Cathleen Louise:
Featuring poems by poets from across the global community each day throughout National Poetry Month.
Monday, April 30
April 30th Poems
Cathleen Louise:
April 30th Prompt
Sunday, April 29
April 29th Prompt
Write a poem to or about your dreams. Clearly, dreams can have many meanings. To some, they mean our goals that are too far away to see clearly yet we know that each step brings us closer. To others, dreams are simply those things we experience late at night when everything else is supposed to be at rest. Write a poem which talks to or about your dreams. Is there one in particular which is very memorable? Is there one which reoccurs and which you can't seem to shake? Is there an idea which seems to call to you? Take some time to write about it today. If not now, then when? Happy Writing!
Saturday, April 28
April 28th Prompt and Question
Write to or about writing. What is your process in terms of how you write? Does an idea come out of nowhere and demand to be picked up like a crying child? Do you have to meditate profusely on a topic for hours or days or weeks to get the right words to come up? Do you just plain wish it was easier to write? Perhaps harder? This is your chance to complain, explain, create a refrain like a song to be sung to yourself (or others) in the future. What does writing mean to you?
In keeping with this writing idea:
How do you know a poem is "finished"?
Most people know the age-old phrase, "A poem is never finished, only abandoned"; however, something that most people don't necessarily talk about is "Well, is a poem ever finished?" By finished I mean here to say ready for sharing of some kind, whether that be in print or out loud at a local open mic event. How do you know when an audience is ready to take in your poem? Is it only after meticulous long hours of perfecting every single last piece of punctuation? Is it the moment after it's been written (revision comes after sharing)? Is it never? Why - for all / any of the above - is that so?
As always, happy writing!
Friday, April 27
April 27th Prompt
Thursday, April 26
April 26th Prompt and Question
Write a poem to or about family. Your family, specifically. Of course, we don't always get along with the people who have been closest to us. What might you want to say to your parents? Your children? If you don't have kids, what might you want to say to them were they around? Are there any images that are closely associated with one person in your family? For inspiration, I would encourage people to read Michael Bennett's wonderful contribution to this blog - it can be found by clicking on his name in the contributor's list. Happy Writing!
A question that has been on my mind - one that I invite my readers to share in the comments section of this post - is:
Is there a poem that has particularly affected you?
I know that, for the longest time, I could not listen to a poem by Danny Sherrard called "The Distance" (which can be found on YouTube) without tearing up a bit. Strange though it may seem, I was particularly moved by this poem. Another poem I found powerful is "What Teachers Make" by Taylor Mali. Last on this list but certainly not least is a 6 minute performed poem called "The Crickets have Arthritis" by a poet named Sean Koyczan. There are, of course, several others (too many to list here) that have affected me in some way or another. I would love for others to share their experiences with poetry within the comments of this post. Happy sharing!
Wednesday, April 25
April 25th Prompt and Question
Find an old poem (or write a new one) and write above your lines all the places that you want to pause to breathe. A fun symbol that can be used to denote a breath break is a caesura ( || ) which denotes, in music and poetry, a complete pause and was used heavily in Old English poetry. After you have have places to pause, decide on the rhythm that the pieces of the rest of your poem should take. Are there certain lines you want to read quickly? Are there other lines which should be spoken slowly to allow the listener time to absorb the information you're presenting? Finally, decide on a tone in which you'd like to deliver your lines. Does your poem demand to be spoken with a smile? Does it want to find its life in tears? Each poem has a character to it - revising poems with this idea in mind will help you to find the poem's voice. Happy writing!
Today's question is also inspired by the question of performance and poetry. Simply put:
What is the place of poetry?
Should poetry be performed or written for performance? Should it be written so that, as one teacher stated, the reader can "swim through" the poem? Is it more ideally a mix of both? In short, this becomes a question of where poetry belongs. Does it belong to the public, or does it belong to the individual? Is it neither? Or both?
Regardless of this question's answer, be sure to check out the Community Poetry Reading which starts at 7:00 tonight at the Midwest Writing Center located on the 3rd floor at the Bucktown Center for the Arts at 225 E. 2nd Street Davenport, IA. It's a great chance to hear some awesome poetry inspired and written by the community! Hope to see you there
Tuesday, April 24
April 24th Prompt and Question
Find a poem you like (or dislike) that you have written. If it's a free verse poem, try writing it in blank verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter - for these purposes it's okay to just break the lines into 10 syllables a piece). If it's in a meter, try writing it in one long block like prose. A couple points to pay attention to are: where do you breathe in this poem? Are there any points of significance that were brought out more so in the rewritten version? Do you have to change some of the wording or context by converting it into meter? Is the flow changed? Strengthened? Weakened? Regardless of the results, this is a fun exercise to help you see your writing in a new light. Revision at its best. Happy Writing!
The simple question I want to ask today is:
What does your revision process look like?
Essentially, how do you revise your poems? Everyone's style is different. Do you go to a specific place to do them? Do you only cross out (and never erase)? Why does this help you? How does this help you? If you were to give advice about revision, what would it be?
Monday, April 23
April 23rd Prompt and Question
You will be writing today, but rather than focusing on something completely new, drudge up something old. Find an old poem and re-read it a few times to see if you can see it in a new light. Today, find a poem you thought you had abandoned and adopt it anew. Are there any things you have experienced between the original writing and now that you can draw from? Is there a specific image that stands out that you can keep running throughout the poem? Has this poem developed a new voice? Does it say what you want it to say? Have your views shifted? Today, breathe new life into something old. Happy writing!
Today, instead of a poem, I would like to present a question for you to ponder (and possibly answer, though the question may not easily lend itself to an answer). This question comes to us as something with which I have been struggling for a long time:
What, if anything, is the purpose of poetry?
Is there 1 set purpose? Can it shift? Is purpose determined by poem? Is it to educate? Is it to entertain? Is poetry simply written for the sake of poetry? Does it even have a purpose?
I suppose this question really boils down to: Why do you write poetry?
Happy writing, and have a wonderful day!
Sunday, April 22
Robert Cone: A Taste of Summer Wine
The witch’s existence had been severed
The sprite had delivered a mortal blow
Dashing the hag’s wish to live forever
As for Lord Dinsmore he grew more jolly
And his wife held yet another gala
It seemed all their life had been a folly
And so they dressed in their best regalia
Lady Dinsmore wore her fancy dress ring
Lord Dinsmore was wearing his uniform
The ladies were dressed in their fancy things
And the canapés were cuneiform
The guests said from the way he had matured
That his lordship was no longer off plumb
For they asked what is the state of nature
If it is not at times deaf, blind or dumb
As for his lordship’s eccentricities
He put the fairy garden to one side
For as if struck by electricity
With the fairies he could no longer bide
He took to milking cows from the dairy
People say his life was filled with laughter
And they repeat that though he lies buried
He lives happily in the hereafter
April 22nd Prompt
Write a poem in response to a television show, a news report, an episode of your favorite drama. It may help to focus your poem on a single instance or character or moment you find most interesting. What does the moment mean to you? Why did you choose it? What is its significance? What does it say? Regardless of what you choose, I'm certain the result will be very interesting. Happy writing!
Today's poem comes to us as a selection from Robert Cone and is entitled A Taste of Summer Wine. About the poem, Cone writes "This poem was inspired by the long-running BBC comedy, Last of the Summer Wine."
Saturday, April 21
Erin Gehn: Poem: The Purpose
Because I thought they'd blur your vision
like heat does to a desert scene
With trivial scribbles, loops, and punctuated
. ! . !
expressions yerning to be read beyond the page
....
April 21st Prompt
Write about an adventure you had. Dig into your memory and find something about some travels you went on or a mountain you climbed or even a particularly adventurous trip to the super market. Does this memory have a broader connection to your life today? Did you realize something on this outing which you still keep with you? Has this event changed you in some way? Write your story, then share it! Happy writing!
Today's poem comes to us from Erin Gehn and is entitled Poem: The Purpose. About this poem, Gehn writes, "To be read in full and by only the right ledger phrases as two separate poems in one. Notice see-vision-scene, the blur style formatting of the middle ledger phrases, how 'punctuated' does not stop the sentence, and how the left ledger words- last words in every line- also tell a story "See, [a] vision punctuated [the] page." Aha!"
Friday, April 20
Joseph A. Uphoff: The Lands of the Doll
April 20th Prompt
Today's poem comes to us from Joseph A. Uphoff and is entitled The Lands of the Doll.
Thursday, April 19
Caitlin Griffin: Cigarette Romance
April 19th Prompt
Wednesday, April 18
Sean Walsh: Wee Flower, Old Leaf
Like, I was the last in the –
brothers and sisters well ahead of me.
They were stretching their wings
while I was still in the nest –
if y’know what I mean…
I didn’t know them. Not really…
And my Dad was away a lot and my mother
working the pub, trying to make ends meet.
So I – I turned into a world of me own…
Well, like, you won’t believe this
but I used to write letters.
To, to the Little Flower. God’s truth…
Saint Teresa of, of Lisieux.
Nearly every night. Two, three pages.
With the fountain pen I got for Christmas.
No matter how cold it was in that bedroom.
And I’d leave them folded under her statue
on the tallboy before I’d get under the blankets…
God only knows what became of them.
Dumped, I suppose, like a lot of other stuff
when the family home was sold off…
And there’s a thing: whenever I go into a Church now
she’s nearly always there to one side or another,
standing with the bunch of roses,
looking at me…
And I think, maybe, she might just get me into Heaven
by a side door when – when the time comes…
April 18th Prompt
Tuesday, April 17
Ryan Collins: Unsupported Transit
What effect is not immediate that matters?
The slow wave the flicker effect washing over
Into my eyes my ghost pressure building up
Behind my photogenic eyes stuck on blinking
Cymbal crash hooves stampede pull toward
Push away to stampede afloat for a moment
A cloud hanging in a room a ghost in a photo
Graph of a bell an acoustic anomaly charging
Toward the frame’s precise edge at a full gallop
April 17th Prompt
Monday, April 16
Nathan McDowell: We Were All
April 16th Prompt
Write a poem to the future. You can take this opportunity to personify the future and talk to it, poet to possibility. In a way, this could simply be a slightly easier way to conceptualize the unknown. In any case, happy writing!
Today's poem comes to us from Nathan McDowell and is entitled We Were All. About himself, McDowell writes, "Nathan McDowell is an Augustana student and Rock Island native. Nathan currently serves as editor-in-chief of Augustana’s literary mag, Saga – and he also writes some poems of his own. Nathan thinks highly of yet is skeptical of poetry and children."
Sunday, April 15
Robin Throne: The summer of mourning doves
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZb39XCfl2et6AHibI3Evw7NBc0-7hbVBorDyKvrXLlJ2YdUitKkrHMpgMpSUZ_XW3t3_y0V6rp1TpcDgUkkMdxIpxC_dcGmw_VObR_eWHjcOnH1gbmMMXwLnE3lbAAD0FbkOtEkStChA/s1600/Le+Claire-20120618-00419.jpg)
framed by a gravestone’s shadow
marking here to there
like some holy guardian of an other-world
making its fragiled soul-way
groping to nirvana in lotus-spread,
listening for that note
rising above all else.
You feed water and solace
to delicate youth in borrowed space
as I peer through Kenneth Coles
in that awful summer of grave hunting
to circumspect ascended Masons
displayed carvings of I-80 villages and ravines
the once prairie people who crossed water
searching for the hard, real story
in granite and floppy limestone
reconstruction between periods
lifted up by carefully crafted words
played like a perpetual scrabble as solitaire
over and over and over and over.
Till I ran back east to my river home
and hid from this tale that would not
Let me be.
Your bluegray plume arrived this morning
left on a rusted paver’s stone
when an eagle pair called out your mission
and choreographed their wide arc
smattered by a pelican V
invading the common ground
when you sent that clear sound of July
rejoined with the unburied
encased somewhere above it all.
April 15th Prompt
Saturday, April 14
Sheri Grutz: Afternoon Interval
April 14th Prompt
Write a poem in which you speak to a place. This could come in the form of a letter. You could turn a place into a person through personification and have a conversation with it. Regardless of the method, what would you say to this place? How do you feel about it? Do you have any words of wisdom or advice? Any reason to say thanks to it?
Today's poem comes to us from Sheri Grutz and is entitled Afternoon Interval. About herself, she writes "Grutz has a B.A. in English from The University of Iowa where she spent one semester in the workshop. She has been published in Lyrical Iowa, Dead Earth Review and Emerge Literary Journal."
Friday, April 13
Kaitlin Ross: La Sirène Du Ciel
On nothing but a wisp
The painful, yearning melodies,
To well-clad, sea-worn soldiers
Not far away from journey's end.
"Are you the love I never was to own,
But ere to cling inside my breast?
The one I search for,
From the sea's sheer cliffs
In vain, from morning's dim,
'Til twilight's burning embers
Put out their present light?
Return to me! O fickle, radiant lover,
To melt crystal seclusion in the
Smolder of our agèd flame!"
With sultry sweet she sang the
Sailors to a gentle trance,
And in their eager desperation,
Fell quickly to the salty sea.
Alone she mourned,
Cloaked in ceaseless solitude,
Within the all but soundless world-
Silent,
Save the crashing of the waves and
Her own, exquisite, silver voice.
April 13th Prompt
Write a series of 3 or more Limericks which tell a story together. Although the traditional Limerick is fun and perhaps even a bit raunchy, feel complete artistic freedom to tell any story with any tone you so desire.
Today's poem comes to us from Kaitlin Ross and is entitled La Sirène Du Ciel. About herself, Ross writes "I have written poetry for as long as I can remember. My greatest influences are Emily Dickinson, John Keats and the Bronte Sisters. My father was, at one time, an English professor who focused on literature and poetry from the 18th and 19th centuries, so one could say I was doomed from the start!"
Thursday, April 12
DM Denton: The Lavenders
a spell for a plague
is worth two
in the bush
where the Lavenders
lay their cares.
Such a fair flower
stolen like sinning
sweeter than
forgiveness
scented from heaven
lost on earth.
Found to be useful
for washing and cures
of body
and heart ache
lullaby-ing sleep
and madness.
Such ladies at work
their laundry to air
for rumors
to ruin them
unless modesty
can save them.
All through the ages
a toiling to some
and leisure
for others
somehow a likeness
in essence.
For how they do grow
well drain’d in full sun
or covered
in winter
with still enough breath
to live on.
Clusters of secrets
that beg to be kept
for sachets
and strewing
their hopes to the wind
and a way.
April 12th Prompt
Write a love letter from one inanimate object to another. Don't be afraid to use language that would otherwise be called a pun today. As an excellent example, feel free to follow this following link to a poem entitled "A love letter from a tooth brush to a bicycle tire." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIAQENsqcuM
This following poem comes to us from DM Denton and is entitled The Lavenders. About the poem, the author writes "In medieval and renaissance Europe servant women who washed in lavender water, placed lavender in linens or draped laundry on lavender bushes to dry became known as ‘Lavenders’. The lowliest of these were sometimes reputed to be prostitutes. I was fascinated when I recently heard this snippet of social history, prompting me to write the following poem."
Wednesday, April 11
David Dowell: The Scroll of Secrets
Of things like time and its bewilderments,
Of shapes and shadows and shades of colors
That can’t be separated by any knife. Who knows
What the truth really is once you can’t
Look someone in the eye?
We’d moved like blind fish through cave puddles-
Such was our progress. We tried growing legs, but
Our hearts were too heavy, and we lacked the expertise.
Whatever fell toward us,
We consumed, and when any echo reached us from the cave’s mouth
We hid, trembling behind rocks or vegetative growth.
Our trembling itself sent ripples out
That acted, once summoned back from the rock strewn shores,
Like faulty radar waves.
We listened and counted, like a child suspended within the
Muscular moments between the flash of lightning and
The harsh report that follows. One, two, three,
The measure of the distance increasing every year.
Our ears, too sensitive, famished for news, made wild assumptions
Drawn from our own proclaimed fears, so that we feared everything,
Even the slightest touch. The Scroll of Secrets
Was unfurled underwater before blind, illiterate fish who still dance
Unknowing through its bright rays. Such is the substance
Of divinity. Such is the language we all bear.
April 11th Prompt
Tuesday, April 10
Sal Marici: Documented in Vinyl
the last chord of “Long Tall Sally”
on 29 August 1966 at Candlestick
they ceased pretending to play music
teenagers’ screams deadened.
During 129 days
in the Abbey Road Studios
strings, brass, woodwinds, sitar
recruitments
of electronic devices:
wah-wah pedal, fuzz box
and a Leslie speaker rotating
low and high frequencies,
trick sound
layered with lyrics
about life’s complexities
our parents did not hear
big bands sing.
April 10th Prompt
Write a poem to your past self. What things would you want to say to yourself? Is there anything you would want to warn yourself about? Any life lessons to give? What perspectives on the world can you offer yourself?
Today's poem comes to us from Sal Marici and is entitled Documented in Vinyl. Sal writes about the poem, "I saw the jacket John Lennon wore for the Sgt. Peppers Lonely Heart Club Band album. The display pumped goose bumps. The Beatles’ creations, especially those from the studio years, replay in my mind like the first time I dropped needles in new, circling grooves. Their impacts echo today."
Monday, April 9
Thomas Jenks: Untitled
I am the great shapeshifter
Shapeshifter of not body
Body, no. Person, yes.
Yes, I am. No, I am not.
Not an echo of me, no you, something different, not me.
Me, who is that?
That is whomever I wake up as.
As oscilating as a pendulum,
A pendulum swaying from one extreme
Extreme to extreme
Extremes never echoing one another, never between.
Between the extremes of a pendulum built,
Built poorly tuned,
Tuned highly sensitive.
Sensitive not to hot and cold, but
But to the hot and cold of humanity.
Humanity, the very thing I am.
Am at all times and none.
None other than I and Me.
Me, the one shapeshifting.
Shapeshifting not into Me, but into Me.
Me, the eternal question.
Question, inquiry, who is Me?
Me is not me then minutes past.
Past me is not me now.
Now me is a different me, a different mood.
Mood, the determinator of me.
Me, a collection of moods, moody.
Moody, they would describe me.
Me, the most frustrating question of all time.
Time and mood, the determiners of me.
Me, crazy, depressed, creative, dull.
Dull to myself, often suicidal.
Suicidal not of Me, but of Me's from all time.
Time, the difference between Me and Me.
Me, always hiding.
Hiding me, trying, afriad.
Afraid to trust, expose my reality.
Reality being always changing.
Changing such that there is no core.
Core poersonality, core drive, no.
No core desires.
Desire to live the same way,
Way, meaning, purpose.
Purpose always changing.
Changing from one me to another.
Another dream, another Me
Me, never the same, no connection
Connection to the past, no echo
Echo of another Me
Me, not another
Another, that is who I was
Was and is
Is and will be.
Be an emotional, hidden, poorly understood mess.
Mess to me, and others, a large mess.
Mess of moods, personalities, me's.
Me's, the many me.
Me, who is Me?
Me knows not who is Me.
Me, the great shapeshifter.
April 9th Prompt
Sunday, April 8
April Jennifer Choi: Life's Love
April 8th Prompt
Saturday, April 7
Mike Bayles: Old Botany
When a foot steps on a wooden floor
another chamber stirs.
I listen to the ways the building speaks
to the many parts of me,
the room where I take Intro to Psychology,
and the hallway where samples of seedlings
in wire cages break ground, as I.
Cubicles cluster around a common area
where subjects offer psyches
for graduate student grades.
On second, a maze winds its way
to teaching assistant offices,
painted in neon colors,
where I ponder trials of life.
Stories linger about third floor,
a place some say is abandoned,
unable to bear the weight of other lives,
unseen and left to wonder.
A step outside shows the aging face
observant of a verdant Central Campus
while I shadow its incarnations.
Friday, April 6
Steve Biehler: Chilling Thoughts
Thursday, April 5
MJ Sullivan: My Father Holds an Apple
April 5th Prompt
Wednesday, April 4
Michael Bennett: The Carpenter's Son Mourns His Death
Tuesday, April 3
Stanford Pritchard: The Man Whose Ashes Got Lost in the Mail
The Man Whose Ashes Got Lost in the Mail | |
The postal clerk showed no remorse, | |
Hardly thought it mattered, | |
Said one was as good as another | |
Way of being scattered. | |
We who filled the P.O. lobby | |
Laughed, but were hardly flattered: | |
Each I think had found his own | |
Way of being scattered. |
Monday, April 2
Anna Groebe: Como un ángel
Poem a day...
Sunday, April 1
Don Ford: Seasoned Reminder
SEASONED REMINDER
Don Ford
Please don't look at me like that
Do not turn your face away
You stare, but look right through me
Let's exchange some smiles today
I've lived my life - head held high
I hope you'll listen to me
When I share my seasoned words
There is something you must see
I know I walk much slower
In a wheel chair I may be
I once could run, jump and play
In a tree you might see me
Give age a chance, one more glance
Hold me up in high esteem
Please restore my dignity
In my place some day you'll be
Sunday, March 11
Poetry Submissions
Follow Andrew on Twitter throughout the residency @MwcResidentPoet