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

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