Tag Archives: poem about writing poetry

Poet vs. Prosaist: NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 7

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Poet vs. Prosaist

I make the words just snap in line.
The rules of rhyme and meter, mine.
One line suggests the next in time,
limited by theme and rhyme.
I step aside and words rule me.
I love the puzzle of poetry!

Your rhyming games are your excuse.
A form of literary abuse.
Your joking rhymes become the norms
while you eschew more serious forms.
If you would cast your poems aside,
You’d find where deeper thoughts reside.

The prompt today was to list all of your identities, then to divide them into ones that make you feel powerful and vulnerable and to have one identity from each of the different  sides of your personality talk to each other.

Powerful: poet, artist, friend, pet wrangler, swimmer, art collector, traveler, gardener, photographer, driver, girlfriend, teacher, sister, advisor, beloved.

Vulnerable: Stepmother, friend, daughter, widow, wife, senior citizen, kid, dancer, guitar player, singer, sorority girl, hippie, sister-in-law, home owner, prose writer, advisee, student,patient, lover.

 

.http://www.napowrimo.net/day-seven-5/

 

To Get a Poem (5 Quadrilles)

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To Get a Poem

(5 Quadrilles)

Leave the dirty dishes in the sink.
A dishwasher washes the poems away.
Allow cat hair to accumulate on the footstool.
Cat hair is a city for poems.
Let plants go another day before watering,
lest poems in the soil should be flushed away.

Let lie the crumpled sock a friend’s child
left in the sleeping loft.
Don’t destroy the poem of it.
Don’t bother to rake leaves.
Poems cannot live in neat piles.
Leave the soupstain on your shirt .
Tomato and basil are ingredients of poetry.

There is a poem in the confetti of paper on the bedroom carpet
and in the bread crumbs and the orphaned straight pins.
Bills in the “TO BE PAID” folder?
Each is the embryo of a poem.
Paying them now would be poetry murder.

In my living room, there is more poetry
in the blankets of dust on glass tables
than the burnished surface of the clay vase.
There is more poetry, more poetry, more poetry
than can ever be tidied up in this world or the next.

Falling poetry snarls in the weave of the hammock.
All of this raw poetry lies around us, primed for the collecting.
Messy poetry and dusty.
You won’t die from, but you could live on
poetry that’s hidden in the messy corners of your world.

 

For dVerse Poets. The prompt was to write a quadrille on the subject of poetry.

 

A Proclivity to Rhyme

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A Proclivity to Rhyme
(All the Time)

You may guess there are drawbacks to writing as I do,
for lately, I must find a rhyme for everything I view.
This matching up of words that rhyme has come to be compulsion.
A harmless one, but still one sometimes met with some revulsion.

When making jokes or making bread or making whoop-de-do,
I always think of words that rhyme and then I voice a few.
So when a lover bites my neck and with my hair is toying,
and the only word that I can find to rhyme is “cloying;”
it certainly gets in the way of my successful “boying!”

Or when a good friend feeds me and under-cooks the meat,
as I run through my retinue to find a rhyme that’s neat;
and she happens to hear me just as I curse the red,
wishing she had opted for a well-done steak instead,

my sincere protestations do not seem to be accepted.
If only that one choice of rhymes had not been intercepted,
perhaps she would still ask me to her luncheons and her dinners,
Instead, I’ve wound up on her list of culinary sinners!

As much as I like rhyming, sometimes it is a curse,
for what is my best habit may also be my  worse.
If only long ago I’d learned how not to rhyme each word,
the last one in this poem would not need to be “absurd.”

Another very golden oldie that happens to fit the prompt perfectly. The prompt word today is proclivity.