Yesterday at dVerse Poets Pub, Lisa presented an inspiring prompt for poetics. I figured I would rush out a few poems with the prompt “Edges and fringes,” but when I sat down to write, all I came up with were lists of words I wanted to use, nothing more. Today, after some journaling, it came together.
With One Toe Pushing
Ego drowns in the campfire at the edge of fascination at the brink of sanity with one toe pushing Who then maintains the role of oversight? An oversight of Ego’s; I am certain
When honesty eclipses opinion in the jelly shower of imagination its sharp bite creating borders verging on volatile Is it raising tempers to breaking or tempering passions to advantage?
Artistry crosses the hangnail edge of complete hurt I want to lose myself, to stay in the fire But I must strike while imagination is hot and yet my very being is on strike
Humility returns with the hitchhiker cobwebs of wisdom Between sane and mad is such a fine, fine line like a hummingbird feather’s quill an eyelash fallen from a field mouse a sand flea trail on a Northwest beach but the sand invites my toes to sink and waves crash to keep my attention the sand fleas irritate my body alive I am safely back from the edge I refrain–only peer at the beyond at what can and will be–singing the refrain: not today
Just yesterday, I was exploring online paint chip collections–specifically Sherwin-Williams and Dunn-Edwards–in response to a paint chip poetry prompt. Then this morning, I took a look at the dVerse Poets Pub Poetics prompt from yesterday and it is to write a poem from the point of view of a color. It feels meant to be, so here’s my poem:
Being Green
What am I to you when you admire my hue
The cool spring grass where you lay your picnic blanket or the grasshopper leaping from the blades to escape your hand The gleeful spritz of electric lime you add to your julep while a lark tickles a breeze
And is the light true when you see my value
As crisp as Romaine or kale in your salad or the luck in the clover you pluck as you chew, feeling the grip of envy tightening your chest as you admire the parakeet flying
My value changes with the passing hours like the roller-coaster dreams of day traders I arise the delicate and dutiful lacewing but may grow flat like Espalier against the wall And somewhere in between I sizzle with chroma, letting my additive primary show in the neon glow.
After night falls and I am no longer seen I am the eerie call of the cricket the chirp of the tiny tree frog the needles falling from the firs in the wind coating the driveways carpeting the forest floors.
Today’s Tuesday Poetics prompt at the dVerse Poets Pub is all about fungi. Mushroom poems–and I was just looking at Alice in Wonderland images. I had so many ideas while reading the prompt poems. Here goes:
Fungous Circle
My Swedish Mom took me mushroom hunting specifically for chanterelles, small orange ruffles hiding among the stones and birch one would think obvious but for a tween too elusive.
I thought fungus was gross as was all food but she caught my attention as she pointed out the important signs of poison.
Like the beautiful little wild flowers that sprung through the forest floor after the winter waned I had been kept ignorant, though a curious child.
Now, it is understandable that I hadn’t been guided to see, to hunt, to appreciate each unique cap, each frill of a delicate gill, each stalk and ring.
When our mushrooms grow from septic or near run-off my wild palate wasn’t encouraged free food can be dangerous I was already known to eat flowers.
Taught the circle of life, I saw the little trees growing from the fallen as I traipsed across the canyon.
I told my parents I would be buried there. They denied me. Said it couldn’t be done. But now, it’s clear, I was not the only one.
To be put in a sack, made of mushroom spores And planted, it’s happening, possible. Then I read people are making mushroom sneakers. Do I want to be stinky feet? That run comfortably and well.
I felt inspired by dVerse poets pub’s Quadrille prompt today to ponder possibilities. My quadrille came to me almost complete (short one word) in the shower.
Imagination’s Playground
The imaginative life is a playground of possibilities
until all the door and windows are locked and the bed is on fire
then there are only two possibilities: to dance or to cower
and soon there is one: to face all the unimagined possibilities
It’s the last day of OctPoWriMo. Thank you, Morgan Dragonwillow, for hosting and for your inspiring prompts. Thank you to everyone who participated for your camaraderie and sharing your poetry.
It was a productive and creative month. I’m very excited about finally making the step in my exploration of klecksography to draw on my inkblots and write my poems on the inkblot page. I’ve wanted to get to that point for a long time. I’m also excited to continue exploring my new poetry form Tappswave and see where it takes me.
For my final poem, I’m going to try an idea I had over a year ago. When I read (amazon associate link) Night Sky With Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong, I was intrigued by his numbered poems in which the top half of the page had numbers typed in space as if notes or labels to the unseen and then those numbers were footnoted. The spacing of the numbers made me think of markers at a crime scene which led me to create my own crime scene photos with the intent to make poems that go with. I hope you will see what I mean below.
Into the Night by Maria L. Berg 2019
Into the Night 1. howling and yowling pull me from my bed into the moonlight 2. tufts of fur, ripped and torn bring worries of death 3. Don’t look up. I hold my breath as my ankle painfully turns 4. rustling leaves bare nerves aware I am not alone 5. on high alert, I do not turn around, but hurry, limping into the shadows
micro-story : When TV preacher Pat Robertson made his prediction I laughed and laughed. Watching Cthulhu rise from the waves in the light of a nuclear explosion, I have to ask myself: Whose laughing now?
NaNo Prep
Here we are. The insanity begins tomorrow. The time has flown by and though I am probably more prepared than I have ever been, I still don’t feel ready at all.
Tonight, my region is doing a costumed countdown to midnight. Since I doubt I’ll have any trick-or-treaters, and I’m not going anywhere, it’ll be nice to have an online Halloween with fellow writers.
For my final prep, I mowed the lawns and went to the Grocery Outlet where I stocked up on Amy’s frozen meals and a huge bag of coffee beans. This evening I plan to clean the bathrooms and vacuum, so I can start with a cleaner house.
One thing I learned throughout Nano Prep this month is putting my plans in these posts really helps me get things done, so here are my goals for the first week of NaNoWrimo:
Wake up early and go straight to my notebook for morning pages
meditate
butt in seat in office by 9:30 a.m.
take daily walks
read
I still haven’t decided what I’ll do here on this site during NaNoWriMo. I don’t plan on doing intensive daily posts like I have in the past. I want to get to my draft and write, but I also want to check in here.
What would you like to see on Experience Writing during NaNoWriMo?
I was thinking a daily photograph and something I find inspiring, motivational, or surprising while I’m writing. Other ideas?
Here’s hoping we all write great novels and have a lot of fun doing it.
I am a filter a sponge, a sea cucumber transforming the discarded
I am a creator a silkworm, an orb weaver stitching new dimensions
I am a canvas a cuttlefish, a chameleon changing hues and patterns with each discovery
I am a seer an eagle, a hawk watching patiently for movement
I am a tome an elephant, a whale heavy with memory and wonder
My fabricglass piece from outside
Writober
For today’s visual prompt, I chose this image by Jakub Rozalski
micro-story : When the war ended, the meka warriors were left wandering the toxic borderlands. Always on alert, they were avoided by all but the suicidal and insane.
Along the Tracks on a Bright Sunny Day by Maria L. Berg 2020
Today’s prompt inspired a new bokeh filter and photography project. I used wire and tape to create “tracks” on a square-cut bokeh filter. Then I put lights over paintings in my office to put those tracks into and through spaces where no tracks had been before.
straight to work her hands hurry with nervous impatience each step clear she feels the possibilities
~when concept comes to form~
she sees the intolerable specks of dust inside the lens glaring in the light but they are her signature they are evidence of honesty
Out of the Blue by Maria L. Berg 2020
Writober
For today’s visual prompt, I chose Critical Mass by Photocosma
micro-story : When he began his experiments with black holes, the excitement of small discoveries, publishing and proving his theories, may have blinded him to the big picture. Now, staring into the powerful void of his creation, he knew the heart-wrenching horror of playing God.
Today I received my copy of Emporium by Aditi Machado (amazon associate link) Winner of the 2019 James Laughlin Award, so I thought I would recommend reading some of her poems.
She faces threats with effort and courage defends creative space from distraction two choices arrive of equal value
Wishing balance, she refuses to act until a unique solution guides her as waters rise, she leaves comfort behind
Instinct, an ally, leads toward challenges this new world is not as she imagined unpredictable and tempestuous
but pushing through rewards with abundance the journey back is restful and quiet resurrected the fool, wide-eyed, renewed
beginning fresh, energized with passion facing hope with a lucky, shiny coin
The Greener Path by Maria L. Berg 2020
Writober
For today’s visual prompt, I chose this image of a woman on a cliff by a mausoleum
micro-story : When I had insomnia, I would often climb the hill just before sunrise. I enjoyed the creepy lone mausoleum on the outcropping, slowly emerging from the morning mist, otherworldly, full of mystery. These chilly daybreaks had become my ritual, so her first appearance was jarring, a trespass. At first, I believed my sleeplessness and the slanted light played tricks on me, but she lingered and I realized the trespass was mine.
yearning for power over fear of the unknown chant into the night
ancient recipes to command earth’s forces and fight the unseen
something from nothing symbols of knowledge reveal the boundary torn
Writober
For today’s visual prompt, I chose this image by Anton Semenov
micro-story : Mikey had tricked the guardian into opening the portal to the depths of nightmares. He was starting to regret trapping his little brother down there. If he couldn’t bring him back, Mom was going to kill him.
Forms Yesterday, we were challenged to create our own form. I got a start on it, but needed more time to play around with my ideas. I knew I wanted to incorporate internal rhyme and repetition with slight variation.
I wanted the form to reflect my daily interaction with my environment, so here it is, the Tappswave form:
The Tappswave is made of one or more eight line stanzas. The eight lines are couplets of sensation then reaction that repeat with variation. Each couplet has its own rules of rhyme and rhythm.
Lines one and two: Observation and attention like light shining on the water.
Line one: specifically describe a sensory experience my example An odd sharp chirp came from my plum tree Line two: memory or emotional response my example making me think of children shooting laser-guns
Lines three and four: Choppy, all one and two syllable words, like a cluster of small waves.
Line three: Expand on the sensory experience of line one, include internal perfect and familial rhyme to the last word of line one. I believed the tease or plea was a bird high on a branch unseen Line four: memory or emotional response to line three with internal perfect and familial rhyme to the last word of line two. the alarm bell rung, damage done when I was young
Lines five and six: Show what’s underneath the surface. Use words that rhyme with fish or types of fish for the internal rhymes.
Line five: Reveal a revelation about the sensory detail in line one. At last my search reveals the perp on his perch Line six: memory or emotional response to line five. and I’ll pass on the sass of this non-bird’s wrath
Lines seven and eight: Reflection and refraction/ ebb and flow
Line seven: Line two slightly changed to show reflection That laser-gun battle rages on Line eight: Line one with a slight change An odd sharp chirp from my plum tree
If I chose to write another stanza, I would start with a related but different specific sensory detail and explore it through the pattern of the eight lines.
My first Tappswave poem
Searching Out the New Sound
An odd sharp chirp came from my plum tree making me think of children shooting laser-guns I believed the tease or plea was a bird on a high branch unseen but the sound an alarm bell rung, damage done when I was young At last my search reveals the perp on his perch and I’ll pass on the sass of this non-bird’s wrath The nerve-shredding laser-gun battle rages on as an odd sharp chirp from my plum tree
Plum Tree Laser-guns by Maria L. Berg 2020
Writober
For today’s visual prompt, I chose this image that was hanging on my friend’s wall.
micro-story : She had always been told she had statuesque beauty. Once she had a fully integrated neural implant, she spent all of her time in the virtual world. Feeling no attachment to her gangly limbs any longer, she decided to fully embrace that beauty.
Read for inspiration and craft
Horror flash fiction story “Shedding” by Deborah Sheldon
