Persona Poem

A persona poem is writing from the point of view of another person or thing. There are some excellent verse novels that use this technique. One is “The Watch that Ends the Night” by Allan Wolf. This is a view of the Titanic from the point of view of individuals, but also from parts of the ship and the iceberg itself. Another great verse novel that uses persona poems wonderfully is “October Mourning: A Song for Matthew Shepard” by Leslea Newman. Her persona poem from the fence that Matthew was tied to as he was dying is heartbreaking.

I thought that instead of looking around and writing from the point of view of my tea cup, or a bird outside my window, I would try taking in history, like these verse novels, and reflect on that from an outsiders point of view. I decided to write about the Tufts University student who was abducted by ICE in Massachusetts recently. This is from the view of a nearby pigeon.

This is an adapted Roundel form, which has the rhyming lines of abaB bab abaB bab abaB. The B lines must repeat the first part of the first line in the poem.

IN SEARCH OF

Do you think that woman might have extra food

for a pigeon with a perky disposition? 

Perhaps she’d stop and feed me if I cooed

Do you think?

A man walks up and takes a stern position

Another grabs her hands, so rough and crude

Then ties them tight, despite her dire petitions

to stop. Her world is skewed

as they stuff her in a van without admission

of anything she may have misconstrued.

Do you think?

They leave her with no power, no volition.

Her shouts are simply whimpers, now subdued.

With only signs of fear and not contrition

All signs of her abduction now removed.

I look about for food in desperation.

There must be someone else I can pursue.

Do you think?

A Response

The best thing about poetry is discovering as you are writing, what you are really thinking about. Today’s prompt was to write a response poem. So many things you can respond to. I thought of weather, Spring, allergies, the news…but when I finally sat down to write, I remembered how surprised I was to have the main character of my favorite TV show die. Although I started writing about that, I soon discovered that the emotions I felt for my TV show, were also being felt in my response to Trump’s policies as well.

HOW COULD THEY?

They killed off
the main character!
Though I know eight seasons
can be a long time,
for me
it was sudden death.
No warning.
My mouth opened wide
in disbelief
like the ones
who mourned
so exquisitely
on the screen.
My mind replayed
each episode,
questioning interactions,
looking for codes
that might infer
this direction
was unfolding.
But no.
As I walked away
I remembered
that emotional manipulation
works as well
in politics
as it did
in TV.

City Solitude

Summer in the city is about being anywhere else. Sometimes it gets a little lonely when everyone is everywhere but home. This tiny snapshot reminds one of how quiet city life can be.

City Solitude

I kick a crumpled can
across the hot tar
that stretches
between row houses on Riverside Ave.
The can dances,
bouncing like a pebble
across an empty pond.
But no one
notices.
A car rolls by
It’s radio booms so loud
That my skin
ripples
right down
to my toes.
But then
it is gone.
Summer in the city
when nobody’s
home.

Fantastic!

The word of the day is fantastic. And what could be more fantastic than Spring breaking through the muck and mire of construction to celebrate new life. In our yard, these tiny daffodils break through the mud, a remembrance of years past when our nephew had created a small circular garden in the back yard. The stones that once bordered the garden are long gone, as are all the other flowers that once graced that circle. But the daffodils still push through, reliving their glory as the garden’s centerpiece.

FANTASTIC

In the middle of the yard
erupting through dirt and debris
of construction
daffodils sprout.
Imploring arms
praise the sun
while saffron heads
bend in prayer
remembering
past lives
in the burnt sienna soil.

Working with Forms

Having boundaries will often make a poem come easier. And in teaching, giving kids boundaries will make their ideas easier to narrow down as well. I found that with my own art teaching. To tell kids, draw whatever you want, will often get doodles or uncertainty, distracted talking or frustrated scribbles. But to ask kids to draw a time when they (or a character) were really scared will get you anything from monsters under the bed to waiting on a rainy day for a parent to pick you up after school. Boundaries that let you think emotionally focus in ideas full of intensity, and are more fun to work on.

Today, our prompt had no boundaries, just the prompt of using a form, or an un-form. And I found it impossible to focus in on, even though most of my poems this month fall into specific forms. So I used a mimic poem to take in for a moment one of my favorite poems, and to play without worrying about the outcome.

A mimic poem creates a new poem that imitates the style, tone, and structure of a pre-existing poem. This is based on William Carlos William’s poem, This is just to say.

THIS IS JUST TO SAY

I have written
a new poem
called a
mimic

to which
some
would turn up
their noses
and sniff

forgive me
inspiration
doesn’t ask
their
approval

And the word of the day is Lost

Losing or lost could be like losing a game or a family pet or socks . However, a person could also lose some weight, bad habits, and/or negativity. For me, lost meant my mother-in-law’s teeth, which we’ve been searching for, well, it seems like forever… Until last night, and last minute, we found them.

LOST IN DEMENTIA

My mother-in-law lost her teeth.
For two weeks we searched
opening drawers
unfolding shirts and pajamas,
unrolling socks.
She always protects them
with something soft
so they won’t break.
Six of us scoured her home
derailing her privacy
her personal zones
until in the end,
we called the dentist
to start again.
Then we found them.
Wrapped in a napkin
in the back of the silverware drawer
safe and secure.
And I wonder
if the forks and knives
like soldiers
were meant to keep them safe
or did she mean
to store them
in a place
she wouldn’t
forget.
.

Adding to the word- Full.

Full of it, half full, full moon, full of holes, full of life, full on crazy… There are so many options here. But what kept coming to me, was FULL STOP. Sometimes you just can’t ignore the muse. Even if you didn’t want to write about politics, again.

I chose to write a triolet. The form looks like this.

A (first line)
B (second line)
a (rhymes with first line)
A (repeat first line)
a (rhymes with first line)
b (rhymes with second line)
A (repeat first line)
B (repeat second line)

Triolet: FULL STOP

You’ve crossed the line.

Full stop.

No longer moral or kind,

you’ve crossed the line.

Deportation for speaking one’s mind is not fine.

Oligarchy will flop.

Full stop.

You’ve crossed the line.

Today’s prompt is Risk

When I was little, risks meant going somewhere high and looking down, or doing something that scared me, like riding on a rollercoaster. Later on, risks were more about money and jobs and relationships. I’ve lived through the large risks, and I know I can handle them. But as we get older, it seems that the smaller risks become more important. I contemplate these in my draft poem today, and wonder what my future risks will be. I hope I can continue to risk doing the things I love. I hope I dance.

• Risks are different
  when you reach a certain age
  more like challenges
  of the everyday.
  Should I walk across
  the parking lot
  when handicapped
  is full?
  Should I attend
  the quilt show
  when my balance is
  unsure?
  Should I step out
  in the weather
  when the snow is
  just an inch?
  Can I adapt a recipe
  when cooking
  in a pinch?
  The bigger risks
  are easy now
  we’ve taken
  all the chances.
  But now the risk
  is remembering
  to save out time
  for dances.

Numbers

The prompt of the day is to write a poem using numbers. I have my DONUT poem, posted earlier on this blog, but I wanted to do something different. I find the motivation for writing poems interesting. Either I am searching for something in my recent life that I can draw on, or gain inspiration from something I see around me. In this case, we went to the broker and talked about stocks and the future of our retirement money under Trump. And so, that became my numbers to draw on…

TARRIFS, STOCKS and RETIREMENT

one global tariff
two hours talking math
three conspiring adults
concerned over market strategies
for the future
two thousand and twenty five
has been quite a surprise.

Ekphrasis

Ekphrastic poetry is used to draw attention to a work of art—usually visual art, but it could be something like a song or a work of fiction, sculptures, dance, or even theatrical performances.

My work of art to celebrate is that of Botero, a Colombian artist of great fame who loves to paint voluptuous people. He is not overweight, and his wives have all been thin. Instead he is drawn to the volume and sensuality of form, and parody when making his art. Check out his Mona Lisa parody...

BOTERO

It’s not fat people
so you say
you love the 3D form
it is indeed expressive
sensual and warm.
The volume speaks of freedom
that women rarely gain
a plus size girl is often left
alone and in disdain.
You give us larger women
celebration to be free
and so I dance this dance for you,
Botero, you and me.