lost in translation
sweet dreams are made of these
Category: big tent poetry
April 26, 2011
Napowrimo #26: childhood games
One of the first things I remember
are fighting spiders in a mason jar,
going for the jugular, arachnids
in gladiator splendour.
A game that fell out of flavour,
along with blue fighting fish in plastic bags,
and games using rubber bands,
and cloth pouches with beans inside,
called five stones, which girls played.
I liked the see saw, a kind of bonking fun,
when you rose like a butterfly and fell
with a dull thud, or just tripping up
and down the swivelling plank.
I liked my turn on the swing,
my dog on my lap, breezing high
and low, the tinkering of bells from
the ice cream seller in our ears.
Most days, my mason jars are empty,
except when there’re biscuits,
but mostly, just air.
Process notes: Write a poem about mason jars. Sudden waft of nostalgia, and now I’ve got to run to work.
The new list of the Big Tent Poetry prompts are:
1. Write a poem about things in mason jars.
2. Write a poem about a bad idea.
3. Write a poem in which you are kidnapped (by whom? what do they want? what does it mean?)
4. Write a poem about what’s at the center.
5. Write a poem about floating.
6. Write a poem in which the wheels (of a ____) fall off.
7. Write a poem about a stranger buying you breakfast.
April 21, 2011
Napowrimo #21: Sheep & sleep
How do we sleep at night?
Pillow, sheets and blanket and counting sheep.
How do we know anything apart from waking in comfort
of a diagrammatic of toothbrush, comb and make-up?
The awkwardness of needing to pee, or to remain cheerful?
How to suppress anything like explosives?
The need to buy a book or yet another article of clothing,
does it answer a narcissistic call to divert something else
of a more terrifying intensity?
The heart bypass saves, like some continuation of
a transparent fragility. I had forgotten what I came
for and trying damn hard to remember.
We will light candles and follow like sheep.
Process notes: Write a poem about a predicament/lighting a candle. If you’re human, you must be in a predicament. Tomorrow’s Good Friday and we’ll need to light candles and reaffirm something other than our seeming insignificance.
April 20, 2011
Napowrimo #20: there’s no escaping
The mortar of faces beguiled me
like the big picture,
or the mafia with fists
and then
the meltdown of smile
(please sign here)
the swagger of bravado
(come let’s bet on it)
the turning of the poker table
behind raspy tycoon faces.
**
The American wasn’t so bad after all.
His dog ran across the road and got knocked up
so he kicked the cone. Look out for my Swede neighbor,
he said, he has such a bad temper,
as if it exonerated his own
lagging behind the curve,
and made him out as one
carved out for enjoyment.
**
There’s nowhere you can escape to
when everything you have,
is what you need,
is what you already hold.
Even if you pretend a lot,
even if you’re full of cunning,
even if cold hard cash feels
like the only big picture.
Love remains the only
inscrutable thing we cannot
escape, closet connoisseurs,
playing with the barrette
in our hair. Will we agree on
the big picture, finally?
Process notes: A poem about escape. Is there a place you want to escape to? A change of scenery? Well, what if you’re stuck right where you are? There’re other ways to escape, and people seem to be engaged in forms of escape, but really, there’s no escaping from how you feel and what you think.. so deal with it and deal with the fact that there *is* a big picture. The prompt of big picture came from Poetic asides and that of escape from Big Tent Poetry.
April 17, 2011
Napowrimo #18: a joy forever
A few essentials you’d find
in my room, perhaps,
when I’m gone.
A bureau with lovely ephemera,
inspirational cut-outs,
piles of kitsch.
Nestled in black, intense
half light sparkles the
beauty from Tiffany.
With this ring do I say,
a joy forever,
when I cannot stay.
Process notes: An ode to a prized physical object. Oh well, one small object, but it was special to me, and maybe, to you.
