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NaPoWriMo – Day 17 Writing Challenge prompt for April 17, 2010

ChrisJ — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:00:31 +0000

Happy Saturday the 17th day of NaPoWriMo 2010

Get 4 different books.

Book mark one of these pages for each book book 1: 16, 24, 36, 42 // Book 2: 81, 102, 124, 139 // Book 3: 88, 115, 142, 160,// Book 4: 51, 73, 101, 205//

Read each page you chose as if they are from the same book and telling the same story. Figure out a way to make sense of the 4 unrelated pages so that they do make a cohesive story or could with some help from you.

Now make a poem of this story. Any style, any length.

The root of the word Poetry is from the Greek ποιέω (poieō), “‘I
make’”). , poiesis, meaning a “making” or ‘creation’

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Poetry is Everything

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Christopher J. Jarmick is a Seattle based Author, very active in the Northwest Poetry Community. His latest book is called IGNITION; Poem Starters, Septolets, Statements & Double Dog Dares. Click on it to find out more about it.

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Want to Meet other Poets? Join the Community

Napowrimo – Poetry Challenge – Day 14 – Tim is a Glarf

Dash30Dash — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 07:00:24 +0000

Hey Folks,

It’s time to get the message out. Napowrimo is really fun, right?

Today I want you to look at the Acrostic form of poetry.

If spies wrote poems, they’d write acrostic poems.

My challenge to you is take a long word or sentence and write one of these poems.

It’s pretty easy when you have the title to go off of.

So give it a shot

Acrostic poems are poems in which the first letter of each line spells a word or sentence.

Granted you should probably have the title before you start

Leaving that up to your lines to create one may be odd

At the very least your title should give you a theme to build from

Realizing all that, go forth and have fun

For Realz, yo.

Your Fourteenth Naporwrimo Poetry Challenge is:

Tim is a Glarf

Create a Title
Use the title to determine the first letter of each line.

Have fun!

• Leave a link to your Day 14 napowrimo poem below – (it doesn’t have to be inspired by the challenge).

• Don’t have a blog? join our community and get a free blog where you can post your poem(s).

Meet other writers and share links in our forum

Coffee.

Dash30Dash — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 14:00:32 +0000

by Marc Warring

This is the liquid of little deaths.
This is the black blood of guilt and depression.
We the sailors on this black ocean,
Drowning under it’s sweltering height
We are the navigators. Lose our maps, and break our sextants.
We are the navigators. Burn our charts and smash our compass

We have lost our minds or souls,
or the knowledge of the difference

We are the sailors of the black blood. We are guilt and depression.

Comments?

talk about Coffee
(click here)

Marc Warring Bio Here

Deirdre.

Dash30Dash — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 14:00:59 +0000

by Dan Mcnamara

Deirdre.

Deirdre has Erlin syndrome. The cone of her eye is skewed, slanted. Afflicted.
She can’t read more than one word at a time because the ones she’s not focused on spin at
random through the page, and the one she is focusing on is often blurry. Without her filtered sunglasses she might as well be blind.
Her eyes couldn’t make any sense of the world.
She wouldn’t trade her eyesight for anything, though; I can see it in the way she speaks.

Deirdre tells me about what she sees. She says she can see the movement of light as it
travels to and from an object. Her world is one of perpetual motion.
She says she can see more than most people, that she can see
more of the truth. The light we all see, and what the light hits. I wonder some times if
there’s more than that, I wonder if Deirdre really can see it.

No. That’s bullshit. I don’t wonder. I’ve stopped reading into things.
They will read deeply of themselves into you if you
don’t gag them with your own words.

William Carlos Williams:

-so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens-.

So much depends on Deirdre’s eyes. Afflicted or not still they shine. Let her speak and
not be spoken for. Let more and less cease to be questions.

Three days ago, nestled on the warm concrete looking up through the
bright at Deirdre’s pretty white house on Maple street, New Orleans Louisiana.
Dreaming what the world will be like when I open my eyes again, shut tight more for
comfort than to protect from the heat and glare of the sun. And I remember thinking to
myself, what if life were like a notebook entry, a poem scrawled on a cocktail napkin one
dark drunk and forgotten night, a scrap of time and space floating disjointed, no frame of
reference, completely independent? What if I could open my eyes and the background
would be filled in later and I would be only what and where I was and the world
looms even more surreal than the images that throb inside when I lay awake in bed some
nights? The moment would just be the moment, no past with which to justify or explain
it, conclusions based merely on conjecture, not really worth trying to make at all.
Leaving this time this porch this waning sun to be just what it is: a single moment of a
single day, floating in space, unattached and unaware. I guess it would be simpler.

I wish my life were more like words.

Comments?

talk about Deirdre
(click here)

-Dan Mcnamara bio here

Haikus: Poetry for the Dying Man

Dash30Dash — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 14:00:51 +0000

by Ric and Sam

Ric and I work in a large office.
We both believe it is driving us crazy
To pass the time, and try to retain our souls,
We took a hint from the Movie Fight club
Below (reversed for your ease) is one of many strings of Haiku’s

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 8:51 AM
To: Samuel

Proof

Subject: Wednesday

Back in this drab place.
Malaise saps mind’s life away.
Like a dull cramp’s ache.

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 8:55 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

I’m inside the heart
flowing computer through me
man becomes machine

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 8:59 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

Mind melds with machine’s
steady hum of whirring parts.
too many restarts.

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 9:01 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

walls not trees nor skies
cube within a cube within
small parts repeated

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 9:04 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

New barriers are not
seen, heard but felt silently.
Are they closing in?

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 9:08 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

egregiously
egoless situation
save me from this self

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 9:38 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

Calls and no answers.
Abrasive swirling voices raise.
Fury ebbs and swells.

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 9:48 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

inside the heart, I
buried alive, walls not trees
as if it were night

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 10:02 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

Spirit sucking screen.
Life sapping fluorescent lights.
Smiles make my face ache.

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 10:05 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

liberation is
lies and promises we tell
ourselves every day

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 10:16 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

If I wasn’t here
would anyone notice that?
Skepticism creeps.

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 10:19 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

Forrest Gump, the dolt
Champion of the simple
and I get nothing

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 10:43 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

Run Forrest run fast.
Awards for false happiness.
Superficiality.

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 10:46 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

and here it all is
I am Jack’s forgotten pride
lay me down I’ve died

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 11:29 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

Everyone has one.
Where is my one thing? One strength.
Why must I still search?

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 11:31 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

been a long time down
crooked road I thought made sense
so what’s driving me?

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 11:33 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

Toe the line, languid feet.
Reach to achieve the standards
that are not my own.

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 11:44 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

there it is ahead
carrot on a string for me
sadly, I hate carrots

—–Original Message—–
From: Richard Sando
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 11:46 AM
To: Samuel Proof
Subject: RE: Wednesday

Carrot on a string.
One step ahead, then one
more. One more step, then…

—–Original Message—–
From: Samuel Proof
Sent: Wednesday, November 03, 1999 11:50 AM
To: Richard Sando
Subject: RE: Wednesday

blank stares, soul and head
stick a fork in me I’m done
days end, then only sleep
-30-

Submit your own haiku’s below
OR join our community and post your own work there!

This is a test,

Dash30Dash — Sun, 27 Jun 2004 09:11:56 +0000

my only friend… a test…