NaPoWriMo Day 8 Prompt for Monday, April 8, 2013 April 7, 2013April 7, 2013
“Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool or you go out in the ocean.”
– Christopher Reeve
“I dwell in possibility.”
– Emily Dickenson
Some people under the stresses of our modern life forget that possibilities actually grow, not shrink as we get older—particularly when it comes to creative arts. I hope some are motivated and encouraged to write something that they normally would not have written either because it’s NaPoWriMo or because of a prompt or challenge or just because…. I hope some additional reading, listening and absorbing life around you gets you interested in being connected to your own creative process. If you are reading this it’s likely you write—perhaps regularly.
This brings us to today’s prompt.
Prompt for Day 8
Writer, editor in chief of Author Magazine Bill Kenower often ends his interviews with writers with a fill in the blank sort of question: If writing, just writing has taught you anything—it has taught you what? Answer that directly or indirectly in a poem of any style you choose.
And please if you write a poem for this prompt share it with me and I’ll also pass it along to Mr. Kenower who wants to see responses/poems to this prompt! Keep writing!
Day 6’s prompt suggested you allow romantic poet William Wordsworth inspire a semi-autographical poem about your childhood. Here are what Teresa and I came up with:
Lights of Youth
By Christopher J. Jarmick
I remember the wide-eyed child elated with the tiniest discoveries.
Lightning bugs were mind-boggling wonders necessitating a game
of capture and keep in used glass cider jugs stuffed with twigs and leaves.
Just past sundown the glowing creatures emerged, turning on and off
their glowing lamps causing a stampede of neighborhood kids
to run toward their activity. Some sort of natural democracy allowed
us to take turns in an almost organized fashion. My turn, now your turn,
now her turn and then his. Carefully cupped hands imprisoned these life forms
and as they tickled our palms and fingers with delicate movements we guided
them inside their new glass prisons. An hour or so, braving mosquito bites
the games ended to resume perhaps the next evening if weather permitted.
If not, some of the bugs survived to glow inside their prisons a night or two.
This summertime ritual did not exist for my own children who were raised
on the west coast, where lightning bugs scarcely exist and couldn’t have competed
with internet, video-games or other artificial distractions. And cider mills–
even gallon glass jugs with metal screw on caps are mostly relics of yesteryear.
But I remember the sights and sounds and mourn the passing of how simple things
stirred up wide-eyed wonderment and genuine excitement in my now too distant past.
Copyright© Christopher J. Jarmick 2013
The Woods of Nebraska
By Teresa Jarmick
In the woods between
Alfalfa fields, the house
Of three doors went about its
Painted white business
Without much fuss.
Trickled barefoot fairies
Chased from elm to maple to mulberry
To peach to cherry to elem to oak to apple
Pollinating Nebraska’s earth
With happiness and sweat.
Bees, iris, garter snakes
salamanders, marigolds, potatoes
rocks grass, mosquitos
gladiolas and the lightning bugs
paid no attention to newscast.
Going inside was putting
Life on hold. The house wise to
Fairie ways, lifted her eyelids
As the sun went down letting
Outside in, even faeries.
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