Here’s a poem I wrote in response to a photo prompt on Vox Poetica, a photo called Alberta Bound by photographer Michael Lee Johnson.
Stopped by the gate, you pace the place old
wheels have smoothed, tracks so worn
that’s all you see, never mind the fact
they cross over, go on. You believe
in the gate, though your lips shape
other words. Your hands trace the rubbed
wood, paint peeled—listen, you may as well
leave it here. There’s a way out that’s everywhere—
see how the sky goes around and through? Despite
the signs, forgiveness is the usual procedure: an inch
per century pushing up through plates.
The pace isn’t what’s important here. Out
in the estuary the same light grows, seeds
ripen and shake: little fists opening.
I love the tagline for Vox Poetica: “It’s just poetry. It won’t bite.”
I wrote this poem as part of a 30 day poetry challenge I’ve undertaken this August with a friend and fellow poet, and it’s helping me reaffirm that creativity is there in abundance. I don’t have to ration it or fear there won’t be enough. There is plenty there, and plenty of places and people to share it with.
Try writing a poem to a photo prompt from Vox Poetica, Rattle, or the 20 day poem challenge coming up at Ekphrastic Review.
Inspired by Los Angeles poet Haryette Mullen and her book Urban Tumbleweed, today a group of students and I took a tanka walk around the Metropolitan Learning Center building in NW Portland.
Each writer made notes about their exterior and interior landscape. Walking quietly and carrying a small piece of paper, we wrote down what we saw, heard, touched, smelled, thought, and felt as we moved through the building.
This is one of my favorite activities, because I love writing and I love walking. Last year, I took a tanka walk with students at Cleveland High School, and I was so inspired by their creativity that I decided to take the project with me into my own backyard. Continue reading “A tanka walk with Haryette Mullen”
Try writing a semi-glosa like Barbara Crooker’s poem, “A Woman is her Mother.” Crooker is the author, most recently, of Gold. Find out more about her work here. The semi-glosa is a “nonce” (or invented) form. You’ll need 4 short lines from favorite poems, stories, or songs.
I asked Barbara Crooker how she wrote the poem and this is what she replied. Thank you, Barbara!
“The glosa is a 15th c. Spanish form most commonly seen in English by Canadian poet P. K. Page. It uses a 4 line stanza from another poet. Each line appears at the end of a ten line stanza (4 stanzas to the poem). Lines 6, 9, and 10 are supposed to rhyme. \
So I was really messing around with the form in this one; first, I’m not using a 4 line stanza, but rather, 4 lines from 4 different writers, 4 different poems. And none of them end the line, nor do I follow the stanza length or rhyme pattern. Instead, I really “nonce it up,” creating my own pattern.
I’m doing something more like a pantoum, where line 2 of the first stanza becomes line 1 of the second; line 3 of the 1st stanza becomes line 2 of the second, line 4 in the 1st becomes line 3 in the second, etc. It’s loose, but I wanted the lines to be interwoven. I’m also using a muted rhyme scheme: other/air weather; other/everywhere/here; flowers/for us, branch/flesh; back/talk; forward/everywhere, telephone/alone. So, it’s both formal, and “not,” in that I’m doing something pattern-like, without actually following a pattern exactly, whether a “received form” or one I’ve made up. . . .