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NaPoWriMo Sunday, April 29th, 2012 Day 29/30

April 28, 2012

NaPoWriMo Sunday, April 29th, 2012 Day 29/30

My favorite poem is the one that starts ‘Thirty days hath September” because it actually tells you something.– Groucho Marx

It’s almost done. Two more poems to go!!!

TODAY’S PROMPT

What if we several poets took the same set of words and used some or all of them to create a poem?

Might be interesting to see what everyone comes up with. Using the list of words I’ve suggested use 5 or more of them to create a poem—any style, any form, any subject. (You can change word tenses if needed). Happy Writing!

LIST OF WORDS to use : transformation, refrain, prayer, destiny, lilac, salvation, disentangle, humble, cadence, composure, serene, fragrance, conquer, trifle, complacency.

Day 28 Prompt Poem (get inspired by famous quote)

All or nothing
By Christopher J. Jarmick

Carefully she dips her toe
into the cool water.
She wishes she had just jumped in,
Took his hand in hers
and jumped into the water with him.

But she laughed, said no,
Let him leap into pool like
a crazy fool, a ten year old boy.

She was too old for that.
But now she knows it’s cold
And she’ll have to slowly
work her way into the water,
the way she slows down the
car at intersections anticipating
yellow lights, the way she
hesitates before almost anything
she does.
No sense in being reckless.

She’s right.
But then, if we let our intellect
guide our every move,
we’d never try to do impossible
things, we’d never climb mountains
or jump into mountain streams,
and we’d certainly never
begin to write a book or a poem.
We’ll never write a perfect one.

Logic would never let anyone
start a new small business—
two thirds of them fail within
5 years.
We’d certainly never
fall in love—hearts are broken,
dreams are shattered, and if
we’re really lucky, maybe
the third of fourth time you
fall in love, it blossoms and
you get married.
Half of all marriages end in
Divorce—so what kind of
Reward is that.
Better to not fall in love
At all.

Don’t drink,
Don’t smoke,
Don’t eat sugar
Red meat,
Don’t work too hard,
Don’t run
with a fork in your
hand, or your mother
might have a heart attack
and don’t step on
sidewalk cracks
or you’ll break your
father’s back.

He doesn’t want to live his
life like that.
Doesn’t want to think at the
end, he didn’t do the things
he dreamt of doing, because
he had to be responsible,
had to be careful. He couldn’t
stay foolish his whole life, it was
times to grow up, do things
the right way, the smart way…
No.

Leap off the cliff
build your wings on
the way down.
Trust in your survival
instincts,
Have faith that
Somehow,
you won’t crash
onto the rocks.
Believe that part of her is still
A little bit foolish and she still
Believes in magic…and love—
Like you.

Now
apologize for pushing her
Into the pool,
Ask her to marry you,
Write your damn
Poem.
And say… Thank you
Ray Bradbury,
Thank you
God.

My Quote:
If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go into business, because we’d be cynical. Well, that’s nonsense. You’ve got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down. – Ray Bradbury

 

Prompt, Prompt Poem
By Teresa Jarmick

 

“You’re really going to use a bunch of song lyrics instead of a quote?”

“Yeah”, I said, sticking out my tongue. “You don’t get to edit anyone else.”

“Fine.”

“Come away with me”
“I’ve been everywhere”
“Why don’t you stay?”
“These boots were made for walking”
“Don’t go breaking my heart”
“Cry me a river”
“I will always love you”
“Your mama don’t dance”

“That isn’t what the prompt asked for”
“Exactly.”

Teresa’s Day 26 Prompt Poem (Write a poem Parody)
4.26.12

Late Rising with apologies to Jaques Prevert
By Teresa Jarmick

Terrible
Is the scent of a brown and yellow scarf in
Her mother’s carved cedar chest.
And terrible is that scent when it hangs
in the memory of the
Daughter who is alone.

Terrible also is the face of the girl
Looking in the mirror and seeing
Her life, lacking
Nothing except the one that thought
The face in the mirror was a gift.
She dreams that her children
Will somehow know
Her history, her girlhood,
Her mom.

And it’s stupid to say it will
Get better because
It doesn’t.
She counts
One year

Ten years

Twenty years

And she still reaches for the
Phone on Wednesday nights.

Terrible
Is the scent of a brown and yellow scarf in
Her mother’s carved cedar chest.
And terrible is that scent when it hangs
in the memory of the
Daughter who is alone.

The root of the word Poetry is from the Greek ποιέω (poieō), “‘I
make’”). , poiesis, meaning a “making” or ‘creation’
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=–=-=-
Poetry is Everything
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
©2012 Christopher J. Jarmick All Rights Reserved

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