.
Howdy, Campers! Happy Poetry Friday! Poem and link to Poetry Friday are below ~
Our topic this round is Do you try to appeal to reluctant readers, or any particular type of reader, when you write?
Carmela's post addresses the topic of writing to reading levels thoroughly. She writes:"If you want your writing to appeal to boys and other reluctant readers, don't try to target this particular audience. That's right, DON'T target them. Instead, write what moves, excites, or interests YOU."
Mary Ann's post, agrees: "I write what I am passionate about. I write for my inner eleven-year-old. It's the best that I can do. It's all any of us can do."
As for me?
I titled this 3 Leading Ways to Target Your Writing for Children--NOT! because I agree with Carmela and Mary Ann's conclusions. Essentially, write with passion and you'll hit a bullseye.
 |
| from morguefile.com |
Here are three thoughts hopefully
slightly related to this topic:
1) I am a reluctant reader. Always have been. Once I dive into a book, I'm swimming, but getting to the edge of the pool, dipping my toe in? Terrifying. Every book. Every time.
2) Many years ago, former bookseller, and book reviewer
Janet Zarem was hired by my son's elementary school to talk to parents about reading. She began by passing out a paragraph in and asking us what it said. Okay, so let's try it. I'd like you to read this paragraph and tell me what it says. You have two minutes:
 |
| *see bottom of this post for attribution* |
When we saw the paragraph, we were scared'r than a long-tail cat in a room full of rockin' chairs.**
Isn't that a powerful way to show someone the world from a new or challenged or reluctant reader's point of view?
3) That's how scared many of us feel about learning
anything new.
For example,
UCLA Extension's Writers' Program is in the process of changing how its instructors post course materials for our students. We are moving from a platform called Blackboard to one called Canvas.
When I saw the first email about this, I rolled into a little ball. I felt as outdated and useless as a screen door on a submarine.***
I see now that I went through
the five stages of loss and grief, finally arriving at
acceptance: Wow--it's done, it didn't take long, and I am truly invincible.
 |
| Tah-dah--I did it! |
RELUCTANT
by April Halprin WaylandNew? New?Who are you talking to?
You’ll have to leave a message—
I think I have the flu.It’s too bad that you saw meI stick with tried and true.If you want revolution,I’ll leave it up to you.Who? Me?You found me up this tree?Just cut that sheet in two?And paste it here with glue?That’s all we have to do?
I’m standing on my head, now:I see your point of view.poem & drawing (c) April Halprin Wayland 2014=====================
Don't forget to enter our latest book giveaway for a chance to win a copy of the
2015 Children's Writer's and Illustrator's Market (in which our very own Carmela Martino has an article!). See
Carmela's post for all the details.
The giveaway ends Oct 31.
Poetry Friday is at
Merely Day By Day ~ Thanks, Cathy!
poem & drawing (c) April Halprin Wayland 2014
posted by April Halprin Wayland, who thanks you in Greek for reading all the way to here.
*from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odyssey**
from: http://charlottenewcomers.blogspot.com/2008/01/southern-expressions-uglier-than.html***from:
http://www.examiner.com/article/southern-isms-50-of-the-funniest-southern-expressions-and-colloquialisms
.
Howdy Campers!
Remember to enter to win in our 4 x 4 Blogiversary Celebration!
Today I have the absolute honor and (as Esther would say) knee-buckling responsibility to write the last line of 2013's
Progressive Poem. Yay! And yikes!
The brainchild of
Irene Latham,
this Progressive Poem has been moving from blog to blog, growing poet
by poet, for 29 days until it's come here for one final line. For the
poem and a list of contributing poets, see below.
.
At the end of a
month posting
rough drafts of poems about dogs, I think you could say
that this, too, is a rough draft. As Laura Puride Salas says, it's
poetry improv. Yes, and a poetry game. It's been fascinating to
read the process of those who've proceeded me.
When I got the line by
Denise Mortensen,
it's such a great line, I thought I should just write THE END. Then I
could talk about how a poet needs to know when to quit and when a good
line's a good ending. That would be funny. If only I had the courage!
But I don't. So off we go!
Here
is the list of the poets who each contributed a line (in this space, some appear to be a line and then some, but they are all really one line each), and below their
names is the (yikes!) finished poem. Take a bow, poets!
.
DAY/LINE + POET
P.T.
BARNUM'S GREAT TRAVELING MUSEUM, MENAGERIE, CARAVAN, AND HIPPODROME*
by Thirty Poets on a mission in the Kidlitosphere...see list above
When you listen to your footsteps
the words become music and
the rhythm that you’re rapping gets your fingers tapping, too.
Your pen starts dancing across the page
a private pirouette, a solitary samba until
smiling, you’re beguiling as your love comes shining through.
Pause a moment in your dreaming, hear the whispers
of the words, one dancer to another, saying
Listen, that’s our cue! Mind your meter. Find your rhyme.
Ignore the trepidation while you jitterbug and jive.
Arm in arm, toe to toe, words begin to wiggle and flow
as your heart starts singing let your mind keep swinging
from life’s trapeze, like a clown on the breeze.
Swinging upside down, throw and catch new sounds–
Take a risk, try a trick; break a sweat: safety net?
Don’t check! You’re soaring and exploring,
dangle high, blood rush; spiral down, crowd hush–
limb-by-line-by-limb envision, pyramidic penned precision.
And if you should topple, if you should flop
if your meter takes a beating; your rhyme runs out of steam—
know this tumbling and fumbling is all part of the act,
so get up with a flourish. Your pencil’s still intact.
Snap those synapses! Feel the pulsing through your pen
Commit, measure by measure, to the coda’s cadence.
You've got them now--in the palm of your hand!
Finger by finger you’re reeling them in—
Big Top throng refrains from cheering, strains to hear the poem nearing…
Inky paws, uncaged, claw straw and sawdust
Until… CRACK! You’re in the center ring, mind unleashed, your words take wing--
they circle, soar, then light in the lap of an
open-mouthed child; the crowd goes wild.
* * * * * * *
* Barnum's circus was originally called "P.T. Barnum's Great Traveling
Museum, Menagerie, Caravan, and Hippodrome,"
which is pretty much what
our poem is. ("Greatest Show on Earth" was
added later...that's us, too!)
It never hurts to join forces...
...ask all the thirsty pooches at the dog park!
Let's play some more!
Hey--where'd everybody go???
G'bye to Poetry Month 2013! See you next year!
Posted by April Halprin Wayland
April 25—Write a falling poem. This could be about the physical act of falling (like someone tying your shoelaces together), or it could be symbolic falling (such as falling in love).
Falling
By Bill Kirk
When
I was
A kid,
I used
To dream
About falling.
The scene had a
Very geometric quality to it—
Dark, with just enough light
To discern a series of
Circular holes appearing
In rapid succession
On the ground in front of me.
There I was,
Running and jumping
From one spot to another
To avoid falling
Into the holes—
Almost as if
Some kind of
Giant cookie-cutter
Was imprinting holes
As fast as
I could jump
Ahead of them,
Anticipating
The next safe spot.
Breathing between jumps,
I watched as the hole maker
Left just enough
curved and roughly
Diamond-shaped
Space in between circles
For my feet to safely land.
Imagine, if you will, Jimmy Durante
Signing off his show.
Remember how he would
Stand beneath the street light
To bid his audience farewell—
All black and white, of course,
As he walked away after saying,
“Goodnight, Mrs. Mcgillocuttie.”
I can’t be sure if it were true.
But in my mind’s eye,
A trail of street lights would
Appear at his feet as he
Walked away into the darkness.
And I carried those early
Black and white TV images with me;
My dreams imbued with
A perpetual falling theme.
Yet somehow,
I always
Managed
To avoid
The holes,
Landing
Safely on
Solid
Ground.
Is
That
Weird?
Indeed.
April 26—Today is the final "Two for Tuesday" prompt(s) of the month:
1. Write a leader poem.
2. Write a follower poem.
I'll leave it up to you to decide what a leader or follower poem might be. You can either lead the way in figuring that out, or follow the lead of another.
Writers As Leaders
By Bill Kirk
Any writer
Must a leader be,
Wouldn’t you say?
For doesn’t the
Writing of a thing
Tend to push it along
To its conclusion,
Either natural or forced?
From its start,
Through its middle
And right on to
Its very end,
Whether
A story or
A treatise or
A search for meaning,
The writer leads
The way with words
As the tools of his trade.
That’s not to say
Some things may
Never quite seem
To reach
Their end.
But given
Enough time,
Enough study,
Enough reflection;
An end should certainly
Begin to take form.
Stated simply, then,
The writer’s job
Is to stretch
The idea,
The thought
The concept,
The story,
Until it is within reach,
Then pull it all
Fully into the
Imaginative grasp
Of the reader.
April 27—For today's prompt, take the phrase "In the (blank) of (blank)," replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.
In The Blink Of An Eye
By Bill Kirk
It was just a downward glance
At the phone in my lap—
The insistent ring tone
Made me do it.
Who’s calling, anyway?
It took me a second,
As I tried to focus.
The abbreviated message
Trailed across the
Small LED-lit screen.
Quick glance up ahead—
OK. 100 feet. I’m good.
Damn! The light went off.
Where’s that reply button?
There, I can see it now—tap, tap, tap….
“hey wzup, dude. this trfik is kiln m….”
It was just a split second, really.
In the blink of an eye,
I was dead.
By:
Bill Kirk,
on 5/8/2011
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Slowly catching up. Posted below are my five daily poems from April 20 through April 24. I'm already imagining the editing process on these poems. But for the time being, they will have to do. Consider them simply ideas captured---place holders awaiting final revision. Sometimes that's as good as it gets.
April 20—Write a message in a bottle poem. Imagine your poem is being rolled up and put in a bottle for someone to find and read.
To Whom It May Concern
By Bill Kirk
Hello out there—anyone.
This is my last recently emptied bottle.
I’ve been here a while—waiting.
The days I’ve counted number 173.
But I can’t be certain
I haven’t missed one or two.
Please hurry—well, at least
Get here as soon as you can.
I used to think everyone
Ought to have a chance
To be alone—solitary.
You know, to spend some quality time
Getting in touch with one’s self.
Been there. Done that.
No—Am here. Doing that.
Guess I can take that
Off my bucket list, right ahead of
“GET RESCUED.”
Please hurry—well, at least
Get here as soon as you can.
April 21—Write a second thoughts poem. You could have second thoughts about something you’ve done or thought in the past. You could write something about someone (or something else) having second thoughts. Or you could even take a poem you wrote earlier in the month and flip it in a new direction.
On Second Thought
By Bill Kirk
Second thoughts have pros and cons;
They have their goods and bads.
A second thought can save the day
Or turn your glads to sads.
Second thoughts for some are weak.
They say we hesitate—
As if allowing time to think
Suggests we’ll be too late.
Others say the best approach
Is leaving ample space,
For second thoughts to bounce around
And win the thinking race.
Just remember, if in doubt,
It’s wise to heed the id.
Its best advice? “On second thought,
Let’s not and say we did!”
April 22—Today is Good Friday and Earth Day. Write an “only one in the world” poem. This only one in the world might be a person, an animal, a place or an object. Think of someone or something else and write.
Earth As An “Only One”
By Bill Kirk
Granted, what I know
Has its limitations.
But wouldn’t you have to agree,
Earth in its unitary form is, indeed,
The only one of its kind in the world,
And that earth and the conditions
That make it possible,
Are universally singular?
In fact, how can it be any other way?
For nothing can be exactly
And precisely duplicated,
On earth or elsewhere.
So, everything
On the earth,
In the earth,
Of the earth and
Beyond the earth is
Totally,
Inexorably,
Unquestionably
Unique.
The End.
April 23—Write a quit doing what you’re doing poem. This could be about something you need to quit doing or that someone or something should quit doing.
Ode To Inertia
By Bill Kirk
Inertia is a funny thing,
Whether a body’s
At rest or in motion.
If inertia comes into play,
By its very nature,
It always involves
The quitting of some particular thing.
For example, overcoming
The inertia of running
Means you will slow down
And maybe stop.
Taking a nap? Time to
Wake up and move,
And so forth and so on….
Figurative inertia gets even better.
Movement, or lack of movement, notwithstanding,
That meal you are eating or
That game you are playing or
That dissertation you are writing or
That job you would just as soon not be doing
Will hopefully, eventually, end�
April 12—And just like that, we're already on to our second "Two for Tuesday" prompt of the challenge. I know this is a prompt that some poets have been craving, while others probably not so much. Regardless, I did this one on Tuesday to provide some options:
1. Write a form poem. This could be a sonnet, pantoum, lune, or even something as sinister as a--dare I say it--sestina. If you need a list of poetic forms and there rules, click here.
2. Write an anti-form poem. Just as there are poets who love playing with forms, there are poets who think they are the worst thing ever. That's fine. Express (in either free verse or a prose poem) your feelings on writing in traditional forms.
On Formlessness
By Bill Kirk
Could it be some days the poetry
Will be less well formed than others?
I’d have to say, it’s true.
Tonight, my brain itself is a formless blob.
Thus any attempt at poetic form
Will likely have scant chance at success.
Yet, I suppose the very capture of
Any thought or idea takes on
A certain structure, even if drawn
From wordless mush—much as
An artist’s blank canvass will
Eventually move toward an
Expression of artistic form,
Even if very sketchy.
Far be it for me to
Squeeze, mold or force
These words into a shape
They have no interest in taking.
Perhaps words on a page
Will somehow find their natural form
Much as water seeks its own level.
Might formelessness be its own reward?
April 10—For today's prompt, write a never again poem. Maybe you'll never again fall in love or never again tell a lie. Or maybe, just maybe, you'll never again not write a sestina.(Like that? It's a double negative.)
N’er again will yester be—
That time is now behind us.
Yet, perhaps in memory,
Its ghost may come and find us.
Will it ask us once again
Those questions long avoided—
Scraping wounds until our pain
Has fully been exploited?
Or will it probe a different trace,
Like, would our path be altered?
Had we run a different race,
Would we have won or faltered?
Truth be told, as life unfolds,
No matter how we’ve striven
Faith must shape what each life holds,
For we just get what’s given.
By:
Bill Kirk,
on 4/8/2011
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April 8—For today's prompt, write a ready to celebrate poem. You could chronicle the actual celebration or even write about the anticipation of one.
Are You Ready To Ce-le-brate?
By Bill Kirk
Some might say a cause for celebration
Hardly comes along every day.
Yet maybe that’s cause enough to be ready,
Wouldn’t you say—to giggle, smile, shout, congratulate?
After all, there’s always plenty
To bemoan our pitiful circumstances
And ample reason to groan and complain,
Wondering why this or that hard knock happened.
But then, along comes some happy time
Or its memory or the anniversary of one,
That curls up the mouth corners, even if only slightly.
So, shouldn’t we be ready for those happy-nings,
Whether anticipated or unexpected?
You know, just in case?
Oh, sure. We could also be ready
To sink into the depths of depression.
After all, deference to the sensibilities
Of those who suffer loss is at times
The only right thing to do.
Yet even in the midst of inconsolable sadness,
The spark of joy and gladness awaits its turn
To give another day of life its due,
In anticipation of yet a better one.
“This is the day the Lord has made;
Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24)
April 7—For today's prompt, write a "what if" poem. It could be a "what if" from the past, present or future.
What If?
By Bill Kirk
To ask “What if?” implies
A certain choice, does it not?
Do we dwell on past events,
Wondering what might have happened “if”?
Or is time better spent turning our “what ifs”
Toward the future where hope still resides?
For what are the chances
Of predicting a different outcome,
Had we chosen a different path?
What if we had been given different gifts?
Would any one thing done differently,
Have made all the rest the best?
Or would results have been unkinder yet?
How could we possibly know for sure?
And what of decisions made today?
Are our predictive powers any better?
Or might applying lessons learned from past mistakes
Simply make us better guessers?
And what of the cards we’re dealt?
Life context provides a rich field of “what ifs” to harvest—
Divergent pathways in the woods, awaiting our next steps.
For me, color blindness may have been my salvation.
If I were to discern a different color palette,
What are the chances I would be writing this poem—
Or celebrating my wife’s birthday today?
What will you do with your set of unique circumstances?
Will you follow a lemonade dream?
Or do you relish your lemon drizzled over grilled salmon?
Same juice, different use.
What’s in your bracket?
And how will you give voice to your choice?
April 5—For today's prompt, do one of the following:
1. Write a goofy poem.
2. Write a serious poem.
(Note: This one could go either way---you choose.)
Lament To My Absent Muse
By Bill Kirk
It’s dark and cold at 4 a.m.
Yet I can hardly sleep.
Instead of writing poetry
I should be counting sheep.
For truth be told, this rhyme’s gone cold—
My poem is a flop.
No matter what I try to write,
My brain keeps yelling “Stop!”
Oh! What the heck. I think I’ll quit,
And leave my letters lost.
This search for words is getting old
It’s time this tome is tossed.
So, wrinkling up this scribbly page,
I’ll turn off every light.
If dribbly doodle’s all I’ve got,
It’s time to say good night.
April 4—pick a type of person and write a poem about him or her. To help set the scene, you may want to title your poem as who the type of person is. For instance, you could write a poem titled "Firefighter," "Cynic," "Optimist," "Teacher," "2-year-old," etc. The list is endless.
The Drummer
By Bill Kirk
The drummer stands alone, waiting.
Poised and ready, his sticks hover above skins
Stretched taught over their frames—
Simple implements await his bidding.
Then, as if some solitary nuclear clock
Finally emits its primordial pulse,
The first strike of stick against skin
Signals life through action.
Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak!
Vibrations scream a one-note staccato—
R-r-r-racketa! T-t-t-tacketa! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Ripples push the sound barrier,
Seemingly broken in an instant
On the surface of the drum’s head—
Its micrometric amplitude
Hardly perceptible to the human eye.
The drummer calls his cadence without speaking
Save for the insistent sound spreading in ripples
From his drum’s core—through the rest of the
Drum corps on the floor around him.
His fellow drummers respond in kind with their first step,
And another and another still—
They answer the incessant urge to move.
Then in quick succession, they pick up the beat—
Accepting it as their own, completely owning the next strike,
And the next,
And the next,
And the next.
Crisp. Clear. United.
The very essence of integrity—One cadence. One team. One line.
The drummer carries the corporal beat—the rhythm of life.
Yet where does it come from and what does it mean?
Certainly the merging of rhythm, sound and intensity
Is more than mere technique.
Might there not be a subtle nuance
That defines the drummer’s very nature?
Could it be the soul’s search for perfect resonance?
And how does one discern such things?
Indeed, might drumming not be considered a metaphor for life?
The call of the distant drummer
Tapping out his cadence
And hoping it will be heard, headed and followed.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Boom. Boom. Boom.
The pulse of life beckons loudly—
Not wanting to end but having to.
In one beat, the performance is over.
Rejoice and be glad in it.
By:
Bill Kirk,
on 4/3/2011
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April 3—Write a poem in which you imagine the world without you. The world could be a much worse place, pretty much the same, or even better. Anyway, it's interesting to contemplate our individual contributions to this planet in ways small and large.
Were I Not Here
By Bill Kirk
Were I not here,
The lawn might be mowed,
The weeds would be whacked and
The bare window sill would already be primed and painted.
Were I not here,
The blown down back fence would be replaced,
The crack in the driveway would be patched and
The front door latch would work and not stick.
Were I not here,
The ivy would not have overtaken the side yard,
There’d be no birds nesting in the attic and
The perilously leaning pine would be long gone.
Were I not here,
The taxes would be done before April 14,
There might be more money for vacations and
There’d be less money needed for life insurance,
But were I not here, there would also be
Fewer cups of coffee at bedside each morning,
Fewer lunches made each work day,
Fewer omelets cooked each Sunday after church,
Fewer miles run for the pure pleasure of it,
Fewer pick-ups after school,
Fewer haircuts at Grandpa’s house,
Fewer children’s rhymes written and read,
Fewer reminders about Scout meetings,
Fewer camping trips with the old man,
Fewer holiday turkeys cooked and carved,
Fewer New Year’s Day black eye peas for good luck and
Fewer kisses goodnight.
So, all things considered,
Consider me here.
April 2—The prompt for day 2 is to write a postcard poem. Make it brief and communicate what it is like where you are. Also, make it personal.
Postcard Wishes
By Bill Kirk
Just got to my “room”.
There are windows galore—
On all sides, in fact,
From ceiling to floor.
A post at each corner,
In the middle, a mast;
We’ll tie off our hammocks
Oh, wow! What a blast!
We’ll sleep in “plein aire”—
A canopy above.
We four happy strangers—
Hey! What's up with the shove!?
What do you mean
Those "shoves" are a gale
And our very large tent
Is now a large sail?
You’ve got to be kidding!
Pack up my gear?
Vacation is over?
Wish I weren’t here....
By:
Bill Kirk,
on 3/31/2011
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Hello to all poets and poets in waiting. April is National Poetry Month and tomorrow (April 1) begins the annual Poem A Day Challenge at Writer's Digest. If you have ever felt the call to write poetry or if you have heard the whispers of the poetic muse perched on your shoulder, now is the time to put pen to paper or digits to keys.
The Poem A Day Challenge is exactly that---write a poem each day for 30 days based on the daily prompts provided by Robert Lee Brewer on the Writer's Digest poem-a-day page. Here is a link to the guidelines for the challenge: (http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2011/03/01/2011AprilPADPoemADayChallengeGuidelines.aspx). You'll get the hang of it in no time.
So, why bother? Well, apart from uncovering your poetic genius, you will end up with a pile of 30 poems at the end of the month, which is no small accomplishment. With any luck, a few will be really good and a few others will at least be a good start on the way toward something really good. Besides, it's not everyone who can honestly say they have written 30 poems in 30 days.
Forget about those who say, "Who would want to?" Hey, it's a challenge and some people just simply aren't up to it. So, dust off the poetic cobwebs and let's get cracking. Robert Lee Brewer's first prompt will be available tomorrow morning and you have until midnight to wax poetic in response... and so on and so forth.
Show us what you got unless, that is, you're averse to it....
xxxxx
Happy After-Thanksgiving!
Before running out the door to buy-buy-buy, sit back and watch The Story of Stuff. At least watch the first seven minutes. Really.
But...if you really want something--how 'bout a book? You may still have time to participate in our book giveaway! To qualify, your entry must be posted by 11 p.m. Friday, November 26, 2010 (Central Standard Time). Here's JoAnn's interview with the author, Ann Angel. Before entering our contest, please read our Book Giveaway Guidelines.
You may be in the middle of NaNoWriMo. Carmela has commented on this and how she's modified NaNoWriMo to fit her life. If you're writing--however that looks in your life--my hat's off to you! Participating in this year's Poem A Day Challenge absolutely changed my life. It changed so much, in fact, that I've been writing a poem a day for 236 days...or seven months and 22 days (and sending each one to my friend Bruce as he sails around the world).
So here's a poem I wrote this week. Not a kid's poem. Just a poem from me--to you. I hope your
Thanksgiving was warm and wonderful.
A PERFECT DAY TO KIDNAP MOM
by April Halprin Wayland
This morning I woke with a huge burlap sack of guilt
about not being in town
with my 88-year-old mother
for Thanksgiving.
Today was a perfect day to kidnap her.
I poked around the internet, found an easy hike—
terrific, except it was in Thousand Oaks,
which always feels terribly far, like Romania, to Mom.
I phoned her:
“Pretend I’m Alan Alda
and I’m inviting you somewhere, okay?”
Okay, she said—except for the Thousand Oaks part.
She would have gone to Thousand Oaks for Alan Alda.
“I’ll ring you back,” I said.
I hunted more. I found
Malibu Creek State Park.
We drove north on Pacific Coast Highway
on this after-rain day—
everything green and blue and glisten-y,
Mom oohing and ahhing as we cruised past the grey-blue Pacific.
By:
Carmela Martino and 5 other authors,
on 6/4/2010
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Happy Poetry Friday! Poem and Writing Workout below.
Our blog topic is reading as a writer. I'm going to modify it and list some books I'm currently reading as a writing teacher.
You may remember that after ten years as instructor with the UCLA Extension Writers Program, I'm teaching a brand-spanking-new class this summer.
My vision is to make this class as playful as the theater games class I took years ago. No matter how tired my friend Steve and I were after a day in the corporate world, we couldn't wait to get to class.
What was so special about it that energized us? We were moving or we were mediating, we were reacting to smells or blindfolded, we were hugging or we were chasing each other, we turned into gorillas or bananas.
I want my picture book students to be equally energized. I want them out of their desks with exercises that get them stretching, walking, laughing, observing, closing their eyes, tasting, singing, crying, playing group games. I'll be covering such topics as point of view, dialogue, rewriting, publishing and more. Here are a few of the books I'm using:
Writing Workout The poet William Stafford wrote a poem every morning all of his life. Since taking the National Poetry Month Challenge to write a poem a day for the month of April, I'm continuing, inspired by the book, Early Morning--Remembering my Father, William Stafford by
Kim Stafford. Today part of a sentence Stafford wrote inspired me: "At a certain sound today I hear Father turn onto the gravel drive at supper time..." It reminded me of our dog, Eli, sleeping on his couch in the upstairs bedroom as I write.
1 Comments on We Interrupt This Regularly Scheduled Posting....to ask for more writing exercise ideas!, last added: 6/4/2010
By:
Bill Kirk,
on 4/30/2010
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April 30: “For today's prompt, write a letting go poem. The poem could be about letting go of a relationship; it could be about letting go of anger; it could be about letting go of a tree branch; or it could even be about, yes, letting go of this April challenge. There are so many things we can let go.“
Alas, the end has come to National Poetry Month and to the Poem A Day Challenge for April. Writing a "letting go" poem offers many paths. But in honor of squeezing yet another poem into a day, busy-ness came to mind. Today's offering is short and sweet because now I must get busy so we can leave for a weekend camping trip---lots to do. Busy, busy, busy....
Letting Go Of Busy
By Bill Kirk
Busy is as busy does.
So, why are we so busy?
Should busy bees our mentors be
And life be all a-tizzy?
Why not add a little sloth—
Try letting go of busy?
Moderation in all things
Will make you far less dizzy.
Guess I’ll kick back and enjoy
A few things I have missed.
But first I’d better check things off
My daily duty list.
April 29: “For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "And Suddenly (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Some examples: "And suddenly we were lost," "And suddenly over," "And suddenly banana," "And suddenly sudden," "And suddenly the poem I was writing turned into a killer robot," etc.“
The first thing that pops into my head for this one is the song “Along Came John” with all the “and then…” lines in the story-song. For those of you who can still remember roller skate keys, that song is probably parked out there in your long term memory under a lonely, flickering mental street light. With that introduction, you're probably thinking this poem will surely be on the lighter side. Alas, no.
And Suddenly It Happened
By Bill Kirk
As with any human endeavor,
For better or worse,
At least one person starts it.
Perhaps a single thought or feeling
In someone’s mind or heart is the genesis.
But until it takes flight,
It is just a secret.
Once expressed, perhaps a common reaction erupts—
A catalyst, inspiring or offending.
You know, like “Windows 7 was my idea” or
“Let’s make anyone who looks like
They ought not be here,
Prove they should be.”
Then, suddenly, the world changes.
Yet what is about any “and suddenly” moment
That bestows its import?
Could we not say all “and suddenly” moments
Occur only when acknowledged and accepted,
By the some or the many?
And by its logical extension,
Is it not likely any such moments not thusly recognized,
Would simply die on the vine?
Then, just as suddenly,
The waiting “and suddenly”
Would simply fail to materialize,
For better or worse.
May we have the wisdom to discern
Which “and suddenly” moments
Are worthy measures of human progress,
And which would be far better
Never to see the sudden light of day.
All I can say is the past four days have been a bit jam packed. The writing of the poems was challenge enough, and even more the public posting of them, which I didn’t get done each day. So, here they are, all four poems posted in one fell swoop from April 24, 25, 26 and 27—works in progress, one and all.
April 24: “For today's prompt, write an evening poem. My initial thought is that this poem would somehow involve the night, but upon further reflection, I guess it could be about evening things up or something.”
The Evening Of The Day
By Bill Kirk
When the long day’s labor’s done
And when all but gone’s the sun,
Fatigue wraps itself
Like a heavy cloak
Around the old man’s body,
At long last, bent and bound for rest.
His rough, work-worn hands
Weave their calloused digits
In thanksgiving for the
Warm bread and steaming bowl
At table before him.
Now, dusk approaches as
The day invites the dark night.
Even time is near—the end of toil and care.
And in this peaceful moment,
The evening of the day
Brings longed for respite
To body and spirit.
Amen.
April 25: “For today's prompt, write a poem inspired by a song. Be sure to include the song and artist (if known) with your poem, so that we can all make our own mix CDs to write poetry.”
This one is a challenge indeed, maybe because the possibilities are almost endless in the choosing. Will it be the first song that pops into our heads or a selection driven by mood or genre or our need in the moment? And anyway, isn’t the song is its own poem? So, what makes us think we might say it better? Or maybe we are simply to let the song speak to us and capture the moment.
Oh What Song To Choose?
By Bill Kirk
I listen to the radio of my mind
Wondering what song
Will most inspire the writing
Of even more words
Than those already penned
By the original writer.
But what if the song writer
Takes offense that someone
Might dare to suggest
Enough was not said the first time?
That is, for a song to inspire,
Would it not, by definition,
Have said all that should be said
In the very best way when first written?
And, by extension, if more is needed,
Would that not mean the original song
Had somehow missed the mark?
Perhaps.
Unless, that is,
The inspired poem is short and sweet
And written just in such a way
That no one will mistake
The poem’s complimentary intent.
In that case, I’ve already said enough.
Allow me to introduce my inspiration:
“I Write The Songs (That Make The Whole World Sing)”.
And dare I name the original writer
Or only give a clue
To those not from planet Earth?
The by line belongs to
The one, the only artist
Formerly, now and always
Known as Barry.
April 26: “For today’s prompt, write a "more than 5 times" poem. Of course, I'll let you decide what that means. Maybe you'll write a poem about something the narrator does more times than preferrable; maybe you'll write a deja vu poem; or maybe you'll just write the same line and/or stanza more than 5 times. I just know that multiple poets recently said the "More than 5 times" subject line would make a great prompt, so I'm listening to the group. Have at it!“
If I’ve Told You Once
By Bill Kirk
If I’ve told you once,
I’ve told you more than five times:
Call when you are going to be late.
Wash your hands before supper.
Get your elbows off the table.
Don’t go swimming right after you eat.
Do your homework before play time.
Buckle your seatbelt.
No listening to you i-Pod at the dinner table.
No mocking.
Turn off the light when you leave the room.
Hang up your Sunday clothes after church.
April 23: “For today's prompt, write an exhausted poem. The poem can be a first person account of your own exhaustion, or it can describe the exhaustion of someone (or something) else. Heck, I guess it even could be about exhaust, huh?“
I must say, getting this rhyme to fall was like pulling teeth. And it may still need a bit of work. I'm exhausted....
Exhaustion Is A Drag
By Bill Kirk
Exhaust is just an output;
Exhaustion? Work’s accrual—
When outputs surpass inputs,
Or work demands more fuel.
To counter your exhaustion
You’ll need to get some rest.
Add ample food and water,
To feel your very best.
But if you keep on pushing—
Light candles at both ends,
You’ll burn out far too quickly
And illness never mends.
It’s better when you balance
Some down time with your zest.
So, when you face a challenge,
You’ll be up to the test.
April 22: “For today's prompt, write an Earth poem. You can decide what an Earth poem is. Maybe it's a poem about the planet; maybe it's actually the lowercase earth (a gardening or burial poem?); maybe it's just a poem that happens on (or to) Earth; maybe it's even written in the voice of extraterrestrials (that might be fun). No matter how you decide to roll with it, have a very poetic Earth Day!”
Green And Blue And Swirly White
By Bill Kirk
Hello, Earth. I see you there,
Outside my space ship, day or night;
Clear, cool water; fresh, clean air—
All green and blue and swirly white.
I remember when we left.
In giant ships, we all took flight.
Mother Earth was spent, bereft—
Not green and blue and swirly white.
Someone said we had to go—
To give the Earth a chance to fight.
Cleansing tides must ebb and flow
To heal and make our planet right.
‘Til that time, we’ll always roam,
Our distant planet in our sight;
Hoping that we’ll soon go home,
To green and blue and swirly white.
Twinkle, twinkle, earth in orbit,
I wish for you the sun’s bright light.
Change its warmth, as you absorb it,
To green and blue and swirly white.
By:
Bill Kirk,
on 4/21/2010
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April 21: “For today's prompt, take the phrase "According to (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Example titles might be: "According to Bob," "According to these instructions," "According to the government," "According to the sun," etc. “
I’ve noticed my “poetry” has shape shifted a bit in recent days and I’m not sure if I like the form it’s taking as free verse flirts with prose. Maybe it’s a matter of available time to think and compose—boundaries which hours or minutes impose. To the extent I can get close to a finish product, I will. Otherwise, at least the last few efforts are definitely works in progress….
According To Steve Jobs
By Bill Kirk
We are now poised on the launch pad
To the future of information accessibility.
App control is here,
Right in the palms of our hands.
Just think.
Adding “folders” technology to your phone
Will increase the number of apps
At your finger tips to over two thousand.
And did you know, there is now the potential
To imbed ten ads for you to wade through
Every thirty minutes while app surfing?
I can hardly wait.
We’ve come a long way
From crank phones and party lines.
But, doesn’t it make you wonder
Who or what is in the evolutionary driver seat?
Is technology evolving to meet our needs?
Or, instead, is human evolution
Being driven to keep up with technological change?
Never mind being tall and good looking
As a foot in the door of success.
Stilus-shaped pointer fingers and thumbs
May soon become the most sought after
Physical attributes
As the true indicators of human progress.
Then, again, maybe all we need to do
Is grow longer finger nails.
Who knows? Nail salons for men
May be just around the corner.
By:
Bill Kirk,
on 4/18/2010
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April 18: “For today's prompt, take the phrase "To (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Some examples: "To the left, to the left," "To write or not to write," "To Kill a Hummingbird," "To the Doghouse," etc. There are so many possibilities.”
Indeed, there are possibilities galore for this prompt—just choosing a title that is either a noun or a verb, an object or an action, leaves you with seemingly endless options. And there’s the serious or the silly, the reflective or the quirky.
A single letter can totally change the essence of a title or its poem. Consider the difference between “To Arms” (a call to immediate action) and “To Arm” (a potential question for reflective discourse). No doubt Robert Lee Brewer must toss and turn in his sleep to come up with daily prompts to challenge even the titling of a poem, much less the writing of it.
To Wish
Bill Kirk
To wish,
Whether quietly or aloud,
Is to hope, to desire, to anticipate.
As infinitives go, “to wish” is rare.
It holds a singular optimism that
Who we are,
What we are doing and
Where we are going
Will be as good as, or even far better than,
Our immediate here and now.
And to actually take the step
Of making a wish is a
Self declaration of our belief
In boundless possibilities,
Defined and confined
Only by the wisher.
Indeed, the very existence of
“To wish” in our language
Allows us to think in terms as large
As our imaginations are capable.
And then, we can wish even larger still
For something—anything—that is beyond
Everything which doesn’t yet exist.
Simple wishes are sometimes the best.
A child might wish for a silver dollar
In exchange for a first-pulled tooth.
Or a violinist for the purest of notes
To be called forth as bow meets string.
And is it too grand for a writer to wish
For sufficient inspiration to coax
Just the right words onto the page?
To be sure, certain wishes
Might not be in our own best interest
Or that of others.
Wishing a flat tire for the driver
Who just cut you off
Might slather momentary satisfaction
On a bruised psyche.
But what if your instantaneous mental snapshot
Of such an obvious transgression
Fails to take into account
The sick child in the back seat
En route the emergency room?
Even in the naming of our enemies,
Whether briefly or long term,
Do we not wish calamity for them—
And, in contrast, the better for us?
Yet in so doing, are we not the lesser for it?
Instead, aren’t the best wishes unselfish,
Like a prayerful request to improve our lot
But not at the expense of others?
And in our wishing, is it not best to wish boldly—
To let our imaginings run free?
Or do we fail to wish simply for fear of failure?
Wishing is at the heart of living and
Our capacity to wish is its own reward.
Everything else is gravy.
By:
Bill Kirk,
on 4/13/2010
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April 12: “For today's prompt, pick a city, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem. Your poem can praise or belittle the city. Your poem could be about the city or about the people of the city. Your poem could even have seemingly nothing to do with the city. But the simple act of picking a city will set the mood (to a certain degree), so choose wisely.”
La Paz
By Bill Kirk
We once had a house
On Calle Nueve, across the street
From the President of Bolivia.
It’s not every day a kid
Gets to have tea with the First Lady
Or ride on a motorcycle,
Holding on for dear life,
Behind the Captain
Of the Presidential Guard.
Or watch a hundred native dancers in full costume
March through your front gate
To set up a brief rest stop
In the backyard of your house.
My sister and I heard the drums
And horns and flutes
Way down at the end of our street,
Even before we could see the parade.
When the procession turned the corner,
I just knew they would come to our house.
Yet I still couldn’t quite believe it when they did.
Even dad was surprised when he got home.
Mom said they were on their way
To a three-day fiesta in Las Yungas.
Why anyone would want to have
A party in the jungle, I’ll never know.
But they seemed to be having fun.
Then there was the time someone
Gave us a honey bear for a pet.
Of course, we couldn’t keep it.
After all, a honey bear needs to be free.
The river at the end of our street
Raged one year during the rainy season
And washed away the little mud brick shack
Where Mamasita and Papasito lived—
It was the year I was home schooled
To get me ready for fourth grade in the States.
My mom even gave me recess
So I could watch the flood happen.
Two little sheep fell into the water that day
And it took them away,
Never to be seen again.
That was a sad day on our street.
Even the President noticed.
The air is rather thin at 12,000 feet
Which is why fire departments
Hardly ever get any business that high up.
And there’s no such thing
As a two-minute boiled egg—that is,
Unless you like it raw.
Maybe the thin air is why
My memories seem so clear
From once upon a time in La Paz.
April 13: “Two for Tuesday time! Here are today's two prompts:
1. Write a love poem.
2. Write an anti-love poem.”
Given a choice, I’ll take the former. I just can’t seem to get my head into anti-love---maybe if someone has a broken heart, that’s the place they would be.
Spring Is Made For Love
By Bill Kirk
If timing’s your reason
To give love a fling,
The very best season
Has got to be spring.
The summer is super
To heat up your game.
But sunburn and heat waves
Can cool down your flame.
And festive fall fashion
May seem quite the deal.
But hitting the sales
May de-zest your zeal.
A deep chill in winter
Can beg for a spark
But all of those layers
Keep love in the dark.
Although every season
Has lots of potential,
To even your odds,
It’s spring that’s essential.
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What a fabulous finale, April! And what a celebration.
Love that it ends in the lap of a child (subconscious connection to your doggy drafts?!?!)!!
Huzzah! What fun to have been a part of this creation!
Super ending! What a fun event this has been.
TA-DAAAAAH! I admit I rather loved your idea of writing THE END (ha!), but I'm so glad you didn't. This is the perfect ending, words twirling to a child, which is what we're here for.
THE CROWD GOES WILD! Yay, us!
Nice! Let's do it again next year!
Wow, we went from music and dancing to singing and dreaming to swinging and tumbling...the crowd does, indeed, go wild! Well done!
April, I love it!!! In the lap of a child, exactly where we want it to be. Love that wordy title too. Thank you THANK YOU, everyone who made this year so much fun. xo
What can I say? the crowd goes wild is a wonderful way to go out!
Bravo! Take a bow! With all of the action centered around the writer, it all comes to a fitting end in the lap of a child, which is just perfect! I can hear the blogosphere clapping!
I think at the end of a beautiful act, I should say 'encore', yet you've ended the poem so lovingly, April, right where it should be, with a child. Class act!
This poem came together so wonderfully well all along the way. Perfect ending, April!
Yes, Bravo, April! The perfect ending for an over-the-(big)-top creation, chronicling both secret musings and spectacle, is with a child reader. clap*clap*clap
Like others, I love that it ends in a child's lap, too. Great ending to a terrific poem! Congratulations to all the participants.
Wonderful ending, April! (I would not have wanted that knee-buckling responsibility.) Brava!
Yay for our whole pack--it truely takes a village!
It's already been said, but I'll say it again, the perfect ending in the lap of the child with the crowd going wild.
The crowd goes wild for your ending, April. Well done! I laughed at your impulse to write the end--just let those awesome words wing away. That would have been grand, but I'm glad you brought them to a child's lap.
Excellent! The ending couldn't be more perfect. Very nicely done!
Yay for us! Love the title. Let's twirl some words together again sometime. It's been fun!
Bravo! What fun. xoA
Best poem title ever!
STOMP STOMP CLAP! STOMP STOMP CLAP! Leave the whole show in a little kid's lap!
Somehow it all came together, and anchorwoman April did the heavy lifting. Thanks, Irene, for instigating, and to all who played along. Poetry improv indeed.
I'm sure you all felt this with each line: all I can say is, WHEW! ("It's just a POEM,Honey...")
Felt like I was in the March Madness Poetry Tournament all over again...
xxx
I loved watching this unfold! Couldn't believe how people could make the poem hang together, day after day, not only with meaning, but with meter. Like so many others, I love your ending. Also absolutely love the title! Perfect!
What a satisfying ending, April! And what an amazing team effort. It's a wonder I don't have a tummy ache from all the cotton candy, but what an awesome month at the circus!
This could not have been a better ending! I love it, and I loved this month. Thank you, poetry friends. xo, a.
April,
I went over to Teaching Author's to read today's post and couldn't resist another run through the Progressive Poem. I saw that my comment didn't come through on the 30th! Weird! Anyway, I will just say again how perfectly you ended our poem I just love your line! In fact, I'm going wild over it!
Thank you, Penny and everyone for your comments! Now that Poetry Month is over and we're winding down, we can all actually read more poetry!