30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Seven
September 7, 2009 by John Hewitt
Writing poetry can be a challenge, and writing 30 poems in 30 days is quite a task. There will always be days in which you just don’t feel very creative or inspired. Words that seemed to flow on one day are tangled and frozen on another day. This happens to everyone. Here are a few things I do to get unstuck.
Meditate. I have several guided meditations on my iPod. I download them for free from http://www.zenworlds.com/. I also have my own simple meditations. I usually focus on a single word such as clarity or inspiration while I slowly breathe in and out. Sometimes you simply need to calm your mind in order to get back on track.
Walk. Walking is its own form of meditation and can often provide inspiration. The advantage of walking is that you engage your body and help relieve physical tension while you observe the world. This can often lead to new insights or new ideas.
Use the Random Article link on Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random. The beauty of the random link is that it can pull up just about anything. I have often discovered things to write about while exploring this never-ending encyclopedia. Sometimes it just takes a single word or phrase to inspire a poem.
Create your own prompt. For each day of this project, I post a poetry prompt. Prompts are actually just constraints. You pick a word or phrase, a line length, a topic, and you try to write a poem using it. A constraint helps you focus. It is like having a menu to order from.
Today’s Poetry Prompt
Write a poem that involves an animal.
Curse of the Black Cat
Cat yack
The dreaded hairball
It can happen anywhere
The office rug
The bed
The couch
Anywhere but on the tile
That would be too easy
No pill
No food
Slows down the constant march
Of hair through his body
And onto fabric
I want to vacuum him
Shave him
Mousse him
Anything to keep the fur
Out of his mouth
And my life
Related links
- 30 Poems in 30 Days (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Why you should write poetry (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Writing About Yourself (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Writing About Issues (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Poetry of Place (1.000)
Contact John Hewitt
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Email: hewitt@poewar.comPhone: (520) 261-6104
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I took the animal bit loosely, I admit.
The kayak slips past the yawning sea which is
Sleepy under white clouds and forgives the transgression
Of the paddle stealing power and the illusion of mastery
Which is often with us, though we are prettified parasites
Underneath our unknowing sky.
We skim like water-spiders, we feel we are
Made for this place, at one with ourselves,
And maybe we are, and maybe we aren’t.
We believe we are molded for these moments
Where we hold the world between two hands and
Breathe in victory and sweat and wonder-
That we belong where we are best, but
We forget we weren’t born with paddles in hand,
Who’s to say our best act isn’t mediocre to minds,
Dragged from the depths of our selves, but lasting,
But a girdle ‘round misfortune and important as
The beams of light that cities stand on tiptoe for.
The sea is vast, and right now it is a resting crocodile
With the spines of its back just barely tipping above
Into waves that we crest.
Later, the sea will rise and snap at the shore
And roll and tumble through the water with
All the certainty of death until the stone, the brick,
The book it took is changed, and we remember
That nature effaces what doesn’t belong.
Tortoises Walk Slowly (Not!)
What is it they say?
Don’t walk so slowly
like a tortoise
But my tortoises
Walk real fast
like an F1 driver
Once, they walked so fast
They almost disappeared
like a puff of smoke
So, whoever said that must have
Had a really weird tortoise
like an old man.
Scratches on the door
Fur on the chair
Loud screeching
In the middle of the night
As they battle it out
Staking their territories
Against the strays
Ready to snatch
By stealth or speed
They loiter around
Looking innocent
All the while ready
To act
The cats in my house
Are chasing me out.
Mourning the Goat
There is no goat.
I can hardly believe it.
But it has been declared
On national TV
By the head man.
I must accept it.
I remember my Dad
Personally ironing
His white apron
With the blue and gold,
Its tiny suitcase,
And my Mum poking fun.
Hearing the banter,
I loved to imagine
Jolly half-naked fathers
Riding that billy-goat
In their nice clean aprons.
As it pranced, tossing its horns.
That must be when I first
Heard the word “regalia”.
Much older, I liked to think
Of an inner circle of Magic,
And the goat perhaps
A metaphor for Pan.
But to learn that there is no
Goat, no ride, no dancing,
No half-nude cavorting
Of any kind – that’s cruel.
No secrets, no mystery …
No more magic.
Note: Dan Browns’ next book will be about Freemasonry.
The Masons have pre-emptively revealed that they have no secret rituals.
Ha ha, I’m very well acquainted with all the cats here! Or with some just like them.
Leah, I very much like your water piece, particularly the spider simile and crocodile metaphor!
OK,
The poem involves an animal, albeit a small animal at the very end.
had troubles contemplating a poem “about” and animal, and came up with this.
Enjoy.. yeah, Iknow it’s late.
Siesta Kitchen
A smallish sultry room is cooled
by the shade of a rusted tin roof
Sunlight spills through an open window,
No breeze billows the old sheer curtains.
The previous color of the walls
begin to tint the white washed walls,
their dusty chalk rubbed off by wear
long past and swept away with care.
The well-worm broom leans on the wall,
and keeps a lonlely vigil over
a wooden table, knicked and scrtched,
which covers three straight back chairs.
A couple of pots and handful of dishes,
clenaed and stacked, dry by the sink.
An old dishrag draped over the faucet,
has a drop forming on its lowest point.
A still life except for a single fly
that buzzes in a lazy arc and lands
on the dishrag and crawls around.
It then resumes its lazy flight.
spot runs round and round
chasing his tail; he stops and
pants; plops to the ground.
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Thanks for stopping by TopBanana. The pictures on your blog are very nice.