Finish Line

The challenge of writing a poem a day,
searching for structures, topics, and rhymes,
is nothing compared to the challenge (that may
be familiar to others whose hair's going gray)
of remembering anything thirty times.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(I came close to forgetting a few times, but happily managed to write a poem every day this month. They're not all great, but I'm happy with a few of them, and I had fun practicing.)

Haphazard Poems

Today's prompt at Poetic Asides is "Write a haphazard poem. The poem itself could be haphazardly put together, I suppose. But it could also be about a haphazard situation. Or whatever haphazard thing you can bend the poem into."

Since I had no other ideas, I decided to use random words. I got words from Random Word Generator in sets of 6, and made a rule that the poem must have 6 lines and must include all 6 words from one randomly generated set. It turned out to be quite a fun writing exercise that I will probably use again. Here are my three attempts for today.


Haphazard 1: dial fallout dusk fermentation host colony

At dusk the fallout was bad enough
to reach an eight on the dial.
The human host was beginning to panic but
the fermentation was still not complete
so the colony in the shoulder sent toward the brain
soothing messages of delay: All is well.


Haphazard 2: details defector moonbeam behavior uptown hollow

On an uptown street he paused for breath.
A moonbeam lit the pavement and suddenly
his behavior seemed to him inexplicable,
his reasoning hollow, the details drowned
by the knowledge of what he’d become.
Informer. Defector. Betrayer. Enemy.


Haphazard 3: clock group ambivalent fashionable aboveground belongings

The fashionable ones live aboveground,
their belongings around them like pets,
their beliefs ambivalent, their lives tied
to the progress of a clock. I did not choose
not to be part of that group, but even so
if I had a choice I would stay below.

~ Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Important Details

I wonder how we can know other people at all.
For example, I would not be the same me
without the sound of echoes under the street
crossing to school, or the horse chestnut tree
that lost my tooth, or the gooey sweet
cookies at Grandma’s recitals. You have too
a million million moments that are you
and who’s to say any one of them is small?

~ Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a poem titled "Important ____.")

Brain

I dreamed I held my brain in my hands,
in two parts, heavy, slippery, awkward.
I had to ask a passing stranger for help.
As we carefully fit the halves together,
I wondered how to get it back in my head.
Would it hurt to take off the top of my skull?
Could I do it myself with a mirror to help?
Then I remembered this had happened before
and I had managed fine. But I wondered,
How was I thinking without my brain?
How flexible and clever the mind must be
to function this well with my brain in my hands.


~ Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a "take off" poem. I really dreamed this last night. I'm not sure what that says about me.)

Turn Around Again

So much declared without knowing
—Turn away, turn around again.
So many petty thoughts showing
—Turn away, turn around again.
So many lofty plans failing
—Turn away, turn around again.
So much lost time unavailing
—Turn away, turn around again.
So now for inward appraising
—Turn away, turn around again.
So to a welcome rephrasing
—Turn away, turn around again.

~ Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(From a prompt at NaPoWriMo to write a call-and-response poem.)

Physical Therapy

My shoulder thinks I'm trying to kill it
with exercises like disco moves
that reach where it doesn't want to go.
The bright side is, when it improves,
I'll be ready to go on that dancing show.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write an exercise poem.)

Lost and Found

Once again I realized I'd drifted off the path;
Once again I needed help but felt ashamed to ask.
Once again I put my pride aside and turned to You;
Once again You set me right and whispered what to do.
Once again I hope I won't forget the path You've shown,
But when I do, I trust Your patient love will guide me home.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a poem about something lost and regained.)

Dandelion

It's a bright yellow flower that shares
a cheer made to lighten our cares,
but the neighbors will say
they don't like the way
the cheer spreads from our yard into theirs.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Limericks are made for last-minute poem writing.)

Star Field

A blanket on the grass, the two of us
gazing into midnight.
You watched for meteors, satellites,
anything that moved.
I watched for them too. But all too soon
you’d seen enough and we headed back,
you folding the blanket and I the unused map
of the steady constellations.

~ Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a poem with the title "Star ____.")

Pygmalion's Sweeper

I wonder about Pygmalion's wife.
Not that I should even care,
I just sweep his shop for an honest price,
ivory dust in my clothes and hair.
But first he sighs for almost a year
over this beautiful statue he made,
and then a look-alike bride appears
and the statue is gone, so, quite a trade.
He says they're happy. She says little,
but every day she follows him in
and watches him work with gauge and chisel
and touches her face like she’s feeling her skin.
And a fine white dust drifts down like snow

And I sweep it up for her after they go.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(From a prompt at NaPoWriMo to write a poem in the voice of a minor character from a fairy tale or myth.)

Reed-singer

Air-shaper
Chord-maker
Finger-twirler
Bellows-worker
Ear-shouter
Room-crowder
Grandma-pleaser
Cheer-bringer


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(From a prompt at NaPoWriMo to write a "kenning" poem, a kind of Norse-inspired riddle.)

Cool

Some days my hair wants to flip to the side

Or part in a novel place,

And my kids will say, “Cool hair, Mom,”

With half a smirk on their face.

Perhaps they don’t mean to compliment me.

Perhaps they are not sincere.

Perhaps they don’t know it’s a proven fact

Moms are cooler than they appear.

~Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a cool poem.)

Home

The sound of home then was music.
Old records on the turntable,
jarring notes from instrument practicers,
the piano played by whoever passed.
The taste of home was potato salad
made from Mom's special recipe.
The sight of home was books, books, everywhere.
Home now is filled with music.
Home now is filled with books.
Home now is made from recipes,
some inherited and some our own:
potato salad, reading, music, love.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(From a prompt at NaPoWriMo to write a "sound of home" poem.)

Hymn

Person by person the chapel fills
with greetings and handshakes, the noise
of getting settled, but then
a hush spreads through the room
and music appears
that was always
there but we
did not
hear.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(An attempt at a nonet.)

College Burger Shop

I don’t remember the name of the place

but twenty-five years ago they had the best fries,

seasoned, thick, and just-right greasy.

A Friday night back then: crowds swirling

up to the counter and past the tables,

laughing, squeezing in four to a bench,

the noise astounding, the smell encompassing.

There I am, at a table for two,

except someone asked to borrow the other chair

so now it’s me and my book and my fries.

And I’m okay with that. Or rather, in this memory

I’m okay with that; but as my mind turns back

I wonder, a little, how okay I was then.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a poem about a food establishment.)

Two

Some things are made to be in pairs. Cleaning out a basement,

I found flattened under a box of books one ancient shoe,

the leather cracked, the laces gone. Without thinking

I looked around for the other one before I caught myself.

Silly brain, trying to match up useless junk,

trying to make sense of uneasy aloneness.

~ Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(From a prompt at NaPoWriMo to write a poem with the idea of doubles.)

An empty mind can offer little aid

An empty mind can offer little aid

To craft a poem close to midnight’s stroke.

The blinking cursor on the screen displayed

Derides me typing words I then revoke.

A frantic grasp for some elusive thought

Yields nothing worth expressing in this verse,

A stream of consciousness with nothing caught,

A vague ambition I cannot coerce.

But now a starting line appears and stays;

The rhyme and meter motivate the rest;

Though not profound or likely to amaze,

It seems that something real has coalesced.

This finished work thus illustrates a crime:

Attempted sonneting while pressed for time.


~ Tamary Shoemaker
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(I was tempted to call this poem "Blank Verse," referring to a mind going blank, but as a former English major, I just couldn't bring myself to label it inaccurately.)

Fortune Cookie Fortunes That Might Have Been Helpful

You will meet a tall, dark stranger and inflict injuries unless you watch where you’re biking.

Your hard work will pay off soon, except for that project the client isn’t going to pay you for.

Consider turning off switches before removing broken light bulbs.

Try something new, but not that hairstyle you’ve been thinking about.

You are talented in many ways, but it still may take a while to find a job.

One of your lifelong dreams will come true, and you’re not going to like it once you get it.

Try something new, but say no to the calamari. Seriously, you’ll regret it.

~ Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(From a prompt at NaPoWriMo to write a fortune cookie poem.)

Caught Up

After much effort I’m glad to announce

The dishes are washed, the laundry’s done,

The house is tidied, the floor is swept,

And the budget is all caught up for once.

So here are the updated family rules.

No using dishes. Eat out of your hands;

Do it outside so the floor will stay clean.

One change of clothes will be issued per week.

And don’t spend money ever again.

I might have a chance to stay caught up then.


~Tamary Shoemaker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a serious or silly poem. When I say things like this to my family, they laugh, but I kind of mean it.)

Book spine poems

A NaPoWriMo prompt suggested this fun idea. Here are the ones I came up with.