NaPoWriMo 11/Poem for Poetry Thursday
Happy Poetry Thursday, everyone.
For those of you participating in NaPoWriMo, are you tired of writing or what? Writing a poem a day has sapped my energy in a way I didn't expect. But this week's prompt is my favorite Poetry Thursday prompt of all time: writing a poem based on a line submitted by a community member. I can always find the energy to do this prompt.
I chose lines from Delia (“I am a window, a girl, you can see right through me”) and Pumpkin Doodle (“It smells nothing like rain.”). Both of these bloggers posted their lines back to back, which seemed to fit together naturally for me.
Shameless plug: If you haven't done so, visit my column at Poetry Thursday, as well as the other great posts this week from Delia, Liz, and Dana.
Lastly, thank you for your support regarding the passing of Phebus Etienne. I appreciate it.
Poem for Phebus
Everything—
the apartment slightly bigger than a shoebox,
the creaky floorboards, the cupboard with its
chipped plates and scratched glasses—
dropped out of the cloudy sky of memory
when I heard the news. Brought me back
to our college days when we spoke
the secret language of youth.
Tonight, I am a window, a girl,
you can see right through me,
this unremarkable evening, the street glistening
but it smells nothing like rain.
I am all of these things—
the late nights, the hours we filled with poems,
not poems but words, not words but meaning,
which now hang over me like a star.
The dry air is full of your spark.
Your poems leave me quite dumb
with love for you all over again.
It’s not your absence but your presence
that unnerves me.
For those of you participating in NaPoWriMo, are you tired of writing or what? Writing a poem a day has sapped my energy in a way I didn't expect. But this week's prompt is my favorite Poetry Thursday prompt of all time: writing a poem based on a line submitted by a community member. I can always find the energy to do this prompt.
I chose lines from Delia (“I am a window, a girl, you can see right through me”) and Pumpkin Doodle (“It smells nothing like rain.”). Both of these bloggers posted their lines back to back, which seemed to fit together naturally for me.
Shameless plug: If you haven't done so, visit my column at Poetry Thursday, as well as the other great posts this week from Delia, Liz, and Dana.
Lastly, thank you for your support regarding the passing of Phebus Etienne. I appreciate it.
Poem for Phebus
Everything—
the apartment slightly bigger than a shoebox,
the creaky floorboards, the cupboard with its
chipped plates and scratched glasses—
dropped out of the cloudy sky of memory
when I heard the news. Brought me back
to our college days when we spoke
the secret language of youth.
Tonight, I am a window, a girl,
you can see right through me,
this unremarkable evening, the street glistening
but it smells nothing like rain.
I am all of these things—
the late nights, the hours we filled with poems,
not poems but words, not words but meaning,
which now hang over me like a star.
The dry air is full of your spark.
Your poems leave me quite dumb
with love for you all over again.
It’s not your absence but your presence
that unnerves me.
Comments
I also dropped by to thank you for the lovely prompt (which I put to rather indifferent use, I'm afraid, but it was fun).
In answer to your question, I am very much enjoying writing a poem or two a day. It's a lot of fun.
I feel so strongly your love for her and thus her presence. ((((hugs)))
"the late nights, the hours we filled with poems,
not poems but words, not words but meaning,
which now hang over me like a star."
Just beautiful...
I really admire the unadorned directness here, even while you pile up the imagery (it never gets in the way), and you make the best use of the borrowed line, just at that turn of the poem.
Okay, and the subject matter, I'm just a big-time push-over for these kinds of big-hearted and kindred-seeking memory pieces.
I love this poem!
rel
Peace Giggles
And thanks, Bug, about your comments about the Poetry Thursday article. I really enjoyed writing it.