30 Poems in 30 Days Index

Below is an index to the 2009 30 Poems in 30 Days Project.

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day One
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Two
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Three
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Four
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Five
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Six
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Seven
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Eight
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Nine
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Ten
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Eleven
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twelve
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Thirteen
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Fourteen
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Fifteen
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Sixteen
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Seventeen
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Eighteen
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Nineteen
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-One
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Two
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Three
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Four
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Five
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Six
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Seven
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Eight
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Nine
30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Thirty

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Thirty

Today is the final day of our Thirty Poems in Thirty Days project. Thank you to everyone who participated. It has been a great month. I hope that it prompted you to write some poems, to read some poems, and to think about poetry.

After you finish today’s poem, take some time and look back on the poems that you have written this month. Take a little time to be proud of yourself.  Writing poetry is an accomplishment, and writing thirty poems in a month is a great accomplishment.

I want to pass on some final wisdom and inspiration before I go. I am mostly out of advice, but luckily there have been thousands of poets before me and more than a few have taken the time to comment on poetry. Here are some thoughts for you:

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. — Leonard Cohen

Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth.  — Samuel Johnson

Poetry is what gets lost in translation. — Robert Frost

“Therefore” is a word the poet must not know. — Andre Gide

An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way. — Charles Bukowski

As soon as war is declared it will be impossible to hold the poets back. Rhyme is still the most effective drum. — Jean Giraudoux

Constantly risking absurdity and death whenever he performs above the heads of his audience, the poet, like an acrobat, climbs on rhyme to a high wire of his own making. — Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Each memorable verse of a true poet has two or three times the written content. — Alfred de Musset

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood. — T. S. Eliot

Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world. — Percy Bysshe Shelley

Political subject matter is looked upon either as an intruder into the realm of poetry, or as a matter that requires special discussion every time it occurs, and can’t just be taken for granted like any other subject. — Denise Levertov

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language. –  W. H. Auden

A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman. — Wallace Stevens

A poet’s autobiography is his poetry. Anything else is just a footnote. — Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Write a poem about the end of something.

Moving Past the Grape

It was an optical illusion
My eyes could not adjust
Every time I thought the room was empty
Or at least really truly almost empty
I was wrong
What looked bare
Seemed full again
It was always almost empty
Like a shadow eating a grape
The first time I cleared all the furniture
Except for a chair
How did I miss the chair
The next time it was boxes
I must have left the chair
To sit and fill the boxes
When the boxes were full I took the chair
And the room was almost empty
Next came bags
But there was still a box
I must have left the box
For the junk
That wasn’t quite garbage
I filled the bags
And took the box
And I thought it was really almost completely empty
But when I came back I needed more bags
And a broom
And a box
And a vacuum
And a friend
And several hours later
It was really
Almost
Empty
I didn’t go back
For fear of figuring out
I was wrong again

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Nine

We are near the end of this project. Most of our days are behind us and it is time for that final push to get to the finish line. Today is a good day to write poetry. Whether it is clear or raining, calm or exciting, joyful or depressing, this is a good day to write poetry. It is a good day to say what you have to say. I don’t want to get in your way. There are so many good reasons to write poetry:

• Because it makes you happy
• Because it makes you think
• Because it helps you sort through your feelings
• Because something in your brain wants to get out
• Because it is fun to rhyme
• Because you can do it almost anywhere
• Because it teaches you lessons about life
• Because it shows the world you are here
• Because it is fun to not rhyme
• Because you want to win someone’s love
• Because you want to make fun of someone or something
• Because you can keep your poems in a cool leather journal
• Because you can say whatever it is you want to say
• Because it gives you a feeling of accomplishment
• Because every day is a good day to write poetry

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Write a poem that gets shorter with each line.

Party

We lined up four tables in an imperfect right angle
Elephant bags and boxes gathered around me
A shuffle of cards and liquid Mexican flags
How many special people change
Burning but ultimately fulfilling
The music never stops
I can babble on until
It is time to float
To promise
Tomorrow
Then soon
Again

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Eight

Rosemary Nissen-Wade asked who my favorite poets are, and why. That reminded me of a poet I wanted to pay my respects to on this blog. When I was a creative writing student back in the late eighties, a series of unlikely events landed me in the poetry class of Peter Wild. I had not expected to be there. I had signed up for a Literature in Film class and I had already fulfilled my poetry writing requirement, but somehow all paths led to his class. It was where I was supposed to be.

Peter Wild was the most demanding poetry teacher I ever had, by which I mean he was the only demanding poetry teacher I ever had. My other poetry teachers had been good, even inspirational, but far from challenging. Peter gave us three or four assignments a week. One, of course, was a poem, but the others were to read essays and other commentary by poets and to write our opinions. This wasn’t the most difficult task in the world, but the other students in the class griped and whined. They weren’t used to actually having to work in a poetry class. For my part I was in my element. I wanted the work. I wanted to study other poets.

Unlike the other poetry instructors, who often gave us very little by way of guidelines, Peter gave us very specific constraints for each week’s poems. There were word counts, word choices, subject matter choices, even tasks that we had to perform before we were allowed to write that week’s poems. Some students hated this. They complained about being stifled. I loved the challenge though. I didn’t always come up with a winner, but one week I wrote a poem that he absolutely loved. He called it a nearly perfect poem, and that was the proudest moment I have ever had as a poet.

Peter Wild was prolific. He published over two thousand poems in addition to the many books he wrote, mostly about conservation and the American Southwest. He frequently edited volumes of work by other poets and essayists. Peter Wild was a great teacher and he was a great poet. He once told my class that the reason poetry had declined in recent years is that we have become a “passionless society” content to go about our days watching television and worrying about mundane problems without ever really feeling strongly about why we are here on earth and what we are meant to do. That thought has stuck with me ever since.

On February 23^rd, 2009, Peter Wild lost a two-year battle with cancer. He was 68 years old and still teaching classes up until the end. Teaching poetry was something he truly loved to do and it makes sense that he would not give it up, no matter how close death was. Peter, after all, did have passion.

I am a fan of Peter Wild the teacher, but I am also a fan of Peter Wild the poet. Two of his books, Peligros and The Cloning are among my favorites and live in the bookshelf closest to my desk. They mix naturalism with some surrealism and a bit of pop culture. That is a mix I can easily identify with. There is one poem in Peligros that I have found myself reading over and over. It was written in 1971, but it seems to fit his final days or at least my image of them.

FOR THE DEAN

Stretched on a branch I am dying.
below on the lawn that goes away like the sea
the lion grips the clocks and my testicles
like a comic book.
all through the midnight I listen to my blood
dripping on the leaves.
toward morning it stops.

Some people say this is
expected and good;

at any rate by noon I am romping
transparent and full of slings,
arms flailing, skin pulled over my head.
the water
burns through my veins
as it nests in yours
with great stillness…

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Pick two or three words from the poem above and use them to start your poem.

For Peter Wild

Still water still burns
You have to go off trail
Even though you know it will cost you
Scratches and needles in your legs
An occasional bout of disorientation
But fewer piles of beer cans
And rusted garbage shrines
Are reward enough

At midnight you can look up to see Orion
Watching over you
And feel alone
Grateful to be standing in the desert
Breathing cool clean air

A little blood on your socks
Is proof enough that you are not imaginary
The limp as you walk home
Is the reminder you hoped for
That you still need to write

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Seven

Playing with language is one of the more entertaining and challenging aspects of writing poetry. There are so many ways to play with words: rhyme, alliteration, assonance, puns, meter, obscure words, nonsense words, and so on. Today I thought I would introduce one trick that you may already practice without knowing the name for it.

Adnomination is a poetic device in which you take a morpheme (a root meaning that is shared by many words) and use it in multiple(often opposing) ways. A good example of a morpheme that can be used in this way is the word time. Time exists as its own word, but it is also a part of many other words. Just a few of these are:

• Timetable
• Lunchtime
• Nighttime
• Timely
• Ragtime
• Timer
• Pastime
• Meantime
• Maritime
• Peacetime

Other morphemes don’t form words on their own, but can be found in many words. An example of this is radi. Radi is a morpheme that comes from Latin. Its base meaning is ray. Some words that include the letters radi are:

• Radiant
• Radial
• Irradiate
• Radiation
• Radiator
• Sporadic
• Radio
• Radish
• Radical
• Paradise
• Extradite
• Degrading

Clearly, not all of these words are actually using radi as a morpheme , but that is the fun of poetic license. Because the letters appear, you can play a true morpheme off of a false morpheme. Think of it as the adnomination version of an off-rhyme. Adnomination actually combines elements of rhymes and puns. It plays the meaning of one word off of the meaning of another that shares some of the same letters such as a sporadic radical or an irradiated radio. It is just one more way to have fun with language when you write poetry.

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Use one of the lists of words above or pick your own morpheme and use it to add adnomination to your poetry.

For My Former Employer

It seemed so informal
The phone call late in the day
That pleasant voice with a sprig of empathy
Telling me I was on my own now
There’s a formula that says
Inform the fired on a Friday
There’s likely to be less trouble then
Ask any questions you have first
Then perform the amputation quickly
Just before you head home
Or to happy hour
For more than a few drinks

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Six

Nature is one of the oldest and most persistent themes in poetry. There are many poetry forms that are specifically for meditating on and commenting about nature, such as the Pastoral and the Eclogue. It is an ancient topic, but one that remains relevant even in contemporary times. Today’s nature poems are often about the destruction of nature at the hands of society. Even this is not a particularly new theme, but because of such fears as global warming, it remains a popular and relevant thee. Here are a few things to remember when writing about nature.

1. Because it is an old and established theme, it is hard to be fully original when writing about it. The key is just to find your own voice and personal attitude about nature and be sure that your writing reflects that voice.
2. When writing about nature, it is a good idea to go outside and actually take part in the world of nature. Go to a park. Go to the beach. Go to the mountains. Go to nature.
3. One of the most straightforward ways to write about nature is to write about what you observe. Describe what you see. You do not have to judge what you see for your poem to be good. You are certainly welcome to do so, but it isn’t a requirement.
4. Take your time. A few minutes of quiet observation can do wonders. If you are content to observe, your words will eventually come.

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Write a poem about a natural event.

Loner Cloud

The cloud slides down
Half of it below the other
Spears and spikes from falling pressure
In white tracks against the sky
Otherwise blue
And ready to crush the eyes
With the intense clarity of it
Except of course
For this odd
Metamorphous cloud
Ready to approach new challenges
Unafraid to disturb clarity

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Five

I am feeling extremely random today. I am filled with brief thoughts but cannot seem to paste them together into a coherent article. Time keeps passing and I know people want their prompts. Anyone who blogs knows that this can only result in a list post. So without further ado:

Six random thoughts about poetry:

1. You should buy at least four new books by current poets each year. It isn’t that much money and it helps support poetry. If you ever write a book you will want other people to buy it, so the least you can do is help others. Also, reading new poetry should be a pleasure worth paying for.
2. iTunes has a dedicated section for spoken word performers. It is another great place to find poetry and support the poets directly.
3. Every poet, and every writer, should keep a journal or some other method or recoding their thoughts with them for the moments when inspiration strikes. My iPod Touch does the job for me in a pinch, but nothing beats the look and feel of a real journal.
4. Sometimes it is good to get out of the house when you write poetry. Six places I’ve enjoyed writing poetry at are:
   • The beach
   • Poolside
   • Long car rides
   • Sidewalk cafés
   • The park
   • The mountains
5. You should schedule a time, at least once a week, to write poetry. If writing poetry matters to you, make it a priority.
6. Everyone who writes poetry has their own reasons. I write poetry because I enjoy it, because I have something to say, because it lets me process my thoughts, and because I like to think of myself as a poet. What are your reasons?

Finally, there are five days left and as you may be able to tell, my topics are running a bit thin. Do you have any questions? I’ll answer them if I can.

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Write a poem as that uses every letter of the alphabet at least once.

Arizona

Give up on that idea of the old west
We have skyscrapers
Speed cameras
Master planned communities
Lighting pollution laws
Major league baseball
Football
Basketball
And hockey
At the moment
We have high tech jobs
Phone centers
Fast food
Chain restaurants
Microbrews
Casinos
Megamalls
Outlet malls
Fashion malls
Night clubs
Strip clubs
Sex shops
Indoor stadiums
Outdoor concert venues
Museums
Amusement parks
Water slides
Ski resorts
Health spas
Day spas
Face lifts
Liposuction
Laser hair removal
Lasik surgery
Every dream
Every vice
Everything under the sun
Our big badass sun
Come take a look
And bring money!

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Four

Most of the poems I write are based on my life and my experiences. For me, poetry is a type of journaling. This isn’t true for every poem. Some poems are fantasy, fiction and fun. In the end though, most are about me in some way or another, even if they aren’t entirely based on my real life.

I am a character in my poems. Because of this, the people who read my poems see pieces of my life, real or imagined. They form opinions about me, my attitudes, and my life. Some people may form a negative opinion of me that is not true. Other people may form a positive opinion of me, which is not true. This is neither a good thing nor a bad thing, but it is a reality. If I present myself as a character in my writing, it is human nature for people to have opinions about me based on what they read.

This will be true of your poetry as well. As your poetry grows more personal, your life gets revealed in larger and larger chunks. If you share your poetry, you share your life. Friends and family may see your poems and think differently of you. Strangers may read your poems and, lacking any other resources, base their entire opinion of you on those poems.

This is something that you need to adjust to, as a writer, a person, and a poet. If you write something true and revealing about yourself, know that people will see it. If you write something fictional about yourself, people will see that too. In most cases, they won’t be able to separate the truth from the fiction. People believe what they read. This doesn’t mean that you should censor yourself. I have been writing about myself on this blog for quite some time, and the good drastically outweighs the bad. You shouldn’t be afraid to let people get to know you. You do need to understand that this is going to happen if you choose to write about yourself. You need to determine how you feel about this and what you will or will not do because of this.

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Write a poem that begins with the word “I”.

A Private Room

I am looking at an institution green wall
The kind of color people only choose for others
No one would paint their own room like this
The choices people make for others
Generally by committee
Or the lowest bidder
Have resulted in this little room
That almost suits my needs
But never provides comfort
No one falls asleep here
Which is something close to the point
I cannot wait to leave
Which is of course
Exactly what I am doing
All I can think of is where I will go from here

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Three

I don’t particularly enjoy writing poetry in forms, especially more restrictive forms such as sonnets, villanelles, sestinas, pantoums, and the like. I’ve tried most of the major forms. It is an interesting challenge trying to fit your thoughts into forms with restrictions on meter, rhyme, line and stanza. Unfortunately, I can’t think of a single good poem that I’ve written using these forms. The poems always leave me dissatisfied. That doesn’t mean the effort was wasted. Working with all of those restrictions is a mental and poetic workout, but it isn’t enjoyable for me.

I do like to give myself constraints when I write poetry. Constraints help me to focus my thoughts.  I just don’t like to overdo it. One or two constraints are plenty. Because I am running this project, you are stuck with my views for the most part. I feel bad about that. There are excellent arguments for using poetry forms. I’m just not the one to make them. That is why I am happy to recommend someone else. Someone who knows quite a bit about poetry forms, and has the added bonus of being funny. His name is Stephen Fry.

Stephen Fry is not a professional poet, he is a proud hobbyist. He writes poems because he enjoys it, not because he thinks it will make him famous. Luckily for Stephen, he is already famous. Stephen Fry is an actor, talk show host, game show host, novelist, and an all around funny guy. He is much more famous in England than elsewhere, but if you don’t recognize his name, I am sure you would recognize his face.

Fry has written a book called The Ode Less Travelled . It is both a primer on poetry writing and a defense of poetry forms. Fry believes that free verse is something to be earned after one learns to write forms in much the same way that freeform jazz cannot be properly performed by someone who has not spent a great deal of time learning to play and write music. He makes many excellent points, and he is funny. There aren’t many books about learning poetry forms that are also funny, so you should pick it up for that reason alone.

I’ll leave you with this thought from the book:

“But genuine feeling is not enough in enough in poetry any more than it is in painting or music. Genuine feeling which isn’t pressed into some sort of shape is a tantrum or a sentimental mess.

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Write a poem using iambic pentameter. If you aren’t familiar with Iambic pentameter, it is discussed in full here.

Note: My entry is disgusting and childish. Read it your own risk.

You Think it’s Gravy but it’s Not

I caught a lot of snot right at that spot
This goo this slime this stank flew from my hank
To flank my hands my face in green disgrace
The ground it pound and all around I found
It pumped and dumped in clumps and bumps and lumps

It rained again across my shoes my wife
She screamed my hopes my dreams are creamed it seems
She tripped she fell as snot began to gel
She yelped help me army navy someone
Stop my dear man’s evil nasal gravy

It flowed some more across the floor up to
The door which shook then broke under my yolk
Outside the flies stormed to the rise in sleaze
They ate they swam they sunk into the gunk

Empty at last my head had cleared this blast
My wife and me we ran we rode we drove
Far from the paste we raced until that place
And our profound distaste had been erased

30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Twenty-Two

As I have said before, patterns play a major role in poetry. Repetition of thought, of meter, and of sound generates the patterns that distinguish poetry from prose. Patterns set up rhythms. Patterns organize thoughts. Patterns reinforce ideas. In poetry, isocolon is the term for the repetition of related words, phrases, or sentences of approximately the same length and similar form. You find this in advertising all the time:

It takes a licking and keeps on ticking

I’m a Pepper
You’re a Pepper
She’s a Pepper
He’s a Pepper

You got peanut butter in my chocolate!
You got chocolate in my peanut butter!

You give us 22 minutes
We’ll give you the world

You’ve got questions
We’ve got answers.

If it doesn’t get all over the place
It doesn’t belong in your face

Here is a poem filled with isocolon from Emily Dickinson:

XLIII

Poor little heart!
Did they forget thee?
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!

Proud little heart!
Did they forsake thee?
Be debonair! Be debonair!

Frail little heart!
I would not break thee:
Could’st credit me? Could’st credit me?

Gay little heart!
Like morning glory
Thou’ll wilted be; thou’ll wilted be!

The point of using isocolon is that the repetition includes reflection of the initial thought. The similarities of the statements imply a strong relationship. That relationship may be of agreement or reinforcement, or it may serve to point out the changes or differences between one thought and another. The bond between these statements is strong whether they oppose or reinforce. Using icocolon in a poem sends a message to the reader that the statement is important and could even be the primary point of your poem.

Today’s Poetry Prompt

Write a poem in which a similar or identical phrase is repeated three or more times throughout the poem.

Where did you go?

We’re walking through the supermarket
I’m talking to you about a client
Who has gone slightly off the edge
But I stop talking because you aren’t there
You’re staring at the cereal boxes
Where did you go?

You’re walking through the desert
Every day while I’m at work
Your socks are filled with burrs
Your face has a patchy tan
And your right arm has a thin blood scratch
Where did you go?

I’m walking to my car
It has a full tank of gas
Two suitcases and a roadmap
I want to think about my life
I want to return from somewhere else
Where did you go?

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