after the tents came down

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week involved participants sharing a line or two from their own poetry for other members of the community to use in an original poem. You will find the contributed lines, here. I decided to use lines from five of the generous souls, and in honor of BTP's last prompt,** wrote the following:


after the tents came down

just after the tents came down
a wind kicked up from the valley -
the blue updraft of dust swirled around
a leather satchel, left behind.

inside the bag was a jet black wig
and the shining aquamarine satin
of the dancer's costume, tiny rip
under the arm, stitched 100 times.

it was left behind, and no one noticed,
that in her haste, Mona's once-sequined thoughts,
no longer shone, and what was left was
woozy haze from the bottle she drank between shows.

it began as a little shot with the clowns,
downed just to be polite, and became over time
the courage in her cup, to get her through
each routine with a placid smile covering the hurt.

and now at the next town, Mona sobered up
and realized that her bag was gone,
and she stared naked and alive in the mirror,
marveling at the miracle of the ordinary remainder.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.


Thank you to the following BTP contributors for the following borrowed lines:

from Viv: marvel at the miracle of the ordinary
from Dick Jones: From the valley, a blue updraft of dust and seeds and wings.
from Pamela: Sequined thoughts no longer shine from unclear memory
from Kim Nelson: enough courage in my cup to get me through
from Joseph Harker: We downed them just to be polite

** When I learned that the organizers of Big Tent Poetry were taking down the tent, I was both saddened and grateful at the same time. I was so happy to find them and hop on from the very first prompt through a wonderful year of weekly prompts. I have enjoyed the community members I have met, some of whose blogs I now regularly follow. I have enjoyed weekly poetry writing so much, I plan to continue, and I will be checking out some other poetry prompt sites. I can't imagine any being quite the same as BTP, but change is indeed the only constant, and change is good. So off we go to continue writing in another way, shape, or manner, and thank you to Big Tent Poetry for the creative, inspiring, fun, and fulfilling writing prompts. (Lucky for me, I didn't do a poem a day in April, so I can go back to about 26 more prompts they offered, and write to those until I find my new poetry blog niche!)

a streetlight named bob

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was to take an old poem and re-work it. I selected one I had written back in 2007 called, a streetlight named bob.

a streetlight named bob (a revision)

from her childhood bed,

the mattress now replaced,

she raised the window shade a little

in the dark -- and found the view

to be the same as it ever was.

she used to talk (in her head)

to the light across the street,

finding comfort in the quiet transference.

she named the light "Bob,"

because it sounded more friendly than "God."

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

dead man's float

Big Tent Poetry had some wonderful prompts this week. I plan to come back to them soon to write to some of them. I especially want to write a poem about things in mason jars, and one about what's at the center -- and I have some ideas brewing. In the interest of self-preservation in a trying and busy week, I am cheating a little, and offer a micro-poem about floating that I actually wrote back in January for A River of Stones.

swimming in the deep end
beyond all the words --
the dead man's float makes me feel most alive.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

the protest

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was seven prompts, boiled down to one that I chose: write what you would shout down the street.

This is a true story (with a little poetic license) of what I witnessed on a family trip to Washington, D.C. this past week, so I felt I really had to select this particular prompt. My nine-year old niece saw her first protest. It was very cool to see, actually. The rhythm and cadence of the protesters' urgent refrain, sung in military drill-sergeant fashion, is still in my head.


the protest


What does democracy look like?!
THIS is what democracy looks like!!

There must have been 35 of them
college students and others of the same age

What does democracy look like?!
THIS is what democracy looks like!!

They were marching down C street
heading to Capitol Hill – shouting with intensity

What does democracy look like?!
THIS is what democracy looks like!!

The little girl wanted to know what
hydro-fracking was and why it was bad

What does democracy look like?!
THIS is what democracy looks like!!

Goosebumps formed on her arms
she felt the fervent cries of the protesters

What does democracy look like?!
THIS is what democracy looks like!!

Posters and signs bobbed up and down
like lifeboats floating out to sea

What does democracy look like?!
THIS is what democracy looks like!!

Congress was not in session.


Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

what isn't true

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was once again seven different prompts for those dedicated poem-a-day-in-April writers! I picked just one. I wrote a poem that starts, “It’s not true that ______.”


what isn't true

It's not true that she could remember
every phone number for every place
she'd ever lived, but she could remember
three or four – and now that she has
a cell phone, she won't ever have another number.

It isn't true that she could remember
every kiss or embrace, but for certain
she did remember five or six – and now
that she had been married for more than 50 years,
she knows she will never kiss another.

It's not true that she could remember
every job she'd ever worked, but several
roles stood out as important or
fulfilling, and now that she is retired
she misses the grind and exhaustion.

It isn't true that she could remember
the plots of every book or movie
she read or saw, but she did remember gestalt
emotions of liking this one or that,
and she knew quality when she could feel it.

What is true, is that despite the slipping recall
for details, her organic memory of feelings
-- the very state of being in one present moment --
was real enough to make up for what might
otherwise be missing.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

paying for damage

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week included seven prompts again, for those writing a poem-a-day in April. It has been a busy week, so I am writing to just one prompt: Write about a broken window.

paying for damage

there were at least six of us
but I can only remember specifically four
who were tossing the rocks
up into the pine trees in the alleyway
for no good reason except we were bored.

one of us, and it might have been me,
but I think it was jimmy, because
he had the better arm, threw a rock
that went out of sight and to our horror
came down on the windshield of the car.

the cracking sound ricocheted through the trees
from the glass on the not-so-ordinary automobile.
it was mr. davison's collectible, well of course it was,
and the bottom dropped in all our stomachs
while instincts of childhood took over.

we ran, and we ran, and we ran out of breath
into the house, where we all sat on the couch
in a row, panting, silent and scared,
knowing we were now not only reckless,
but dishonest, against our better judgment.

it seemed like hours, but it was about 20 minutes
until my mother came in to find us
after getting the call; we confessed rather quickly
that yes, we broke the windshield, but didn't know who did it
-- and I think we really couldn't be sure.

two families split the cost
of replacing mr. davison's car windshield.
it was really expensive,
but I doubt anyone else still pays for the damage,
like I do.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

the dog bite

April is National Poetry month. Some people write a poem a day for thirty days. Not me. I'll stick with at least one per week to post on Fridays as usual, and I'll write them when they come to me. (I am also trying to write somewhat regularly on tiny river splash, too). The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was actually seven prompts, for those who might be doing a poem a day. I picked just one: write about being afraid of an animal. What resulted is a sort of a haibun, with prose followed by a short poem.

The dog bite

Some element of the dream was the same every time. She would be walking, and a dog would approach, and she would try not to show her fear, because she knew her fear would be felt by the animal and it would surely bite her. Despite all attempts to stay calm, to appease the malice, she knew it would bite through her hand – and she would wake up with a pounding heart at the moment the powerful incisors would puncture, with the strong jaw clamping down. Another time, riding her bike, the dog would chase her, and catch her, and of course, bite through her hand, pulling and stretching the skin away from her arm as she peddled away, as if it were taffy. That one was a large collie. Other times it was a German shepherd or a Doberman. They were big, vicious dogs. She would wake up, mostly at the moment of the bite, but sometimes just before. The strange thing is, in her waking life, she had never been bitten by a dog, and she really loved friendly dogs. Who could explain more than 30 years of an intermittent, recurring nightmare that seemed to have no basis? She found out, as she neared 40, that her great grandmother had been bitten badly by a dog when she was young. She didn't know if it was a bite through her hand, but she suspects it was. Can fear or memory be retained in the DNA and passed down to a future generation?

Great-grandmother Clorinda

prayed on her rosary beads.

She had seen her share of bad things,

and prayed for a peaceful death.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

sailing into the gale

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was to play around with some poetry toys. I chose a toy called Erasures, where one selects part of a known text, and then randomly "erases" a chosen percentage of the words with a click of the mouse. I erased 60% of the words from a selection of Out of the Fog by C.K. Ober. Then, I erased 50% of the remaining words. What was left inspired this little poem. It was a fun and mysterious process. The poem emerged - after hiding in plain sight.

sailing into the gale

sailing into the gale

there was shouting

from the direction

of those willing to rescue

the horn blew

insistently

until all from the lifeboats

were accounted for

every survivor but one

was wrapped

in the warmth and relief

of the rescuers' blankets

yet one lay barely

clinging to life

and they didn't

understand his resentment.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

a place to be

The prompt this week over at Big Tent Poetry was to write a poem about being stuck somewhere (inspired by a "stranded at the airport" episode). I guess this prompt drifted into current events in my mind. What is one's existence in moments of desolation?


a place to be

stranded
at the airport
when the tsunami
hit.

it took his home
and his life there.
he has no place
to go.

stranded
at the airport --
he has a place
to be.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

fundamental forces

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was to write a science-themed poem. I always did like physics.

fundamental forces

gravity

as it turns out

is the weakest

of the four

fundamental forces.

it is the agent that gives

weight to objects and causes them

to fall, when dropped.

aptly labeled,

the strong force

holds the nucleus

together and protects

from strong repulsion;

it has a short range, but

fiercely holds the particles

of physics intact.

electromagnetic force

has infinite range

and manifests as

the exchange force

between the charges

of positive and negative. it is

responsible for nearly every

phenomena found in the fields.

weak force seems like

an oxymoron and it is not

easy to explain.

yet weak interaction

is crucial to the structure

of the universe

because without it we would have

no decay or transmutation.

back to gravity, though.

do you see what gives life

weight?

do you see what will fall

if dropped?

it may be the weakest of the

fundamental forces, but

it is what keeps us standing here.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

[image found at particlephysics.ac.uk]

drifting off

This week's Big Tent Poetry prompt was a Wordle comprised of 12 words. These words happened to have been read over the shoulder of a woman by one of our circus leaders while she was stranded at an airport. The twelve words are: wake, gasp, slip, smile, thigh, defy, parade, tangle, boyish, typical, question, flame. For a bonus, we were asked to use one of three additional phrases she pilfered from this unsuspecting fellow traveler's novel: “Say more,” “There is also the matter of ____” and “He started by _____.”

I loved this and it brought out the quirky in me. This isn't so much a poem as a little excerpt of narrative. Please don't ask me about process. It just blurted out in about 2 minutes after looking at the words.


drifting off

Mr. Smith, I need to ask a few questions
about your daughter's odd behavior.

You see, and please don't gasp,
it is more than typical for her to
tangle her hair in the middle of class.
I don't mean twist her locks, I mean
really, really tangle.
She bares her teeth along with her
tattooed thigh underneath her
tie-dye slip of a dress –
and only to the male teachers, mind you.

Her crooked smile, flame-red hair,
and boyish figure flaunted,
are attracting a parade of weirdos
by her locker, and I defy you to explain
how this once high honors student
is failing every subject except for
Home and Careers.

There is also the matter of . . .

Mr. Smith? Mr. Smith!
Wake up! I am talking to you.


Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

inside-out day

In thinking about how not everyone celebrates the same holidays, or even appreciates the same traditions or celebrations or holidays, the prompt over at Big Tent Poetry was to create a festival, holiday or annual celebration, or to write the anti- of any of them — real or imagined — as a poem.

Since I could really use a holiday -- just to rest, read, and write poetry -- I decided to think about holiday in the "vacation" sense of the word. Then I got to thinking how if every day was a holiday, we might not appreciate it. (Although I would really like to test this out!) Then I decided to twist my own thought process and turn it inside out. And I arrived at the following poem, albeit rough and needing some tweaking . . .

inside-out day

the seams are facing out
in every possible place
we're racing and fasting
and there's no smile on my face

we go to work today
for a change from our leisure
the alarm clock's chime is sweet
wish we had this daily pressure

there'll be no salty breezes
nor lakeside sunny naps
no reading or relaxation
and definitely no snacks

seems we only appreciate stress
because it is so very foreign
can't wait til next year
to ring in this obligation



the fabric always seems finer on the inside-out


Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

giddyup modern art

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was to think of a title for a not-yet-published manuscript of our work that we may (or may not) have in mind, and then write the title poem. This is a title I have had in mind for a short story for some time, and I decided to give a poem a whirl.

giddyup modern art

if I had a manuscript
I would call it
giddyup modern art.

it's what I heard
the little girl say
to the metal sculpture.

she had asked what it was -
and to her it was a horse
even if it was a waterfall.

and I think that my poems
can be a river for me, and to you
they might be tree leaves . . .

blowing in the wind.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

Process notes: "Giddyup Modern Art," comes from some reality and some imagination. About 20 years ago, I overheard a child ask his father about the metal sculpture in front of my then office building. The father replied, "I think it is a horse." He did not go on to explain what modern art was. In my imagination, I became a little girl asking my parent about the sculpture, and my parent went on to explain modern art in great detail. At the absurdity of that thought, I decided that the little girl might say, giddyup modern art, to the sculpture at the end of that mini-lecture. I have always liked the line, and haven't ever forgotten it. This poem is my little take on radical desconstructionism.

toast

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was to think about something that is getting us down, and then write a poem as if a cure for the problem has already happened.

I struggled with this one. A couple things have been getting me down lately, but it seems ungrateful to whine about them. The weather has been severe, but I acknowledge that it is beautiful. I've had a rotten cold, but I am feeling better, and I certainly didn't have anything serious. My job is a giant ball of stress these days, and it certainly saps my creative energies, but I am lucky to have a good job. So what to write about?

I decided to pick something that had me feeling hopeless just a few of weeks ago, and already, we are hopeful as we anticipate the path to recovery. I am overjoyed.

toast

recently, she asked for toast

and just 4 weeks ago

that wouldn't have been

eventful at all

now the request

for crispy, heated slices of bread

gives me cause

to lift my voice in cheer

righteousness is restored

when a hatemonger's bullet can go

through the speech center

of a person's brain

and the voice of a patriot

is regained.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

*With this little poem, I am sending out a positive affirmation that with hard work, a full recovery for Rep. Gabrielle Giffords is possible.

kitchen gadgetry

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week is a Wordle. The assignment? Use any number of these words, (from one to all), and write a poem. The words: angle, handle, rotate, remote, blade, grind, function, cabinet, alert, float, darkening, and resistant. These words came from an ad in the Sunday paper. Just for fun, I used them all.

kitchen gadgetry

The kitchen is full of wonderful gadgets -

including the under-cabinet, folding-screen 9" TV

that can rotate 180 degrees and has its own tiny remote.

She wanders in, now and then,

to admire the functions of the tools and appliances,

with their handles, blades, and levers.

This one has five coffee-grind settings, and that one

is scratch-resistant. Silicone can be heated and frozen, and

most things are dishwasher-safe.

Occasionally, she sees a label with an alert

stating that the heating element must not

be fully immersed in water.

There must be an angle, then, before full immersion

at which the element may float safely

without the red ring of death darkening around the core.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

[Process notes: I couldn't help but be drawn to the world of kitchen gadgets and appliances. The "red ring of death" is a phrase known to those who have children with X-Box game systems. It has become a phrase symbolic of and synonymous with the demise of a beloved appliance.]

wedding day

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was very interesting:

"This week dig up a portrait photograph – in your home, computer, or on the web – of someone you know or someone you don’t. The photo cannot be one that you took.

The strategy this week is that the you will imagine the photographer and write about the subject as if from the point of view of the photographer. Try to stay consistent with this imagined photographer’s personality (the photographer can be the real photographer, if you know who that is, or he/she can be fictional — we’re giving you lots of latitude here!). . . . If you prefer, you can use the perspective of an omniscient author. . . "

wedding day

beautiful bride of 1940 --
I am freezing this moment in time.

serenity and faith are yours forever --
as you do not let past or future define you.

I see where you've come --
from wonder and pain and hope.

I see your thoughts --
as you know you are the second wife.

I see your purity and innocence --
as you venture forward knowing he will love you, too.

You have shaken loose tragedy,
yet my lens will hold you here.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

how to avoid vertigo with a low sodium diet

The prompt over at Big Tent Poetry involved thinking about foods that interest us, and write a "how to" poem -- how to eat, how to cook, how to grow that food. "Your food memories, your senses, your love of words, even your local market can provide you with the ingredients. All you need to do is cook up a poem!" Here is a weird little ditty that came to me earlier this week. I never did get back to change it.

How to avoid vertigo with a low sodium diet

salt isn't a devil,

but you know it won't help.

in fact it exacerbates

as far as we can tell.

a low sodium diet

is what we recommend

to keep the world from

spinning all around your head.

it will keep the sounds down

from inside your ears,

and you'll walk steady and strong

with any luck, for years.

choose the herbs and the lemon juice

and avoid all the processed;

pick the fruits and the veggies

and don't forget dark chocolate.

you'll miss capers and smoked fish

and sushi and breads,

but it sure beats vertigo and

wishing you were dead.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

nasturtium

The Big Tent Poetry prompt this week was fun. This is what I came up with after making an alliterative list, letting it sit for a day or two, picking one word on it, and then writing a poem. It needs some more development, but for now --

nasturtium

it was hard for her to say . . .

would she rather preserve

the beautiful, colorful blossoms

proliferating and bright --

reaching toward sunlight

with shiny, tissue-paper, veined petals

thriving with a modicum of neglect in poor soil?

or

would she rather consume

its deliciousness

in a salad or cucumber sandwich

with sweet, spicy, peppery taste

on the palate,

bringing a twist of the nose?

it was hard for her to say.

nasturtium:

abundant, edible dramatics with

shades of nectarine

and water lily-like leaves

and tangy, delicate, crunchiness.

Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

in balance with strength and with grace

The Big Tent Poetry prompt for this week was to write a poem about feet. "Write about your own two feet. . . . Write about inches and feet. Write about something with feet (like a chair or a centipede). Maybe you’ll get clever and write in meter (“feet” as units of rhythm)."

in balance with strength and with grace


bearing the weight of each day
these feet have walked miles and miles
up mountains and stairwells
and pathways and hallways
through moments in time.

some days have been light
as I waded on balls of my feet
through the cave river floors,
using arms to swim-guide me
through the moving currents.

some days have been heavy
as heels seemed to drag flat
against concrete floors of
hospitals and through doorways
of sadness or grief.

some days have been still
as my feet bore no weight
from their horizontal place
on my sick bed -- no movement
to be found save for breathing.

some days are whooshing
and joyful as I ski down the slopes
and glide and push on the snow
to move forward in
sheer exhilaration of spirit.

some days seem near weightless
as I snorkel on sea's surface
and gently kick the flippers from
my toes to propel me around
and around as I breathe from the sky.

most days I am happy to keep moving
and never stand still on these feet
that can hold me and keep me upright
or quiet but in balance with
strength and with grace.


Copyright © 2011 Nan P.

before the ball drops

The Big Tent poetry prompt this week is to write a list poem. Given the timing, this is what came forward for me.


before the ball drops

I will make my resolutions.
I will think loving thoughts.
I will make a grocery list.
I will make hors d'oeuvres.
ten
nine
eight
I will write a poem.
I will have a chocolate.
I will tidy up.
seven
six
five
I will have some coffee.
I will have some wine.
four
three
two
I will have some fun.
one
Happy New Year!!!!!

Copyright © 2010 Nan P.