NaPoWriMo Day 7 Prompt for Sunday April 7, 2013 April 6, 2013

April 6, 2013

“All words are pegs to hang ideas on.
– Henry Ward Beecher

Greetings NaPoWriMo-ers! Welcome Newbies…. veterans– soldier on.


Prompt #7

The Septolet is a poetry form I enjoy writing. Several are included in my collection of poetry (Ignition…). It’s easy to attempt—hard to master but let’s do a couple today. The Septolet (Sep-toe-lay) is a lesser known French form, its origin is in music and there’s two ways of writing the Septolet. So let’s write one of each today.

Septolet 1: Total of 14 words in 7 lines, no line should have more than three words. The poem should relate to one subject, object, thought or feeling. The first four lines create a coherent picture or thought, leave a blank line space and then write the last three lines which create another ‘picture’ or idea. Each could stand separately, but both are related.

Septolet 2: Line 1 has one syllable, Line 2 has two, Line 3 has 3, Line 4 has 4 syllables, leave a blank space, Line 5 has 3, Line 6 has 2, Line 7 has one syllable. Poem should relate to one thought, feeling, object, place.

Day 5’s prompt was to write an Anaphora poem ( a poem using repeated words or a phrase). Here’s what Teresa and I came up with.

by Christopher J. Jarmick

Challenge yourself every day to
Be better organized
Waste less time
Act more responsibly
Read a few more paragraphs

Challenge yourself to
Procrastinate less
Finish a chore earlier than expected
Not cut corners
Smile, right now—just because

Challenge yourself every day to
Write that poem
Return that call
Answer that email
Do some pushups.

Challenge yourself every day to
Break a bad habit
Sit still for 10 minutes
Write from the stomach, the heart
reject voices that say: can’t, won’t, or never

Challenge youself to
be a little corny
find an slightly uncomfortable balance
Forgive yourself
Laugh– right now—just because.

Copyright© Christopher J. Jarmick 2013

The Boys’ Bath Time
By Teresa Jarmick

Mind wandering. I see my
Mom at the kitchen table,
early morning, doing her makeup.
Wide eyed, leaning forward
to see herself in the round
mirror on floral ceramic stand.
Right hand brings mascara brush—
Maybeline—to lips for
wetting, then to the small red
box with black cake before
stroking lashes. She sees me
and smiles, bright blue eyes
then back to the mirror.

“Mommy where does the water go?
“Down the drain, through the pipes
to the septic tank.”
The bathtub, sink and toilet
are pebble colored. They were there
When we bough the house. We
painted the walls to match. The
window looks out to the wooded
hill behind the house. I like the
light patterns through the trees.

We wouldn’t have sold the house
If he wouldn’t have been
travelling so much. I feel like
the kids childhood ended
when we moved to town but
they remember the house
in town as home.

“Mommy where does the water go?
“Down the drain, through the pipes
to the septic tank.”
I’m thankful mom didn’t
have to see how the house
in town fell apart. I think
she would have killed
him, not waiting to see this side of it,
not waiting to see her daughter,
granddaughter, grand son
tossed by the volcano and
climbing out of the crater separated.

“Mommy where does the water go?
“Down the drain, through the pipes
to the septic tank.”

The tub is empty, my hands
are old, but Mom, I’m
on the side where the water
runs west now and know
where it goes.

The root of the word Poetry is from the Greek ποιέω (poieō), “‘I
make’”). , poiesis, meaning a “making” or ‘creation’

Poetry is Everything


Christopher J. Jarmick is a Seattle based writer, very active in the Northwest Poetry Community. His latest book is called IGNITION; Poem Starters, Septolets, Statements & Double Dog Dares. Click on it to find out more about it.

Copyright© Christopher J. Jarmick 2013

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