30/30: Day Twenty-Six and Twenty-Seven

For me, the weekends are and have been the hardest when trying to write a poem everyday. I feel spent by the work week and often have social happenings and try to also get to life tasks like laundry and grocery shopping, etc. It's hard to find time to write poems on those days. 

This weekend I learned that this April is the month of the Astrological Re-Birth Canal. I'm not really big into astrology; I mostly think it's fun to scapegoat the stars for the crazy that occurs in life. Can't send any emails, have a lot of dropped calls, everyone seems to be getting the wrong messages from you, all your plans gone all haywire? Mercury's in retrograde.  Have some major upheavals and life changes? It's your Saturn Return, yo. 

It's possible I've been in the Pacific Northwest too long.

Still, in terms of what has been happening in the sky this month, I am willing to buy into the idea that astronomical shifts affect us. So that was what I was thinking about with my poem from the 26th.

My poem written this morning (Number 27! Holy crap!) was in response to landscape / heartbreak walk #15, which I walked on Saturday with my friend and colleague for my landscape / heartbreak project.  This is the route we walked: 

I've only got three more days, ya'll. Three more poems to write. If you have any last minute prompts, now's the time!


If you've enjoyed my adventures in daily poem-ing, please consider becoming a friend of Tupelo Press: you can donate in my name and sponsor me in this poetry marathon in a couple of different ways:

  • Subscribe to Tupelo Press! This is kind of an amazing deal: 9 books for $99 and they pay the shipping. You can choose a curated series or create your own personalized list of any 9 Tupelo Press titles. (THIS WOULD BE AN AWESOME GIFT.) Be sure to put my name in the "comments" field if you choose this option. 
  • Complete the Tupelo Press Donation Form. Be sure to put my name in the "honor" field if you choose this option. You can write this off on your taxes!
  • Donate Using Pay Pal, by clicking the orange "Quick Donation via PayPal" button on this page. Be sure to put my name in the "message" field. 

For each option, please be sure to include my name so that I get credit for your sponsorship. If you would like a tax receipt, you should provide your mailing address. 

And, give them your address anyway because for every person who donates in my name, I'll mail you a landscape / heartbreak postcard with a handwritten poem and my sincerest thanks! 

 

 

 

30/30: Day Twenty-Five

Friends gave me prompts! Haha, too many. A late night Facebook thread:

Jaquira: Can I give you prompts or do you already have too many? I'll do it anyway cuz dats how I do: 1. Write a poem about cheese. 2. Use this in a poem: "who left their tambourine in a bag in the hallway?" 3. Alien invasion poem. 4. Another alien invasion poem. 5. Write a tanka dedicated to Nathan.

Me: YES GAWD GIVE ME PROMPTS

Me:  Hahaha, these are hard!

Jaquira: Really? What if the cheese is melty?

Me: I will do my best for you. Haha, I think I am just burnt out.

Jaquira: Okay a poem about a road trip, or the road, or a trip.

Me: Jah OK, I can do that. WHY ARE WE BOTH AWAKE RIGHT NOW?

Jaquira: It's only 3:15am. I never sleep.

Nathan: Where's my tanka?

OK, ya'll. Today's poem is a "meditation" in three parts, the last of which is a tanka for dear Nathan. I'm gonna be real: I don't think that last bit is any good nor do I think it should be at the end of today's poem, but I said I'd write a tanka. 

Don't know when it will be posted so, here are some lines from each section:

Before me the road unwinds like a tongue.

It's 3 a.m.

To not sleeping, then.

 

As a child, I marked the time imagining

myself a giant—grasping barns, groves of trees,

silos, cow fields, and billboards between

my forefinger and thumb, holding each to my eye

 

This car, its open windows,

this lit cigarette,


If you're (still) enjoying my adventures in daily poem-ing, please consider becoming a friend of Tupelo Press: you can donate in my name and sponsor me in this poetry marathon in a couple of different ways:

  • Subscribe to Tupelo Press! This is kind of an amazing deal: 9 books for $99 and they pay the shipping. You can choose a curated series or create your own personalized list of any 9 Tupelo Press titles. (THIS WOULD BE AN AWESOME GIFT.) Be sure to put my name in the "comments" field if you choose this option. 
  • Complete the Tupelo Press Donation Form. Be sure to put my name in the "honor" field if you choose this option. You can write this off on your taxes!
  • Donate Using Pay Pal, by clicking the orange "Quick Donation via PayPal" button on this page. Be sure to put my name in the "message" field. 

For each option, please be sure to include my name so that I get credit for your sponsorship. If you would like a tax receipt, you should provide your mailing address. 

And, give them your address anyway because for every person who donates in my name, I'll mail you a landscape / heartbreak postcard with a handwritten poem and my sincerest thanks! 

30/30: Day Twenty-Four

My 30/30 time is winding down. Six more poems after this one. I was hoping to go out with a bang, but the way this week is shaping up and the way I've been writing my daily poems at the end of the day (out of necessity) as opposed to the morning or the night before has been slowly killing me (softly. Two times, two times.) So...this whole thing will probably end with more a "woo...." as a opposed to a "WOO HOO!!!!" But, hey. I WILL WRITE SIX MORE POEMS. 

So, today's poem WAS written on April 24th at least by Seattle-time. But I just sent it off so, ya'll won't see it until the 25th. And so and so forth, probably, for the rest of the week. Since it'll be posted tomorrow, here is a snippet of it to pique your interest (hopefully):

The air tonight is full of matchsticks.

Tricks of the eye

searching for rough surface.

I walk from brick walls

through the dark cul-de-sac

to find the creek behind the house,

overrun by cattails.

The cattails are matchsticks become torches:

my bait for enormous catfish and carp.

I don't really know where this came from. I was thinking of my Lola's house and how there was a creek behind it where I used to play; when we moved to Tennessee, we'd go back to visit Michigan and the creek was less and less visible and more and more covered by cattails. I loved pulling them apart. I also loved pretending they were wands. And the carp and the catfish...well, I doubt there were any of the big ones I imagined for this poem in that little creek; I don't really know where they came from. I think they are cool looking. They are weird and look like old men. Old men fish sages. 

It's been a long day.