Had some struggles this week. No prompts were speaking to me. Not a whole lot of breathing room, let alone poem-writing room in a day. Quite a few responsibilities came to bear their full weight. It wasn’t easy, but I got it done and I’m now moving on the Week 3 looking at that light at the end of the tunnel and running for it with my arms up high and a big-ass grin on my face. It’s not too late to join me in writing a poem-a-day this April.
Here are some places you can get prompts:
Staff Yoga Class with Sam
I invited the entire staff
FREE yoga, I cried!
Once my student, now my peer,
you arrived ready to teach.
Though it was time,
no one arrived,
so we sat on our mats
face to face, chatting. We were both
nervous–me, because as my idea
I’d imagined it grand and well-attended.
We would both teach–you one class,
me another. Teachers would set down their ungraded papers,
flock to staff yoga. We were both nervous–
You, because this was your day to teach,
and teaching is still new to you.
There was a moment before someone finally arrived
when I saw our selves like mirrors, each reflecting back to the other.
I saw your earnest smile, the joy behind your eyes.
In that moment, nervousness fled, and I felt
quite suddenly so happy to be so vulnerable and there.
“Suffering maims” –Victor Pelerin
About suffering they were never wrong, he wrote.
The human condition.
And yet–no mud, no lotus–
it is true.
When I consider the spectrum of suffering,
I feel deeply grateful that I’ve
endured just enough to have deep roots in the soil,
a tough outer bark,
adornments (leaves) that thrive
and shimmer in the breeze.
Prompt: Write a haiku
on the cups of leaves–reserve.
Prompt: Write a love poem
It’s easy to lie,
say you’ve entered a new phase–
a more settled, mature phase
no longer achingly desperate,
no longer prioritizing desire over
risk of exposure or embarassment.
It’s easy to lie here,
reading our books in silence,
say this is all I need,
this isn’t boredom
or a failure of communication–
it’s just this age, this phase–
which is sometimes true,
but not always
and it isn’t always easy
to find the language at those times–I need
a codeword. Fire!, perhaps. Or–
A bit of an acquired taste, I suppose.
Small children tend to hate it.
Perhaps the tongue gets bored,
begins to want something shocking,
Fierce and bright.
Something with equal parts
danger and delight.
We call you bullet.
Fast like a bullet,
but with bounce and grace.
You’re slower these days,
not so bad for an old lady though. Old lady,
napping in sunbeams
hiding under blankets
walks that happen on time
not stepping out into the rain
silence, kisses, and carpets.
Prompt: Write a poem using these six words: bow, lean, park, saw, tear, wound
In upward-bow, I lean,
rock like a saw,
then park on my belly.
Sometimes through a tear in my armor,
a wound escapes and breathes with me a while–
heart open–fearce–about to break,
Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals? Find free resources and information here.
Some past posts to keep you making time: