unproductive, you don’t know what you’re missing till it’s missing. Don’t say I didn’t say. Get your secretary to make a note. Writers Digest Day 27 prompt is to write a take off poem. Read “take off” in any way you want. Take off your clothes. Take off your masks. Take off to another place. You know, just bloody take off. And if you’re the secretary, do not take off.
Recently I had a fall-out with a friend. There’s such a sense of betrayal when that happens. In a way it’s like the mask came off. Plopped out of its own accord like a glass eye. What I saw was not to be spoken of. It came to me that this person is trying to be perfect, and seeing flaws in every damn person. All the while pretending to be a friend. Anyway there’s absolutely nothing I can do, except to move away. Or be sucked into a horrible web. There’s such anti-love in all of this I know. I wish she’d learn to love herself and others as they are. As antidote I’m writing a love poem. It’s Writers Digest Day 26 Prompt, to either do a love or anti-love poem.
Poetry is an exercise. War is an exercise. I’m trying to compare the two, as to which role each is assigned. It’s really a difference between speech and action isn’t it? Unless of course, you’re trying to blend, in which case you get to the “war of words”. I’m not sure if it’s a very successful thread. It’s all in accordance with Writers Digest Day 25 Prompt, which is to write an exercise poem. Read ‘exercise’ in whichever way you want. Well, at least I tried.
Photo by Tom Chambers via Magpie Tales
I got this surreal image from Magpie Tales and thought, why not? It’s got a dream-like quality. Then I thought, how to tie this to the Writers Digest Day 24 Prompt, which is to write about something lost then regained. Haven’t you had the experience of trying to follow a thread, and then it got broken off, leaving you wondering? What the fuck was I thinking? What the fuck was she thinking? When that got too boring, then you just make stuff up. Whatever. Because it’s probably–too much and nothing. Just like the dream I had last night which made no sense whatever when I awoke but made absolute sense while it was happening, and was even somewhat pleasurable while it lasted.
Write a poem in which footwear is featured. That’s Writers Digest Day 23 Prompt. I like it. Of course, I have a pair of red shoes. Of course, this is a made-up story. Of course poems are stories. Poems can be anything and so they are a mirror. Of course, I am a soon to be owner of a silver mirror inlaid with diamante and pearls. But whether you’re writing the poem or not, that’s a question mark.