PAD Challenge 9

(This is my take on Kim Addonizio's poem "Heart" from her new book Lucifer at the Starlite.)


*Made a few edits since the original post.*


First Marriage

That abandoned field.
That house in foreclosure.
That strip of highway pockmarked with potholes.
That roadside diner with gum stuck under the table.
That self-service gas station, that rest stop on the way to somewhere else.
That playground. That convenience store full of lottery tickets.
That strip mall, that Christmas shop selling happiness 365 days a year.
That emergency room. That community center.
That donut shop on every corner.
That yellow house in need of a power wash.
Those gutter pipes. That overgrown lawn.
That abandoned place that only exists in memory.
That building scorched by fire, too badly damaged to save.

Confession Tuesday

Happy Tuesday, folks! Time to confess. Share a piece of yourself with us and I promise to do the same. Don't forget to say hello serving their time in The Confessional.







Lately, I've been feeling drained. What is it about this time of year that makes me want to hibernate? Just can't seem to check things off my to-do list or get enough sleep. After careful consideration and much market research (not really), I decided to take a drastic step ...

Drum roll, please ... To get caught up on all of my projects, *I have decided to not watch television this week.*


Anyone who knows me knows how much I *love* TV! But I'm mired in projects and commitments and not making much progress. Thought it was time to cut out the idiot box to see if it helps my productivity and improves my sleep habits.

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So far, not helpful. I stayed awake way too long last night writing this post.


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On Sunday, while walking back from the park, Ella tripped on the sidewalk and fell flat on her face. Ugh. She has the biggest fat lip I've ever seen. More than 24 hours later, the swelling seems to be going down but she looks as if she's been in a ring for a few rounds. Poor baby!


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Starting my holiday shopping this week. Fortunately, I don't have to buy presents for anyone who's been naughty this year. You know who you are.

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The PAD Challenge is kicking my a$$. I absolutely hate being a poem behind. And I've already used up the extra poem I wrote just in case I got behind so I'm officially in sad, sad shape.


I do like that I'm writing, however. The subjects are linked so I can put the poems together as a chapbook, or part of a larger piece. I'll take a look at everything in December to weed through 30 days of poems.

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I've put the Misery Islands long poem on the back burner, but only temporarily. I need a solid block of time to work on it. The weekend looks like my next best shot at completion.

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Reading Kim Addonizio's Lucifer at the Starlite and Jericho Brown's Please.

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Last five songs played in rotation on iPhone:

1. Obsessed remix, Mariah Carey

2. Empire State of Mind, Jay-Z and Alicia Keys

3. I'm on a Boat, Incredibad (so wrong yet so funny)

4. Sexual Chocolate, Hot Chip

5. Ol' Skool Company, Prince

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Twitter: I get it now. @januaryoneil

PAD Challenge 8

(This poem is just not there yet--a draft in the true sense of the word. But I've never written a poem with a song lyric so for me it's a stretch.)



Jumpin’ Jack Flash


Who cannot bang the steering wheel
while listening to the Stones
after a long, hard day of taking it:

I was born in a crossfire hurricane

Open G with a capo on the fourth fret.
Recorded in what sounds like a trash can—
down and out, kicked to the curb lyrics,

the needle pulls the grove
as the vocals hitch a ride
on the riff in 4/4 time.

And I howled at my ma in the driving rain
.
The best blues songs gut you open,
praise the unhappiness inside of you,
the low-down dog in you.

Listen to Mick howl into the mic
reaching for that unrecorded starlight
bending and stretching the notes

cause it’s all right now

In fact, it’s better than alright
Panning for gold
in his raspy voice

in a song that sounds
like you’ve just arrived
instead of just left.

PAD Challenge 7

Day 7: For today's prompt, I want you to pick a plant (any plant), make that the title of your poem, and write a poem. Pretty simple. (Or is it?) Most people, including myself, immediately think of plants as organic creatures, but, of course, "plants" can also be places of employment or spies or...as you can see, there's always room for breaking outside the lines.


Two Sides

Are there two sides to every story?
I think about this as I slice a tomato in half,

the red swirl of hemispheres
divided into thick, beefy curves.

Vine ripened, savory interior
of pulp and pleasure,

fruit from a garden
I both love and hate.

One side holds what I know.
One side holds what I don’t.

One side loves completely.
One side is incapable of it.

The flesh speaks a language
I don’t understand

Hard to believe what was nurtured
from seed will end in salt

and my closed mouth wrapped
around my tongue in silence.

Tae Kwondo

This is one of those proud mommy days I'm privileged to have. Yesterday I watched my Alex become a yellow belt in Tae Kwondo! He was awesome. Not sure who was more nervous ... yes I am--I was!

Lately I've been running late or behind trying to fit as much as I can. Didn't read on the registration form that testing began at 10 a.m. We arrived at 10:30 a.m. Fortunately, it worked in our favor. Also fortuitous was Ella's sudden urge to take a nap. While she missed seeing her brother break a board with his hand, she got a little rest after a restless night.

Photos are from my iPhone (forgot to bring my camera).



Also reposting "The Illusion of Flight" from a few days ago. (tabs are not showing up in Blogger)

The Illusion of Flight


When he enters the studio
he is a young master in training,
leaving behind his Star Wars
and superhero characters
for something more heroic.
He bows,
cinches the white belt around his waist
and begins the way of the foot and fist:
a rapid fire of front kicks and back kicks,
side kicks and roundhouse kicks,
punching with the skill of a warrior,
almost mystical in his concentration.
Watch his body glide his open-hand strikes,
giving him the illusion of flight—
this man cub,
expressionless in his execution
but happy in an existence
far away from here.

PAD Challenge 6

The Blower of Leaves


They swirl like kids at recess,
tumbling in and out of formation,
twirling about in their autumnal alliances.

The trees have given
shade and cover,
all that I have asked for,

only to be thrown out
in lawn bags with the morning trash.
Such is the way with givers—

they offer their splendor
until a new season comes
in the commerce of change.

Fall baptizes the cool air
While the leaves rain down
on the uncut grass.

I am not the one
who created the tall maples
standing watch over our house,

but today I am their god,
I am the blower of leaves
creating a microburst of gyration—

a million brilliant ambers twisting
in the thinning October sun.
No matter how much I clear,

my lawn is their landing strip.
Nothing is ever easy or true.
I do not seek perfection

but revel in the process.
Always there is sky
waiting to fall.

The rustle of leaves
is the sound of gravity
pulling my dreams

back to earth.

Friday

Whew! I'm on track to write three poems in one day. There's nothing worse than getting behind in a writing challenge because I'm constantly playing catch-up. It produces more stress than necessary. Isn't this supposed to be fun? It is, until you find yourself slumped over your computer at 1 a.m. *sigh*

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When I go through one of these challenges, I develop tunnel vision about what I'm posting. I'll make an effort to lighten things up over the weekend.

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The leaves have all but fallen off the trees. The foliage is past tits prime, and though I've been writing about it, I haven't posted many pictures. Time to break out the camera for a day in the life of a Poet Mom. Life is good, my friends!

Happy Friday, y'all!

PAD Challenge 5

Day 5: Write a growth poem. This could be psychological or emotional growth, physical growth, or however you'd like to take it.

(Again, the tabs are not showing up in Blogger)



The Illusion of Flight


When he enters the studio
he is a young master in training,
leaving behind his Star Wars
and superhero characters
for something more heroic.
He bows,
cinches the white belt around his waist
and begins the way of the foot and fist:
a rapid fire of front kicks and back kicks,
side kicks and roundhouse kicks,
punching with the skill of a warrior,
almost mystical in his concentration.
Watch his body glide his open-hand strikes,
giving him the illusion of flight—
this man cub,
expressionless in his execution
but happy in an existence
far away from here.

PAD Challenge 4

After the Cleaving


The kids play in a leaf pile in the front yard
scurrying about under a thickening sky
as they throw leaves into the chilled wind.
All afternoon, I listen to their child’s play
grinning my joy against their brilliance.
I can’t help but wonder
why doesn’t he want this anymore?
in that internal dialogue
one must speak after a cleaving
to keep things whole. I hold this secret
tight as a jacket around my skin.
Meanwhile, the clouds hover above us
in a stalled darkness over everything,
while my little birds build and rebuild
their nest of leaves. So rowdy in our grief,
I mask what I don’t completely understand.

PAD Challenge 3

Day 3

Prompt #1: Write a positive poem. Like how great writing a poem a day through November is.
Prompt #2: Write a negative poem. Like how un-great technological hiccups in November are.

I chose Prompt #2


January Is a Month You’d Consider Leaving


The days seem shorter inside me.
Everything is iced over in grief
and always there are layers.

Our conversations slow to mere breaths
no words, just plumes of steam
vanishing into thin, frigid air.

I can’t compete with the failing light
from your voracious heart
burning us both into nothing.

Something has left us.
Every droplet of joy has resolved
itself to sky. When will melt come?

How could anyone blame you
for escaping the coldest month
of the year?