Day thirty; I can’t believe we made it, you guys. I do want to take the opportunity to give shout-outs to a few bloggers that have been champs about doing these prompts and sharing them daily or almost-daily. You should go check out what they’ve done!
There are others who have commented throughout, and I must get around to going through everyone’s offerings, including the ones listed above. First, though, I’m focused on getting a place to live… it will be, as the Counting Crows say, a long December. So, to rocket us into it, here is the last Renovation prompt, for now at least:
1. “You, like the city, mysterious, mutable…” (Elias Lieberman, “From a Bridge Car”)
2. “I do not think the sea will appear at all.” (Sylvia Plath, “Blackberrying”)
3. “The paranoia of sitting alone.” (me, “Suleiman Says”)
4. garbage bags
5. Have your poem be a response to another poem you wrote this month.
BONUS. Do a very traditional form and/or rhyme scheme, but find some way to break it a little bit.
ALTERNATE (4). jars of homemade jam
I had a couple “old flame” poems this month that I wanted to respond to with a slightly more hopeful note. So here is one of those; and following this, I am going to darken for at least a couple days, regroup, etc. I’ll see you all on the creative flipside!
When I realize
I no longer want to be alone,
I will call you up
on the telephone.
From the trash
I’ll pull out my Sunday best,
your old valentines
still tucked in the breast.
parallel to the sluggish river
the touch, the shiver.
Just two people
who know the feel of city on feet,
crossing old oceans
going street by street.