Laura Shovan's Blog, page 26
February 12, 2016
2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 12
It’s Day 12 of our month-long daily writing project.
This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS, which are our writing prompts, at this post.
Two notes today:
First, with so many poets participating regularly, I want to make sure I capture and include everyone’s responses. If I have missed yours, please leave me a note in the comments.
Second, I encourage you to go back and read past day’s poems. We’ve had some late joiners, including Charles Waters, who is catching up with us! You’ll find his and other poems added to each day of our project.
FOUND: Cream? Meringue?
Today’s writing prompt, though clearly in the food category, is difficult for me to identify without taking a taste. Our found object was contributed by Poetry Friday blogger Buffy Silverman. We’ll have to ask her to solve this mystery.
I expect we will see some tasty poems today, everyone.
Today, I decided to try an exercise from a favorite book: FEG: Ridiculous Poems for Intelligent Children, by Robin Hirsh. You take a word (I chose CREAM) and then run that word through all of its vowel sounds. My word list was: CREAM, CRAM, CREME, CRIME, CHROME, CRUMB. Next step, use these as the end words of a poem.
I ended up with an ode to the best cannoli of my life, from Presti’s Bakery in Cleveland. Hmm… maybe I wonder if they ship to Baltimore. This could be the perfect birthday treat.
Ode to a Presti’s Bakery Cannoli
By Laura Shovan
When I found you hanging out in a chrome
plated bakery, I knew your greatest crime
was this: I could only eat one ricotta-cream
filled pastry. Oh, much as I wanted to cram
my mouth with more, I ate not another crumb.
I shall return, my cannoli crème de la crème.
***
Diane Mayr was thinking about birthdays too, with today’s senryu.
sixty-sixth birthday…
the cake frosting loses
its fluffiness
***
After those sweet treats, Patricia VanAmburg had me laughing with her contribution.
But Lard?
By Patricia VanAmburg
Butter cannot match your
Undulations
Tallowed repository
Layered lobes of fat
Assiduously
Rendered
Derogatory term for derriere
***
Photo: Jessica Bigi
Once again, Jessica Bigi created a lovely shape poem that I’m unable to capture here. Apologies!
Writing my name
In sparks of light
Dragon breath colors
Circle night’s sky
Fireflies light our
River bridge
Dad and I can
Hardly wait
Old fashioned vanilla ice-cream
Scooped into root beer
Frosted mug, icy mushes
On the Fourth of July
by Jessica Bigi
***
Mary Lee Hahn says, “This poem should be subtitled ‘Fun with the thesaurus.’ I took Violet’s advice and let loose with some FUN today!” Is anyone else singing Cole Porter music along with this poem?
You’re the Icing on the Cake
You’re the best
you’re the bomb
you’re the highest supreme
unrivaled
unbeaten
you’re king (or you’re queen)
you’re the finest
the greatest
the premier and prime
you’re the jewel in the crown…
we’ll keep you,
You’re fine.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015
***
We were definitely in the mood for Italian food today. Donna Smith writes, “A pantoum this morning…coffee anyone? I have no idea if this is what it is, but this is all I could see! Time to make the coffee! And for some unknown reason I thought, hey, why not write a pantoum before you wake up?”
Hot Mocha with Whipped Cream, Please
O’er the frothy brew
Floating peaks of cream
What would be my due –
On roiling mocha stream.
Floating peaks of cream,
Like little white sailed ships
On roiling mocha stream
Greets my waiting lips
Like little white sailed ships,
What would be my due
Greets my waiting lips,
O’er the frothy brew.
©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved
***
Please stop by Carol Varsalona’s blog Beyond LiteracyLink to read more about her response to today’s object.
***
I like the way Linda Baie acknowledged, then stretched beyond, the food imagery with this prompt.
A Picture Can Bring Many Thoughts
This snowy space lures like icing on a cake,
but don’t suggest it may be sweet.
I feel it only in my imagination,
a dream-whipped cold-
more than sunshine cold for skiing
or snow drift cold for red cheeks and snowball fights,
and snow-fluff cold for making angels.
This cold freezes eyes open, nostrils shut;
teardrops form frozen waterfalls on the eyelids.
This cold makes the news.
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
***
Margaret Simon sent in this poem about a dessert she had in Italy. She writes in, “When I traveled to Italy I was on a quest for the best tiramisu. In the small town of Orvieto a young girl told me her mamma made the tiramisu. A memory moment of deliciousness. ”
Gelato Flowers
By Margaret SimonLick your fingers
Taste of rum
Runs over my delicate tongue
Mi mamma made with her heart and a touch of Orvieto flowers.
***
DAY 13 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT
See you tomorrow for Day 13.
Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:
Sunday, February 7
FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine.
Note: You will find links to all of the Week 1 poems at this post.
Monday, February 8
FOUND OBJECT: SCULPTURE IN THE WOODS
Poems by: Laura Shovan, Jessica Bigi, Heidi Mordhorst, Carol Varsalona, Linda Baie, Margaret Simon, Donna Smith, Diane Mayr, Joanne R. Polner, Kay McGriff, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch.
Tuesday, February 9
FOUND OBJECT: TIRE TRACKS IN SNOW
Poems by: Molly Hogan, Jessica Bigi, Linda Baie, Violet Nesdoly, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Donna Smith, Laura Shovan, Diane Mayr, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Catherine Flynn, Kay McGiff, Charles Waters.
Wednesday, February 10 at Reflections on the Teche
FOUND OBJECT: LOTUS PODS
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Patricia VanAmburg, Jessica Bigi, Molly Hogan, Laura Shovan, Charles Waters, Buffy Silverman, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Carol Varsalona, Violet Nesdoly, Heidi Mordhorst, Donna Smith, Mary Lee Hahn, Margaret Simon.
Thursday, February 11
FOUND OBJECT: WALNUT DOLL
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Carol Varsalona, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Violet Nesdoly, Donna Smith, Jessica Bigi, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Margaret Simon.
Tweet
February 11, 2016
2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 11 – Poetry Friday
It’s Day 11 of our month-long daily writing project.
This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.
We’re also celebrating Poetry Friday. This week’s host is Kimberly Moran at Written Reflections. If you’re enjoying the poetry community we’re creating with this project, I know you’ll have fun getting to know the Poetry Friday blogging community as well.
FOUND: Walnut Doll
This week, we’ve been talking about some of the categories our FOUND OBJECT prompts fall into. There were many contributions (a few of them my own) of toys. These weren’t ordinary playthings, though. The found objects were toys in odd settings, like the window full of antique dolls we wrote about on Day 6.
Linda Baie of the blog Teacher Dance contributed this interesting little plaything. There will be a few more toys to come in the weeks ahead, but this is the last doll we’ll see. She’s an unusual object — I’m glad to be able to write without any information about her. She’s going to raise quite a few questions in today’s poems.
Linda Baie is first up today with an acrostic poem about our little lady.
What I Had
F ound– faded flowerdy cloth from Mama’s scraps,
O verlays a piney piece of wood in Papa’s workshop.
U nder the backyard shade tree, the walnut–
N ear perfect color of my face.
D oll delight, looks like me.
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
***
Carol Varsalona, who is blogging alongside our project at Beyond LiteracyLink, wrote: “As a lover of antiques and history, I was drawn to this prairie doll that brought back memories of Little House on the Prairie books and the television show.” I hope you’ll stop by Carol’s blog today. Her post includes a wonderful list for the classroom entitled, “Broadening Elementary Students’ Awareness of Prairie Life.”
I was born,
just an ordinary doll
of plain homespun fabric
stitched by Ma’s loving hands.
As odd as this seems,
I was given a walnut
for my head.
Just an ordinary doll,
I am.
They tell me that my family
weathered many a storm
as their wagon wheels
slowly moved west
to Walnut Grove.
Here on the prairie,
I was loved
as the ordinary doll
that I am.
Living in a soddie
under a sun that
beat and blistered
was a way of life
in summer,
while winter snow
drove us indoors
to wait out the
blizzards and
cold winds.
My days with
my little owner
were full of
simple prairie life
and prickled by
inconstant weather.
The ordinariness
of pioneer days
were filled with
special moments,
family ties,
and homespun charm.
Time has turned over.
Centuries have passed on.
My descendants
grace museums and
I sit on a shelf
reminding all of
ordinary times
and ordinary dolls
loved by ordinary families.
©CVarsalona, 2016
***
Jessica Bigi wrote in to say, “This doll made me think of a craft you would find at a county fair.” This should be a concrete poem, everyone, but I’m having trouble capturing its shape with WordPress. Please excuse the technical difficulties!
Summers Fair
by Jessica Bigi
I imagine walnut dolls
Lemon tarts Pecan pies
Red ribbon Ferris wheels
Winners
County Fairs
Lemonade skies
***
I had a difficult time finding an “in” with the object — the thread that would lead me to a poem. So I tried one of the exercises I use with students when we are working with an image. First, we list all of the “facts” of the picture, the things we can see with our eyes. Then, we make a second list. This time, we write down all of things we imagine about the image. What’s the story? What is the person or people in the picture doing and thinking?
Churning Song
By Laura Shovan
A bonnet covers her white cotton hair.
Her face is wrinkled and round as a nut.
I call my scrap doll Grandmother Daisy
for the meadow flowers dotting her dress.
She wears a white apron with squares of blue
same as the apron I wear to do chores.
Grandmother Daisy’s bag is filled with songs.
She sits with me as I churn the butter.
Together, we sing her songs, pass the time.
***
“I let my kid-self out today,” says Violet Nesdoly. I think we have to make space for play during a project like this, to keep the daily writing from feeling like a chore.
On a Visit to Red Riding Hood
This is a memory
of Grandmother dear,
who outsmarted the wolf
when he came by here
with the gunny and muslin
she stuffed in her bed
and the pumpkin she used
to mimic her head.
It’s here on the shelf
and reminds me each day
better activate wits
than be someone’s buffet.
– Violet Nesdoly
***
Diane Mayr has a talent for combining images and poems. With another birthday coming up next week, this contribution spoke to me.
Le Secret d’un Visage Naturel
By Diane Mayr
Walk out
the back door,
scan the ground,
find a whole new
face to put on for
the day. Tomorrow
you can switch
it out again.
Who need be
the wiser?
***
The doll brought up an old memory for Donna Smith. “This struck me as such a stark contrast to a pink, delicate ballerina doll I once had… that my brother broke… not that I’d remember that after over 50 years…”
The Dolls
Prima Donna ballerina
Could bend and point her toes;
Her arms were curved so gracefully –
No walnut tip for nose;
She wore a satin tutu
And on her feet toe shoes;
She smelled of sweet vanilla –
Not of smoke and bread and stews.
I loved my doll until it broke
And then threw it away.
What good is a dancing doll
If it can’t tour jeté?
My grandma’s doll, so precious,
Has stood the test of time;
She never went to dances
But with Grandma she would climb
The big old tree beside the house
To make up wondrous tales,
And then go wading in the stream
To look for baby whales.
My grandma’s doll upon my shelf
Still dresses in humble style;
And looking down at me from there
I think she’s cracked a smile.
©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved
***
Remember when we wrote about the antique shop dolls on Day 6? Writers were split between those who found the playthings dark and creepy, and those who felt nostalgic about dolls from their past. I see a similar pattern happening with today’s found object.
Mary Lee Hahn says she not sure where this poem came from. I see a definite ripple between this poem and Diane Mayr’s contribution. Mary Lee is blogging alongside us here.
She struggled
to keep her face blank,
unreadable.
The news
made her shoulders tense,
took her breath,
blinded her.
An unimaginable future
stretched ahead.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015
***
Matt Forrest Esenwine is back with us today!
The Old Woman in the Yard
We’d walked this way for years.
Each time, we’d see her there
in burlap dress and bonnet,
hands clenched, as if in prayer.
Her back was always turned,
head bowed in silent thought;
we wondered (rather, worried)
should we bother her, or not?
So every time we passed,
we never said a word,
we never slowed our pace;
the woman never stirred.
And then one day we came upon
an empty, hollow space…
we never knew her name.
We never saw her face.
© 2016, Matt Forrest Esenwine, all rights reserved
***
Margaret Simon’s poem reminds me of Raggedy Ann, with the heart sewn inside her body.
How to be a Walnut Doll
By Margaret Simon
Wear your walnut with pride
Flaunt feathery fabric
Be flexible
Make time stand still
Love is your sacrifice
Feel the beat of a young heart.
***
Catherine Flynn is blogging alongside us today. Like many of us, today’s object evoked a place and time for Catherine. You can find her full post here: https://readingtothecore.wordpress.com/2016/02/12/poetry-friday-found-object-poetry/
Bouncing along this rutted trail
toward a great unknown,
I clutch my dolly, Susan,
keeping her corncob body close.
Ma saved one cob
from last summer’s harvest
to make this dolly, just for me
after I helped her husk
the bushels of corn
Pa hauled from the field.
Corn for us to eat,
corn to grind into meal,
corn to feed our brown swiss, Bess,
so she’d share her sweet, creamy milk.
Ma sewed a little dress from scraps of calico
soft as a cloud,
blue as the summer sky,
sprigged with pink and white daisies
like those in our yard.
Fashioned a tiny muslin bonnet,
just like mine,
it’s wide pleated brim shielding our faces
from the blazing sun
as it leads us westward,
toward our new home.
© Catherine Flynn, 2016
***
If I missed your poem today, I apologize for the oversight. Please leave me a note in the comments and I will add your response ASAP.
DAY 12 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT
See you tomorrow for Day 12.
Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:
Sunday, February 7
FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine.
Note: You will find links to all of the Week 1 poems at this post.
Monday, February 8
FOUND OBJECT: SCULPTURE IN THE WOODS
Poems by: Laura Shovan, Jessica Bigi, Heidi Mordhorst, Carol Varsalona, Linda Baie, Margaret Simon, Donna Smith, Diane Mayr, Joanne R. Polner, Kay McGriff, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch.
Tuesday, February 9
FOUND OBJECT: TIRE TRACKS IN SNOW
Poems by: Molly Hogan, Jessica Bigi, Linda Baie, Violet Nesdoly, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Donna Smith, Laura Shovan, Diane Mayr, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Catherine Flynn, Kay McGriff, Charles Waters.
Wednesday, February 10 at Reflections on the Teche
FOUND OBJECT: LOTUS PODS
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Patricia VanAmburg, Jessica Bigi, Molly Hogan, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Carol Varsalona, Violet Nesdoly, Heidi Mordhorst, Donna Smith, Mary Lee Hahn, Margaret Simon, Charles Waters, Buffy Silverman, Catherine Flynn.
Tweet
2016 Found Poem Project: Day 11 – Poetry Friday
It’s Day 11 of our month-long daily writing project.
This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.
We’re also celebrating Poetry Friday. This week’s host is Kimberly Moran at Written Reflections. If you’re enjoying the poetry community we’re creating with this project, I know you’ll have fun getting to know the Poetry Friday blogging community as well.
FOUND: Walnut Doll
This week, we’ve been talking about some of the categories our FOUND OBJECT prompts fall into. There were many contributions (a few of them my own) of toys. These weren’t ordinary playthings, though. The found objects were toys in odd settings, like the window full of antique dolls we wrote about on Day 6.
Linda Baie of the blog Teacher Dance contributed this interesting little plaything. There will be a few more toys to come in the weeks ahead, but this is the last doll we’ll see. She’s an unusual object — I’m glad to be able to write without any information about her. She’s going to raise quite a few questions in today’s poems.
Linda Baie is first up today with an acrostic poem about our little lady.
What I Had
F ound– faded flowerdy cloth from Mama’s scraps,
O verlays a piney piece of wood in Papa’s workshop.
U nder the backyard shade tree, the walnut–
N ear perfect color of my face.
D oll delight, looks like me.
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
***
Carol Varsalona, who is blogging alongside our project at Beyond LiteracyLink, wrote: “As a lover of antiques and history, I was drawn to this prairie doll that brought back memories of Little House on the Prairie books and the television show.” I hope you’ll stop by Carol’s blog today. Her post includes a wonderful list for the classroom entitled, “Broadening Elementary Students’ Awareness of Prairie Life.”
I was born,
just an ordinary doll
of plain homespun fabric
stitched by Ma’s loving hands.
As odd as this seems,
I was given a walnut
for my head.
Just an ordinary doll,
I am.
They tell me that my family
weathered many a storm
as their wagon wheels
slowly moved west
to Walnut Grove.
Here on the prairie,
I was loved
as the ordinary doll
that I am.
Living in a soddie
under a sun that
beat and blistered
was a way of life
in summer,
while winter snow
drove us indoors
to wait out the
blizzards and
cold winds.
My days with
my little owner
were full of
simple prairie life
and prickled by
inconstant weather.
The ordinariness
of pioneer days
were filled with
special moments,
family ties,
and homespun charm.
Time has turned over.
Centuries have passed on.
My descendants
grace museums and
I sit on a shelf
reminding all of
ordinary times
and ordinary dolls
loved by ordinary families.
©CVarsalona, 2016
***
Jessica Bigi wrote in to say, “This doll made me think of a craft you would find at a county fair.”
Summers Fair
by Jessica Bigi
I imagine walnut dolls
Lemon tarts Pecan pies
Red ribbon Ferris wheels
Winners
County Fairs
Lemonade skies
***
I had a difficult time finding an “in” with the object — the thread that would lead me to a poem. So I tried one of the exercises I use with students when we are working with an image. First, we list all of the “facts” of the picture, the things we can see with our eyes. Then, we make a second list. This time, we write down all of things we imagine about the image. What’s the story? What is the person or people in the picture doing and thinking?
Churning Song
By Laura Shovan
A bonnet covers her white cotton hair.
Her face is wrinkled and round as a nut.
I call my scrap doll Grandmother Daisy
for the meadow flowers dotting her dress.
She wears a white apron with squares of blue
same as the apron I wear to do chores.
Grandmother Daisy’s bag is filled with songs.
She sits with me as I churn the butter.
Together, we sing her songs, pass the time.
***
“I let my kid-self out today,” says Violet Nesdoly. I think we have to make space for play during a project like this, to keep the daily writing from feeling like a chore.
On a Visit to Red Riding Hood
This is a memory
of Grandmother dear,
who outsmarted the wolf
when he came by here
with the gunny and muslin
she stuffed in her bed
and the pumpkin she used
to mimic her head.
It’s here on the shelf
and reminds me each day
better activate wits
than be someone’s buffet.
– Violet Nesdoly
***
Diane Mayr has a talent for combining images and poems. With another birthday coming up next week, this contribution spoke to me.
Le Secret d’un Visage Naturel
By Diane Mayr
Walk out
the back door,
scan the ground,
find a whole new
face to put on for
the day. Tomorrow
you can switch
it out again.
Who need be
the wiser?
***
The doll brought up an old memory for Donna Smith. “This struck me as such a stark contrast to a pink, delicate ballerina doll I once had… that my brother broke… not that I’d remember that after over 50 years…”
The Dolls
Prima Donna ballerina
Could bend and point her toes;
Her arms were curved so gracefully –
No walnut tip for nose;
She wore a satin tutu
And on her feet toe shoes;
She smelled of sweet vanilla –
Not of smoke and bread and stews.
I loved my doll until it broke
And then threw it away.
What good is a dancing doll
If it can’t tour jeté?
My grandma’s doll, so precious,
Has stood the test of time;
She never went to dances
But with Grandma she would climb
The big old tree beside the house
To make up wondrous tales,
And then go wading in the stream
To look for baby whales.
My grandma’s doll upon my shelf
Still dresses in humble style;
And looking down at me from there
I think she’s cracked a smile.
©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved
***
Remember when we wrote about the antique shop dolls on Day 6? Writers were split between those who found the playthings dark and creepy, and those who felt nostalgic about dolls from their past. I see a similar pattern happening with today’s found object.
Mary Lee Hahn says she not sure where this poem came from. I see a definite ripple between this poem and Diane Mayr’s contribution. Mary Lee is blogging alongside us here.
She struggled
to keep her face blank,
unreadable.
The news
made her shoulders tense,
took her breath,
blinded her.
An unimaginable future
stretched ahead.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015
DAY 12 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT
See you tomorrow for Day 12.
Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:
Sunday, February 7
FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine.
Note: You will find links to all of the Week 1 poems at this post.
Monday, February 8
FOUND OBJECT: SCULPTURE IN THE WOODS
Poems by: Laura Shovan, Jessica Bigi, Heidi Mordhorst, Carol Varsalona, Linda Baie, Margaret Simon, Donna Smith, Diane Mayr, Joanne R. Polner, Kay McGriff, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch.
Tuesday, February 9
FOUND OBJECT: TIRE TRACKS IN SNOW
Poems by: Molly Hogan, Jessica Bigi, Linda Baie, Violet Nesdoly, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Donna Smith, Laura Shovan, Diane Mayr, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Catherine Flynn, Kay McGriff, Charles Waters.
Wednesday, February 10 at Reflections on the Teche
FOUND OBJECT: LOTUS PODS
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Patricia VanAmburg, Jessica Bigi, Molly Hogan, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Carol Varsalona, Violet Nesdoly, Heidi Mordhorst, Donna Smith, Mary Lee Hahn, Margaret Simon, Charles Waters, Buffy Silverman, Catherine Flynn.
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February 10, 2016
2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 10
Hello, Found Object Poets. I am taking a break from blogging today.
FOUND: Locust Pods
Don’t beat me over the head with a giant seed pod! We’re still writing and sharing today.
You will find the Day 10 Found Object Poem Project post at Margaret Simon’s blog, Reflections on the Teche. Thank you, Margaret!
I’ll see you back here tomorrow for Day 11. Be sure to leave your Day 10 responses at this post.
DAY 11 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT
Tweet
2016 Found Poem Project: Day 10
Hello, Found Object Poets. I am taking a break from blogging today.
FOUND: Locust Pods
Don’t beat me over the head with a giant seed pod! We’re still writing and sharing today.
You will find the Day 10 Found Object Poem Project post at Margaret Simon’s blog, Reflections on the Teche. Thank you, Margaret!
I’ll see you back here tomorrow for Day 11. Be sure to leave your Day 10 responses at this post.
DAY 11 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT
Tweet
February 9, 2016
2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 9
It’s Day 9 of our 2016 daily write-in. This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. We have a new writing prompt for every day in February.
For those of you who are new to my blog, please read my introductory post about the February daily write-in. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.
Sometimes, in the middle of this month of daily writing, I hit the doldrums — a stretch of days when I don’t have much to say, don’t feel very happy with what I’ve written. It’s good practice for me to share these poems anyway, to put the focus on effort instead of outcome. Are you there yet?
I put aside the computer earlier than usual yesterday, so I added several poems to our Day 8 collection this afternoon. I hope you’ll have a chance to go back and read them all.
PLEASE NOTE: This year, a few friendly bloggers have volunteered to host a day or two. Tomorrow’s post, which is DAY 10, will be at Margaret Simon’s blog, Reflections on the Teche. Leave your Day 10 responses here, in the comments, as usual. I will get your writing to Margaret.
FOUND: Tire Tracks in Snow
Mary Lee Hahn contributed today’s found object. It’s tempting to put this image in the Art category. The snow qualifies it as Nature, but the tire tracks are a sort of Functional Object. What do you think?
Threat of snow is enough to cancel schools here in Maryland, and that’s exactly what happened today. It’s been snowing all day, but the ground is so warm that roads are merely wet. Still, no school. Not so where Molly Hogan lives.
Winter Sorrow
by Molly Hogan
Looking at the treadmarks
crisscrossing
a mere tracery of snow
I sigh,
resigned,
No snow day.
***
Today’s prompt also has Diane Mayr thinking about the weather.
Winter Weather
By Diane Mayr
“…bread, milk, and eggs are popular panic-buys everywhere from Knoxville to New England.” Joe Pinsker, The Atlantic, January 22, 2016
Why is it common
sense rarely
survives a forecast
of winter weather?
Hold onto it, and
your sense of humor.
Your sense of wonder,
too. The only sense
worth leaving out
in the cold, is your
sense of entitlement.
Give that one the boot.
***
It was Donna Smith’s comment on yesterday’s post that sent me off on my poetic adventure today. Donna — thanks for comparing the tracks to “a fresh piece of paper staring at me.”
Tracks
By Laura Shovan
The lines on my paper
have all gone astray.
They zig, then they zag.
They invite me to play.
The lines where I write
zip diagonally
with no pattern or form,
so my verse must be free.
The lines you are reading
fell loose in a wave.
I prodded and poked,
but they just won’t behave.
***
Like me, Jone Rush MacCulloch used the object as a jumping off point to think about the process of writing.
Wheelbarrow tracks
crisscross
the soft, garden mud.
Having rained
three nights ago
the dirt
is like modeling clay.
Straight, simple
lines
obtuse, acute, right angles
father would be
proud
geometry in the soil
Wheelbarrow tracks
parallel lines
in which I compose a ditty.
By Jone Rush MacCulloch
***
Jessica Bigi and I had a little conversation about one of her lines. African zebras in a poem about tracks in the snow? Yes! Notice how the “zagging,” “blizzards,” and “zebras” sound in a row. Wonderful.
Walking on the Moon
By Jessica Bigi
Photographic-memories
Focalizes-snowflakes
Zagging-pathways
Artic-blizzards
African zebras
Snow-white sand
Rover tracks
Moon dust
Dreams of
Walking on
The Moon
History remembered
Roger-Roger
okay for liftoff
***
After the stillness and waiting of our Day 8 Forest Face prompt, I’m enjoying all of the zippy vrooming movement in our poems today. Here is Linda Baie’s haiku.
snowy night vrooming
motorcycle scrapbook page –
tracks at sunrise
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
***
Let’s welcome Poetry Friday blogger Violet Nesdoly to our project. Great to see you here, Violet! This is another poem where the crossing tracks inspired some wordplay.
Reading the Prints
By Violet Nesdoly
The animals that passed by here
were very focused and in gear
their noses sharp, following prey
perhaps a mate, or the day’s pay.
And the exhaust-filled, oily scent
suggests excessive speed their bent.
The younger of this species, though
lie lazy angels in the snow
their tracks characterized by curve
of laughing play and show-off verve.
Violet Nesdoly
***
Carol Varsalona is cross-posting here and at Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life, “as part of a series of thoughts on moving into new directions.” Check out Carol’s full post here: http://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2016/02/moving-out-from-maze.html. For me, this poem ties together yesterday’s sculpture in the woods and today’s snow tracks.
A webbed maze of stripes
flash before me,
boldly jutting into infinite space.
Laser-like rays shoot forth
in powerful strokes
like high-rise steel
reaching unknown heights.
They catch the sparkles
glistening in the sun
with a hint of iridescent fabric
shining light upon the path.
And as if a force is guiding me,
I move out from the maze
with a tribe of dreamers
ready to face another day
of clearing old, worn paths
to make way for the new.
With vigor and verve,
I move into the light.
©Carol Varsalona, 2016
***
What a wonderful portrait poem Mary Lee Hahn created from today’s found object?
Tracks
Under each of his
uncut fingernails is a
half-moon of black.
No fewer than twelve
jangling keychains
hang from his backpack.
He returns from the library
joy on his face
hugging his new stack.
After twenty-two weeks
his brave facade
is cracked.
Hugs:
unsolicited
payback.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015
Mary Lee is blogging alongside our projet. You can read her full post here: http://www.maryleehahn.com/2016/02/found-object-poem-project-tracks.html
***
Here’s a note from Donna Smith, who blogs at Mainely Write: “This just reminded me of Maine in winter…parking lots are often littered with cars because no one can see the lines. It isn’t that they can’t figure out where or how to park – it’s more like ‘Yea, I can park wherever I want to!’” More fun wordplay here!
What Lines?
Tire track,
Don’t look back,
Keep the forward roll!
East or west,
There’s no best;
Parking takes its toll.
Northward track,
Southern tack,
Snow rules are so droll.
Covered line?
That’s just fine;
Drive where’er you will!
Winter fools
Discard rules;
Driving takes no skill.
©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved
***
Do you know about zentangles? They appear in Margaret Simon’s poem today.
Inside My Sketchbook
By Margaret Simon
lines
squiggles
curly-ques
zentangle
wooshes
splots and dots
intersections of highways
microscopic leaves
the tiniest speck
my tears
***
Late arrivals:
Catherine Flynn tried something new today:
“These criss-crossing tire tracks reminded me of a hashtag, so I wrote my poem as a tweet:”
#Snowpocalypse A blizzard is coming! We might get three feet! Buy gallons of milk! Stock up on bread! Final accumulation? A measly two flakes.
By Catherine Flynn
***
The repetition in Kay’s poem reflects the pattern of the tracks.
INDECISION
By Kay McGriff
Swoosh, swoosh
Cars crawl
down the snowy street
leaving tracks that mark
their indecision.
Swoosh, swoosh.
Pull in, back out,
turn around.
Do I stay? Do I go?
Swoosh, swoosh.
***
What an unexpected image Charles Waters found in the tire tracks!
THE WALK
Crunching my boots
through another snowstorm,
each footprint a temporary tattoo
against the frosted prairie.
(c) Charles Waters 2016
See you at Margaret’s blog tomorrow for Day 10.
Reminder: Leave your Day 10 responses in the comments of this post for Margaret Simon, who is hosting tomorrow’s FOUND OBJECT poems. Her blog is Reflections on the Teche.
If you’d like to read what we’ve written so far, here are links to this week’s poems:
Sunday, February 7
FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine.
Note: You will find links to all of the Week 1 poems at this post.
Monday, February 8
FOUND OBJECT: SCULPTURE IN THE WOODS
Poems by: Laura Shovan, Jessica Bigi, Heidi Mordhorst, Carols Varsalona, Linda Baie, Margaret Simon, Donna Smith, Diane Mayr, Joanne R. Polner, Kay McGriff, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch.
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2016 Found Poem Project: Day 9
It’s Day 9 of our 2016 daily write-in. This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. We have a new writing prompt for every day in February.
For those of you who are new to my blog, please read my introductory post about the February daily write-in. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.
Sometimes, in the middle of this month of daily writing, I hit the doldrums — a stretch of days when I don’t have much to say, don’t feel very happy with what I’ve written. It’s good practice for me to share these poems anyway, to put the focus on effort instead of outcome. Are you there yet?
I put aside the computer earlier than usual yesterday, so I added several poems to our Day 8 collection this afternoon. I hope you’ll have a chance to go back and read them all.
PLEASE NOTE: This year, a few friendly bloggers have volunteered to host a day or two. Tomorrow’s post, which is DAY 10, will be at Margaret Simon’s blog, Reflections on the Teche. Leave your Day 10 responses here, in the comments, as usual. I will get your writing to Margaret.
FOUND: Tire Tracks in Snow
Mary Lee Hahn contributed today’s found object. It’s tempting to put this image in the Art category. The snow qualifies it as Nature, but the tire tracks are a sort of Functional Object. What do you think?
Threat of snow is enough to cancel schools here in Maryland, and that’s exactly what happened today. It’s been snowing all day, but the ground is so warm that roads are merely wet. Still, no school. Not so where Molly Hogan lives.
Winter Sorrow
by Molly Hogan
Looking at the treadmarks
crisscrossing
a mere tracery of snow
I sigh,
resigned,
No snow day.
***
Today’s prompt also has Diane Mayr thinking about the weather.
Winter Weather
By Diane Mayr
“…bread, milk, and eggs are popular panic-buys everywhere from Knoxville to New England.” Joe Pinsker, The Atlantic, January 22, 2016
Why is it common
sense rarely
survives a forecast
of winter weather?
Hold onto it, and
your sense of humor.
Your sense of wonder,
too. The only sense
worth leaving out
in the cold, is your
sense of entitlement.
Give that one the boot.
***
It was Donna Smith’s comment on yesterday’s post that sent me off on my poetic adventure today. Donna — thanks for comparing the tracks to “a fresh piece of paper staring at me.”
Tracks
By Laura Shovan
The lines on my paper
have all gone astray.
They zig, then they zag.
They invite me to play.
The lines where I write
zip diagonally
with no pattern or form,
so my verse must be free.
The lines you are reading
fell loose in a wave.
I prodded and poked,
but they just won’t behave.
***
Like me, Jone Rush MacCulloch used the object as a jumping off point to think about the process of writing.
Wheelbarrow tracks
crisscross
the soft, garden mud.
Having rained
three nights ago
the dirt
is like modeling clay.
Straight, simple
lines
obtuse, acute, right angles
father would be
proud
geometry in the soil
Wheelbarrow tracks
parallel lines
in which I compose a ditty.
By Jone Rush MacCulloch
***
Jessica Bigi and I had a little conversation about one of her lines. African zebras in a poem about tracks in the snow? Yes! Notice how the “zagging,” “blizzards,” and “zebras” sound in a row. Wonderful.
Walking on the Moon
By Jessica Bigi
Photographic-memories
Focalizes-snowflakes
Zagging-pathways
Artic-blizzards
African zebras
Snow-white sand
Rover tracks
Moon dust
Dreams of
Walking on
The Moon
History remembered
Roger-Roger
okay for liftoff
***
After the stillness and waiting of our Day 8 Forest Face prompt, I’m enjoying all of the zippy vrooming movement in our poems today. Here is Linda Baie’s haiku.
snowy night vrooming
motorcycle scrapbook page –
tracks at sunrise
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
***
Let’s welcome Poetry Friday blogger Violet Nesdoly to our project. Great to see you here, Violet! This is another poem where the crossing tracks inspired some wordplay.
Reading the Prints
By Violet Nesdoly
The animals that passed by here
were very focused and in gear
their noses sharp, following prey
perhaps a mate, or the day’s pay.
And the exhaust-filled, oily scent
suggests excessive speed their bent.
The younger of this species, though
lie lazy angels in the snow
their tracks characterized by curve
of laughing play and show-off verve.
Violet Nesdoly
***
Carol Varsalona is cross-posting here and at Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life, “as part of a series of thoughts on moving into new directions.” Check out Carol’s full post here: http://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2016/02/moving-out-from-maze.html. For me, this poem ties together yesterday’s sculpture in the woods and today’s snow tracks.
A webbed maze of stripes
flash before me,
boldly jutting into infinite space.
Laser-like rays shoot forth
in powerful strokes
like high-rise steel
reaching unknown heights.
They catch the sparkles
glistening in the sun
with a hint of iridescent fabric
shining light upon the path.
And as if a force is guiding me,
I move out from the maze
with a tribe of dreamers
ready to face another day
of clearing old, worn paths
to make way for the new.
With vigor and verve,
I move into the light.
©Carol Varsalona, 2016
***
What a wonderful portrait poem Mary Lee Hahn created from today’s found object?
Tracks
Under each of his
uncut fingernails is a
half-moon of black.
No fewer than twelve
jangling keychains
hang from his backpack.
He returns from the library
joy on his face
hugging his new stack.
After twenty-two weeks
his brave facade
is cracked.
Hugs:
unsolicited
payback.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015
Mary Lee is blogging alongside our projet. You can read her full post here: http://www.maryleehahn.com/2016/02/found-object-poem-project-tracks.html
***
Here’s a note from Donna Smith, who blogs at Mainely Write: “This just reminded me of Maine in winter…parking lots are often littered with cars because no one can see the lines. It isn’t that they can’t figure out where or how to park – it’s more like ‘Yea, I can park wherever I want to!’” More fun wordplay here!
What Lines?
Tire track,
Don’t look back,
Keep the forward roll!
East or west,
There’s no best;
Parking takes its toll.
Northward track,
Southern tack,
Snow rules are so droll.
Covered line?
That’s just fine;
Drive where’er you will!
Winter fools
Discard rules;
Driving takes no skill.
©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved
***
Do you know about zentangles? They appear in Margaret Simon’s poem today.
Inside My Sketchbook
By Margaret Simon
lines
squiggles
curly-ques
zentangle
wooshes
splots and dots
intersections of highways
microscopic leaves
the tiniest speck
my tears
See you at Margaret’s blog tomorrow for Day 10.
Reminder: Leave your Day 10 responses in the comments of this post for Margaret Simon, who is hosting tomorrow’s FOUND OBJECT poems. Her blog is Reflections on the Teche.
If you’d like to read what we’ve written so far, here are links to this week’s poems:
Sunday, February 7
FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine.
Note: You will find links to all of the Week 1 poems at this post.
Monday, February 8
FOUND OBJECT: SCULPTURE IN THE WOODS
Poems by: Laura Shovan, Jessica Bigi, Heidi Mordhorst, Carols Varsalona, Linda Baie, Margaret Simon, Donna Smith, Diane Mayr, Joanne R. Polner, Kay McGriff, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch.
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February 8, 2016
2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 8
It’s Day 8 of our 2016 daily write-in. This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. Thanks to all of the poets and writers who contributed objects for our daily prompts.
For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.
Before we get to today’s prompt, I have an AMAZING treat for all of you.
I’ve been corresponding with my friend Joanne Polner, a photographer and mother of one of my best high school friends. Joanne read all of our poems about the antique box on Day 1 and wrote this response poem for us! I’m sharing it here, with her permission.
The Box Poems
I’ve got the chills
From the secrets
let out to breathe
I turn from poem
to poem and feel
the feather of
inspiration—
the kind that makes
you hold your
breath.
Is it life
or death?
or the spirit
of so many souls
released into
our world?
My rapid heart makes
my face blush;
The tips
of my fingers
are cold
as I slide the
pages
back under
the cover
of
the box.
— Joanne R. Polner
Joanne also sent us a note about the poem. “You see that I have transformed the concept of the individual poems of your contributors into a collection kept hidden ‘lo these many years.’ Truly, I felt those varying emotions that I wrote about. Praises for your contributors!”
Reading Joanne’s poetic response to our work filled me with joy. This is what doing a community writing project is all about, expanding our community and inviting people to join us as readers and writers.
***
As I was going through potential prompts, I noticed a few themes developing among the objects we found. One category of FOUND OBJECTS is pieces of art.
Poetry written in response to art is often called “ekphrastic poetry.” You can read more about this form at the Poetry Foundation.
I wonder whether our poems will focus on the art itself, or on the person or process of making it.
FOUND: SCULPTURE IN THE WOODS
The only note Diane Mayr included with this contribution is “Southern New Hampshire University.” Maybe she’ll enlighten us a bit more in today’s comments.
The sculpture reminds me of the famous poem, “Ozymandias.”
UPDATE from Diane: “The location of the art in the woods is the Southern NH University campus on the Manchester/Hooksett line. I was pleasantly surprised to find it as I walked along the campus road going from the parking lot to a conference location. Of course, I took a picture! I didn’t see a marker with the name of the work, or the sculptor, but it could have been hidden, or I could have been unseeing that day.”
My process today was to personify the sculpture. Also, I wanted to work on twinning this sculpture with the Moon, but didn’t want to weigh the poem down. I decided to put the Moon in the title, and something very surprising happened.
When the Moon Fell to Earth
By Laura Shovan
One day
I will lay
my body down
in the forest,
face tipped
to the canopy
of branches,
and wait.
Falling light
will pass this way
warm
my stony face,
move on.
And I will learn
the stillness
of a stone.
***
Linda Baie’s poem also uses the verb “wait.” And, of course, if you’re waiting, perhaps you are waiting for someone.
Lost Love
It may take longer than you can wait,
but my eyes are open.
The spell has broken,
and my mouth allows a whisper:
“I’m on my way.”
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
***
Jessica Bigi sent me a note about her poem for today. She focused on sounds and what we can learn from them.
Where Have the Forests Gone?
By Jessica Bigi
Lesson
Not a feather falling
Hums of angry toothed chains
Rolling claws of monsters
Man says it is quiet when a tree falls
Lesson
I can hear them crying
Screams of this world being torn and broken
Dreams of my forest children fading
I’m as old as Bulent light
Lesson
I know which direction they fall
Grandfather rock of mountains and sky
Block foundations of ancient cities
Lesson
windy songs of a billion leave
Lesson
Silences
My voice skips across life’s streams
I too face uncertainties of seasons’ change
***
Heidi Mordhorst of the blog My Juicy Little Universe has a series of questions to ask our forest face.
lost not found
bold white bruin man
where your boulder feet?
where your legs,
your stone torso,
your swinging arms?
they crash on
through the forest:
white columns of motion
can’t think what they’ve lost,
lost on the way
bare gash of narrow eye
bare slash of missing mouth
–Heidi Mordhorst 2016
all rights reserved
***
I hope you’ll head over to Carol Varsalona’s blog, Beyond LiteracyLink, where she is celebrating a huge milestone. Carol’s 500th blog post is about a daily writing practice and includes her contribution for today. Congratulations, Carol!
I lie among the shadows of mid-day sun
professing nothing, just residing
with body buried deep within a barren land.
You question what lies beyond my half-smirk,
my reckless abandonment of wholeness.
Half-truths, broken thoughts buried alongside me
within the shadowed forest search no more
for the stillness awakens wonder.
I ask nothing more than you open my eyes,
freeing my soul to continue pondering
the fullness of life in the vast expanse of universe.
©Carol Varsalona, 2016
***
We all need to lighten up a bit after staring at our serious forest face. Donna Smith of Mainely Write came to our rescue.
Herman, the Hermit
By Donna Smith
The hermit crab,
Delightedly, had gone
So far afield,
Returning with
A brand new home,
Though cumbersome
To wield.
With face on back
Who knows which way
He’s headed? To or fro?
And who would mess
With this fierce home
With room enough
to grow.
His girlfriend should be
So impressed
To see his smiling face;
But hoped she wouldn’t
Nag him that
He’d slowed to a
snail’s pace.
***
I’m intrigued by Margaret Simon’s note about process: “I am learning that I have to write before reading anyone else’s responses. So today I wrote a fractured limerick. It doesn’t follow the rules and rather than force rhyme which I am never very good at, I decided to just butcher the form.” What do you do, poets, read responses first, or wait until after you have drafted your poem?
Stone Head
By Margaret Simon
Stone head slips a wink and sly smile
in the forest, long and deep.
His angle is awkward.
His skin snow white.
How does he ever get a wink of sleep?
***
I get really excited when a prompt sends an author off on an unexpected tangent. Here, Diane Mayr found that the prompt she contributed today did just that. “I wanted to find out the difference between a wood and the woods. I came across an old use of the word that put everything in place for me.”
What Say You, Brothers Grimm?
By Diane Mayr
Wood, noun
Madness, Obs.
Someone set the bars
of madness so far
apart a Colossus can
slip through, yet I,
the grandmother to
a girl in a cloak and
hood, can neither go
in nor out, fearful that
the wolf of my soul will
eat me alive, here,
in my own wood.
***
Late arrivals:
Everyone, please welcome newcomer Kay McGriff, who is a Poetry Friday blogger at A Journey Through the Pages.
I lost my head
when I strolled
through the woods
late yesterday.
I set it down
just to rest
a moment in the shadows
that stretched toward dusk.
Then I rose
and ambled onward,
never missing it at first.
by Kay McGriff
***
Mary Lee Hahn is blogging alongside us at her site. You can read her post about today’s poem here. I love the simplicity of this poem. With snow falling on the East Coast today, I think Mary Lee’s poem will speak to many of us.
there was nothing
left
for me
to
do
but rest my head
on a pillow
of fallen
oak leaves,
close my eyes,
and dream
of
spring
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016
***
Catherine Flynn also pointed out that many of us used words in common today. That would be an interesting thing to explore. Maybe next year, our prompt will be a short list of random words that must be included in our poems. Hmm…
I’m a still, silent witness
to sun circling,
moon wheeling,
stars spinning.
I lie in this forest
evergreen trees towering above me,
shadows and sunlight
dancing across my face.
I’ve felt raindrops, cold and fat,
pelting me,
eroding my gray granite surface.
Snowflakes fluttering from low clouds
have shrouded me.
I’ve heard the wind
whistling and whispering,
birds’ wings whirling
raccoons and squirrels
scampering across this bed of pine needles
that cradle me.
Overhead, stars are spinning
moon is wheeling,
sun is circling,
I’m a still, silent witness.
by Catherine Flynn
***
Another Poetry Friday regular who’s blogging our project is Jone MacCulloch. You can read her full post about this poem at DeoWriter.
The Face
In the park
listens.
The elderly man
crying. His boyhood friend
just died.
Star crossed lovers
plotting
their next rendezvous.
A child
singing
about spiders.
It’s this way
each day.
The face
never
revealing secrets.
© 2016 Jone Rush MacCulloch all rights reserved
***
I’m very happy to see a prose entry today. Short prose pieces also lend themselves to a daily writing practice. Thanks for sharing this creation story, Molly Hogan.
Molly says, “For some reason this picture spoke to me of clouds and legend, and my response is in prose, rather than poetry. ”
The Origin of the White Boulder
By Molly Hogan
Long ago, not at the beginning, but soon thereafter, when the earth was young and the green of the land blazed against a brilliant blue sky, the clouds lived at peace with the sky and the land. Though the world was new, they understood that they were irrevocably joined and that each one enhanced the other. And for many, many years, all was peaceful and the clouds and skies drifted over the land and the people were happy.
Then one day a small cloud formed. It drifted through the sky, forming, reforming, shape-shifting as small clouds do. It rode the air currents and came and went as the sky the land and the elder clouds bid it.
But as time passed, this small cloud grew and as he grew, he began to change. Instead of drifting with the other clouds above the land, dancing over lakes and mountaintops, he sought to make mischief. Day after day he drew close to the land to form great, dense banks of fog. He laughed as he hid the fleecy white sheep from the farmers and the ports from weary sailors seeking safe harbor.
And at last Land grew tired of his pranks and spoke to him coldly, saying, “Go back to your place, Young Cloud. Leave the people be.”
In his pride the cloud thought, “Who is Land to order me about? For I am far more powerful than she. I can cover the tops of the mountains, hide the sea, and block the very rays of the sun.”
And in his anger he covered the land, blocking her from the sky and from the sun’s light. Day after day he refused to leave and each day he spread further and higher. Land grew ever more angry and rumbled her warnings and laughter no longer drifted on the breeze from the homes of the people.
Weeks passed and the plants began to sag and rot in the earth and the people wept. Still Young Cloud would not leave and in his pride and arrogance, he ignored the final warnings of Sky, Land, and Clouds. At last, the Clouds gathered, dark with fury, and thundered their displeasure at him. The earth trembled below him and the sky lit with flashes of lightning.
And in that instant, banished, Young Cloud tumbled from the sky to the earth, transformed from lightest vapor to heaviest boulder. And there he remains, forever immobile, earthbound. And once again Cloud, Land and Sky lived in harmony and the people were happy.
DAY 9 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT
See you tomorrow for Day 9.
Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:
Sunday, February 7
FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine.
Note: You will find links to all of the Week 1 poems at this post.
Tweet
2016 Found Poem Project: Day 8
It’s Day 8 of our 2016 daily write-in. This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. Thanks to all of the poets and writers who contributed objects for our daily prompts.
For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.
Before we get to today’s prompt, I have an AMAZING treat for all of you.
I’ve been corresponding with my friend Joanne Polner, a photographer and mother of one of my best high school friends. Joanne read all of our poems about the antique box on Day 1 and wrote this response poem for us! I’m sharing it here, with her permission.
The Box Poems
I’ve got the chills
From the secrets
let out to breathe
I turn from poem
to poem and feel
the feather of
inspiration—
the kind that makes
you hold your
breath.
Is it life
or death?
or the spirit
of so many souls
released into
our world?
My rapid heart makes
my face blush;
The tips
of my fingers
are cold
as I slide the
pages
back under
the cover
of
the box.
— Joanne R. Polner
Joanne also sent us a note about the poem. “You see that I have transformed the concept of the individual poems of your contributors into a collection kept hidden ‘lo these many years.’ Truly, I felt those varying emotions that I wrote about. Praises for your contributors!”
Reading Joanne’s poetic response to our work filled me with joy. This is what doing a community writing project is all about, expanding our community and inviting people to join us as readers and writers.
***
As I was going through potential prompts, I noticed a few themes developing among the objects we found. One category of FOUND OBJECTS is pieces of art.
Poetry written in response to art is often called “ekphrastic poetry.” You can read more about this form at the Poetry Foundation.
I wonder whether our poems will focus on the art itself, or on the person or process of making it.
FOUND: SCULPTURE IN THE WOODS
The only note Diane Mayr included with this contribution is “Southern New Hampshire University.” Maybe she’ll enlighten us a bit more in today’s comments.
The sculpture reminds me of the famous poem, “Ozymandias.”
My process today was to personify the sculpture. Also, I wanted to work on twinning this sculpture with the Moon, but didn’t want to weigh the poem down. I decided to put the Moon in the title, and something very surprising happened.
When the Moon Fell to Earth
By Laura Shovan
One day
I will lay
my body down
in the forest,
face tipped
to the canopy
of branches,
and wait.
Falling light
will pass this way
warm
my stony face,
move on.
And I will learn
the stillness
of a stone.
***
Linda Baie’s poem also uses the verb “wait.” And, of course, if you’re waiting, perhaps you are waiting for someone.
Lost Love
It may take longer than you can wait,
but my eyes are open.
The spell has broken,
and my mouth allows a whisper:
“I’m on my way.”
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
***
Jessica Bigi sent me a note about her poem for today. She focused on sounds and what we can learn from them.
Where Have the Forests Gone?
By Jessica Bigi
Lesson
Not a feather falling
Hums of angry toothed chains
Rolling claws of monsters
Man says it is quiet when a tree falls
Lesson
I can hear them crying
Screams of this world being torn and broken
Dreams of my forest children fading
I’m as old as Bulent light
Lesson
I know which direction they fall
Grandfather rock of mountains and sky
Block foundations of ancient cities
Lesson
windy songs of a billion leave
Lesson
Silences
My voice skips across life’s streams
I too face uncertainties of seasons’ change
***
Heidi Mordhorst of the blog My Juicy Little Universe has a series of questions to ask our forest face.
lost not found
bold white bruin man
where your boulder feet?
where your legs,
your stone torso,
your swinging arms?
they crash on
through the forest:
white columns of motion
can’t think what they’ve lost,
lost on the way
bare gash of narrow eye
bare slash of missing mouth
–Heidi Mordhorst 2016
all rights reserved
***
I hope you’ll head over to Carol Varsalona’s blog, Beyond LiteracyLink, where she is celebrating a huge milestone. Carol’s 500th blog post is about a daily writing practice and includes her contribution for today. Congratulations, Carol!
I lie among the shadows of mid-day sun
professing nothing, just residing
with body buried deep within a barren land.
You question what lies beyond my half-smirk,
my reckless abandonment of wholeness.
Half-truths, broken thoughts buried alongside me
within the shadowed forest search no more
for the stillness awakens wonder.
I ask nothing more than you open my eyes,
freeing my soul to continue pondering
the fullness of life in the vast expanse of universe.
©Carol Varsalona, 2016
***
We all need to lighten up a bit after staring at our serious forest face. Donna Smith of Mainely Write came to our rescue.
Herman, the Hermit
By Donna Smith
The hermit crab,
Delightedly, had gone
So far afield,
Returning with
A brand new home,
Though cumbersome
To wield.
With face on back
Who knows which way
He’s headed? To or fro?
And who would mess
With this fierce home
With room enough
to grow.
His girlfriend should be
So impressed
To see his smiling face;
But hoped she wouldn’t
Nag him that
He’d slowed to a
snail’s pace.
***
I’m intrigued by Margaret Simon’s note about process: “I am learning that I have to write before reading anyone else’s responses. So today I wrote a fractured limerick. It doesn’t follow the rules and rather than force rhyme which I am never very good at, I decided to just butcher the form.” What do you do, poets, read responses first, or wait until after you have drafted your poem?
Stone Head
By Margaret Simon
Stone head slips a wink and sly smile
in the forest, long and deep.
His angle is awkward.
His skin snow white.
How does he ever get a wink of sleep?
***
I get really excited when a prompt sends an author off on an unexpected tangent. Here, Diane Mayr found that the prompt she contributed today did just that. “I wanted to find out the difference between a wood and the woods. I came across an old use of the word that put everything in place for me.”
What Say You, Brothers Grimm?
By Diane Mayr
Wood, noun
Madness, Obs.
Someone set the bars
of madness so far
apart a Colossus can
slip through, yet I,
the grandmother to
a girl in a cloak and
hood, can neither go
in nor out, fearful that
the wolf of my soul will
eat me alive, here,
in my own wood.
DAY 9 FOUND OBJECT PROMPT
See you tomorrow for Day 9.
Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:
Sunday, February 7
FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine.
Note: You will find links to all of the Week 1 poems at this post.
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February 7, 2016
2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 7 and Week 2 Prompts
Congratulations! We made it through Week 1 of this year’s daily writing project.
It’s Day 7 of our 2016 daily write-in. As you know, this year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. We have a new writing prompt for every day in February.
The object of this project is to turn off our inner critics, play with a daily writing practice, and share the results in a community setting.
For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post. At the end of the month, I’ll have prizes for the most frequent contributors. However, there’s no obligation to write every day. Drop in as often as you like.
FOUND: Blood Letting Knife
Today’s prompt from Jone MacCulloch falls into the functional object category. The object, which Jone photographed at a Lewis and Clark presentation, was used for blood letting.
I can’t wait to see what kinds of words streamed out of everyone’s poem-veins today.
The blade prompted Jessica Bigi to set her poem at a barber shop.
How Rumors Start
By Jessica Bigi
Santa Fe Golden Tooth
Barbershop chatter
Silver spurred boots
Spring a ghostly tall
Of gold up there
In those hills
Not to wise Billy barber
Strangely Disappeared
Chatter- chatter-
Chatter Santa Fe
Golden Tooth
Barbershop chatter
Diane Mayr’s poem makes a good bridge between the barbershop gossip and the historical significance of today’s found object.
A Close Shave
By Diane Mayr
The head is tilted
so that the neck is
exposed to the hands
of an expert who with
the flick of a wrist
can deftly de-whisker,
or, as was the case
hundreds of years ago,
restore balance to
the humors in a body
by the letting of blood.
Instead of focusing on the knife in the image, my attention was caught by the brass bowl. I seem to be rhyming a lot this month!
Letting Go
By Laura Shovan
I am a bowl
to catch the blood
as it flows from your arm
in a hot, red flood.
A circle of brass
ringed with rust —
rest me under the cut
where the blade was thrust.
The blade is sharp.
The cut is deep.
Watch the blood drip dripping
until you’re asleep.
Maybe I should change the title to “Bad Medicine.”
I like the way Molly Hogan repurposes the blade in this poem. Molly is also blogging alongside our project. Check out her post.
Before the Photo
by Molly Hogan
A simple blade in capable hands
transforms stick
to whittled whistle,
kisses apple’s russet skin
twirling off
one
long
swirling spiral,
and sculpts a blushing peach
into glistening golden slices,
hitching a bit as it nicks
into the deeply crevassed pit.
Wiped clean on cotton cloth
discarded with a careless toss into
the shallow metal bowl
burnished vibrations echo
and fade
as the simple blade
rocks
back and forth
slowly
to
rest.
Linda Baie writes in, “I did some research, didn’t exactly find the instrument, but close, and then imagination took over. Interesting picture!”
Growing Up at Louie’s General Store
We let him have the back table,
that old man from down the way,
leaning close with old eyes.
He cut tobacco’s leaves for need,
and earned his own pinch for the day’s end.
Men dropped in to fill their pipes
not those who could afford to keep a stash at home,
but those scrapping a few pennies
for the evening’s smoke,
and the evening’s talk.
Low voices ask how things are going;
other’s answer, “fine, could be warmer,”
and take another puff.
Others who enter stay away,
eyes watering, nose crinkling at the reek.
Smoke eddies around that table,
a curtain that keeps others out,
just those old men passing the evening,
cronies all, smoking their pipes.
At last, they leave, empty their pipes in the bowl.
It’s my job to clean it out back,
then I can go home.
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
Catherine Flynn describes a common problem that happens when we DO know what an object is. In contrast to our Day 3 mystery object (which turned out to be moth eggs), “Maybe my problem was that I had an idea about what this object is and couldn’t see any other possibilities,” Catherine writes. What do you think, poets? Do you prefer the mystery or the knowing when you sit down to write?
When curing chronic fevers
was a mystery,
doctors thought blood-letting
was the remedy.
Like one afflicted,
a story burns inside me.
I won’t be healed
until words flow unrestricted
from pen to page.
Just as blood once poured
from an incision made with a surgeon’s
keen-edged scalpel
and pooled in a battered, rusty bowl,
my words coalesce into
the shape of something new
and I am cured (for now).
By Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core.
I know that you are all chomping at the bit for the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS. We will have one guest host this week. Thank you to Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche (Day 10).
DAY 8 PROMPT contributed by Diane Mayr (February 8)
DAY 9 PROMPT contributed by Mary Lee Hahn (February 9)
DAY 10 PROMPT contributed by Margaret Simon (February 10 at REFLECTIONS ON THE TECHE)
DAY 11 PROMPT contributed by Linda Baie (February 11)
DAY 12 PROMPT contributed by Buffy Silverman (February 12)
DAY 13 PROMPT contributed by Linda Baie (February 13 — Happy Birthday, Robbie!)
DAY 14 PROMPT contributed by Diane Mayr (February 14 — Happy Valentine’s Day!)
Leave your writing in the blog comments (feel free to post a poem or response in the comments of any project-related post). Be sure to note which day/prompt your poem or prose short goes with so I can post it on the correct day. Send in your writing ANY TIME — early, late. As long as I receive it by February 29, it will be posted along with the object of the day.
Perfect attendance is not a requirement of this project. Write and share your work as often as you like, even if it’s only once. The goal is to practice and share, not to polish, and certainly not to aim for perfection.
Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:
Monday, February 1
FOUND OBJECT: 100 year-old mailing box
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Brenda Harsham.
Tuesday, February 2
FOUND OBJECT: Fancy peppers and produce
Poems by: Mary Lee Hahn, Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Margaret Simon, Jennifer Lewis.
Wednesday, February 3
FOUND OBJECT: Moth eggs
Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Diane Mayr, Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Linda Baie, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn.
Thursday, February 4
FOUND OBJECT: Table fan
Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Carol Varsalona, Catherine Flynn.
Friday, February 5 at Guest Blog, Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme
FOUND OBJECT: Tomato Moon
Poems by: Matt Forrest Esenwine, Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Margaret Simon, Carol Varsalona, Laura Shovan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie.
Saturday, February 6
FOUND OBJECT: Antique Dolls
Poems by: Jennifer Lewis, Diane Mayr, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Catherine Flynn, Heidi Mordhorst, Laura Shovan, Carol Varsalona, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Mary Lee Hahn.
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