This week I decided to double my random poetry process. I went to a favorite inspiration post: “141 Ways to Play, Process, Stretch, Express, Disrupt Words and Form” and chose #23-31, without previewing them. Each day I attempted the linked prompts (below) and then also included the Inktober word of the day.
Your surprise party today
did not leak, so you were blessed
with laughter and memories
I am a mending people-pleaser
I don’t mind being an appeaser
but my own wishes are indistinct
May my imprecision become extinct
I miss you and can’t wait to
see you. In the meantime, your
painting helps connect us.
On her deathbed, my mom
got up again.
With a welcome spark,
she lived longer–
in her wheelchair,
at the dinner table,
with her kids all around.
Later, she said,
“I think it’s time for bed.
The wine’s made me a little tipsy.”
“Good night, Mama.
See you in the morning.”
On the way over,
we made a plan for the day.
First, we’ll build pyramids.
Later we’ll have a pan band.
When it’s lunch time, Coconut
wants to eat crispy carrots.
(He can’t really eat, but I’ll eat them.)
You said we can have pancakes.
May I make my own pirate?
We have to build a zoo
with habitats for all the animals.
Then we’ll decorate gingerbread,
do the Makey Makey piano,
build a tower with the straws
and those yellow connectors.
If our dad comes too soon,
we’ll save some for next week.
29 October, Friday (A life memory, yes, but not from high school.)
My mom had worried
when she saw her newborn
with a patch on her eye,
a port wine stain birthmark
I’ve hardly noticed.
That approaching rattler isn’t a worry; it can’t bite and slither
at the same time. My coffee isn’t finished, but I guess I’ll
make a move. Wouldn’t want to find out if his opinion differs.
“A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings”
By Gabriel Garcia Marquez
A Summary Poem
Too much rain, crabs flooding into the courtyard,
A very old man with enormous wings appears in the mud,
And the new baby has been feverish for days.
Neighbors say the man is an angel coming for the child.
The priest thinks he’s a faker, just a carnival trickster,
But pilgrims come to pay five cents each to get a view.
A woman turned into a spider comes to town, so
Everyone loses interest in the old man angel.
The spider woman is a better storyteller.
The angel continues to live in the chicken coop
Until the hen house collapses, and the angel wanders
like a stray man, here and there, barely staying alive.
Years later, after a vulnerable winter, miraculously
his health improves, and his wings repair.
The angel flaps them clumsily, takes a risk and flies away.