April 6, 2015: For today’s prompt, write a things-not-as-they-appear poem. Poetry is filled with metaphors, similes, symbols, and layered meanings, so this should be a softball prompt. If you’re struggling, look at your current surroundings, pick an object, and turn it into a metaphor for something. Or think of somebody in the real world (mail person, gas station attendant, etc.) and make up a secret double life for them. C’mon, you can do this.
This prompt connected me with a line from Richard Russo’s Empire Falls, of which I’m currently reading. He wrote: “To his surprise he also discovered that it was possible to be good at what you had little interest in, just as it had been possible to be bad at something, whether painting or poetry, that you cared about a great deal.”
I marvel everyday at the amount of people that find themselves trapped in careers they hate. Sadly, it’s a necessary evil that must continue. But what baffles me the most is how unbelievably good some people are at professions they wish they didn’t have to do. This covers everything from police work to musicians to actors to teachers. And it seems to me, these people tend to excel despite their desire to run because they’ve become so amazingly good at hiding, those promoting them truly don’t know what lies beneath. They are being “Groomed” to take over something they don’t want, and powerless, it seems, to stop it. I felt like this was the very epitome of writing a “things-not-as-they-appear poem.”
Poised and perfected,
each word infected:
Completely on track,
Optic nerves trembling,
forced hand unwilling:
Weighted down, burdened,
knees scraped, hidden:
Mirror glazed reflection,
subduing the infection:
April 7, 2015: It took an entire week to get to our first “Two for Tuesday” prompt this year, so I’m going to make it the one that I run every single year:
- Write a love poem. Yeah, I said a love poem, or, if you don’t like that option…
- Write an anti-love poem. I know there are some haters out there; go ahead and hate on love and/or love poems if that’s your thing.
Writing a love poem is a burden.
It wreaks of clichés and crevices
that should emerge organically.
But they don’t.
Writing a love poem is a hassle.
It plays upon heartstrings seeking
a break or a bend or a mend.
But they won’t.
Writing a love poem is a hindrance.
To creativity and desire, a will to fan fire
of passion and prolonging,
But it doesn’t.
Writing a love poem is a liability
It plays upon senility and the insane
raking the brain to proclaim
but it can’t.
Poems are words, as words are letters
simply strung together
failing like a broken fetter
what our hearts actually want to say.