It has been raining for two days. It stopped for a moment, so I thought I would focus today’s observations on the water. Levi, the neighbor’s cat, greeted me at the door and joined me on my walk to the dock. But when we got there, the water was covered in suds.
The suds only gathered on one side of the dock
Levi stood guard while I took pictures
I love that he takes walks with me
The water was choppy and murky.
I wonder if Cascade Water Alliance put in that awful chemical to kill the milfoil.
It has been pouring and yet there are spiderwebs on the ladder, strong stuff spider silk
The neighbor’s buoy is the clown nose of the lake
The sky is so blue, the sun makes a lovely lens glare onto this fluffy cloud, hard to believe it’s been raining all morning
I see a fox head in the shadows on the water’s surface
Levi is getting impatient with me; he wants to continue our walk
I don’t know what this is in my fire pit, but it looks like rolled up hair, a lot of rolled up hair
There you have it, Day 2’s pictures and observations. I may have to get a stick and poke at that thing in the fire pit, but I’ll save those observations for tomorrow.
The prompt, inspired by Bernadette Mayer’s book Memory, challenges to jot down notes about several images and observations each day for a week then write a poem that combines them into a single sequential mass.
The project for this week
Bernadette Mayer’s shot a roll of film each day for a month for her project. This week I intend to take (at least) twenty-four pictures each day and take notes about the images. I’ll share some of the images and observations and create a final poem at the end of next week.
Day 1 comments and observations
I talked to my mother this morning and she was very excited about all the flowers in bloom, especially the rhododendrons. During my photographic observation, the flowers stole focus.
My notes and observations:
My herbs are flowering
I don’t smell by herbs enough
rosemary has a strong delicious smell
flowering thyme doesn’t smell much
rhododendrons look like tropical pine cones
perhaps Tahitian?
just before they bloom
the dead ivy on the side of this tree feels like a bad omen
Is that white flower gentrifying that blue flower?
Join Me
For those of you who just finished NaPoWriMo and were looking for more prompts and inspiration, I hope you will join me for this week-long poetry prompt. I’m already having fun with it. Please share your observations and links to your images in the comments and we can enjoy this adventure together.
Now that National Poetry Writing Month is over and many of us have thirty fresh poem drafts, it’s time to start thinking about revision. This morning I scoured the internet for revision techniques and found a lot of useful information and some worksheets. We want to approach each poem with fresh eyes, so I recommend starting with the draft you wrote on April first, or practicing up on some older poems to let your new drafts rest a bit. Here are the resources I enjoyed the most:
I like a lot of these ideas. Today, I’m going to start reading through the poetry collages I created last year and play with some of Molly Spencer’s “radical revision” techniques. I hope you find some useful ideas in all these resources that inspire your revision process.
And don’t forget to read a ton of poetry while you’re at it.
The Storm photograph (2020) of fabric glass light box by Maria L. Berg
There Will Be a Garden photograph (2020) of fabric glass light box by Maria L. Berg
I thought a couple of my fabric glass light boxes were nice illustrations for today’s return poem, but the way they were hanging on the wall wasn’t conducive to the photographs I wanted, so I rearranged them. It felt weird, but good, pulling them off the wall and swapping them around, plugging them in and enjoying them in a new way.
The poem
When Zeal Returns
Zeal returns at the break of dawn
before realization or consequence yawn
like a child on a swing who
soars and falls
higher and faster until
she tires or jumps
trying to fly
only to crash
Zeal returns with an ember of creation
before impossibility or discouragement’s gestation
like a comet it lights
my sky
for a while
its tail a dying
as it travels
from sight
Zeal returns when discovering the forgotten
before loss and grief get a word in
like a yo-yo on a frayed string
the return feels like
skilled control until
snap
it rolls
away
Zeal returns when it does
passion and zest without cause
like flowers and leaves
sun and rain
in the spring
bring a will to begin
something, anything
and clean and plant
to kneel in the dirt
let go
of the hurt and
turn my face, arms extended
to the wind until
it burns
zither – a musical instrument consisting of a flat wooden sound box with numerous strings stretched across it, placed horizontally and played with the fingers and a plectrum (any implement for plucking a string, such as a small piece of plastic, wood, etc.). It is used especially in central European folk music.
zydeco – Popular music of southern Louisiana that combines French dance melodies, elements of Caribbean music, and the blues, played by small groups featuring the guitar, the accordion, and a washboard.
Looking for a good definition of zydeco got me going through my personal collection of not only zydeco music, but a beautiful art collection by Earl Hébert. His warm joyous paintings of Louisiana life brightened my days. His studio was next to Royal Rags, the costume shop I worked at in the French Quarter. His beautiful book Zydeco Shoes includes his paintings, recipes, and a CD of zydeco by The Lucky Playboys “Plus d’chance–Que d’esprit” meaning More Luck–Than Sense. 🙂
What a wonderful way to end this poetry challenge. I’m listening to zydeco, admiring beautiful paintings by an old friend and thinking about the return of zeal, passion, and zest for life.
Academy of American Poets has an event tonight. What a great way to end NaPoWriMo. I was surprised to see names like Dulé Hill and Dan Rather on the list. I look forward to seeing which poems they read.
Enjoy This Day! Treat Yourself to some Great Poetry!
It’s a complicated relationship
but then, isn’t every relationship–complicated
We keep it casual
He wanders over on a whim
takes a nap on my porch
either in the chair where I like to read
or the cushion on the bench
When I notice him,
I go out to say Hello
sometimes, when I open the door,
he’ll waltz right in
He’ll snuggle up to me,
put his head on my leg as I work
I cherish this time and try not to move
because if I do, he’ll leave
He gets mad if I go to the bathroom or if I eat
More often these days,
when I think we’re enjoying each other’s company
he lashes out at me
his moods change so quickly
I am often caught off guard
the language barrier can be frustrating
At the moment, he is inside my bass drum
a sign that he wants to hide
from the world as much as I do
Yesterday, I didn’t realize he was there
I thought he was outside
and he appeared in the middle of the day
The way he strutted across the room
I think he enjoyed surprising me
He’s a total trickster
changing the whims of the wind
with the flick of his tail
like Coyote, he draws in the fool with false wisdom
like the one-eyed pirate with a see-through eye patch
he prowls
He has trained me well
I do tricks for his affections
provide treats at his command
slide and click, slide and click
the glass door to his whims
all for a moment more
with this elderly feline
who chooses my company
over the chaos at home
Yu – “An interval of the Chinese scale. The ancient Chinese divided the octave into twelve equal parts, like the semitones of our chromatic scale, which were called lu. Their scale, as commonly used, consisted, however, of only five notes, which were called koung, chang, kio, tché, and yu, and which corresponded to our F, G, A, C, D; koung or F being considered to be the normal key.” (from cambridge.org)
In One Ear and Out the Other print from photograph of fabric glass by Maria L. Berg staged by Redbubble
The poem
The Best Rooms Are Too X-rated
Thinking through the bedrooms
so many bedrooms
moving and moving
trying to make something mine
I tried to settle on one
to mentally linger, loiter
describe in detail
like a capsule through time
I wanted it to be a happy place
full of growth and creative industry
accomplishment or at least good dreams
and for a moment I settled on your room
that first room
with only a mattress on the floor
we sat together in the chair
and blew bubbles through the fan
That room didn’t need anything else
for a few weeks
Then I thought of our room
before the storm
the tall ceilings and
I realized that all of the best rooms
the very best rooms
are too X-rated
to describe in this public space
for prying eyes
to savor
and embrace
This morning, I found another prompt that I found inspiring. Over at Reena Saxena’s site, prompt # 131 is a quote that I could really relate to.
He had lost everything of value to him. There was an empty canvas on the easel, his colors and tools. What would he paint?
After Hurricane Katrina, when I had lost everything, I used fabric as my canvas. I had been working on an original technique of sewing layers and cutting that, when finished, looks like stained glass, thus “fabric glass.” The image at the top of the post “In One Ear and Out The Other” symbolizes trying to take all the bad and turn it into good.
My original pieces are all one of a kind, but I took pictures of them and loaded them onto Redbubble.com where they make them into prints, cards, clothing, pillows and other products.
Massive Wonderment (2018) photograph by Maria L. Berg
The poem
A Review of Wonderment
At first glance, it can be confusing
and a little bit scary
the rush of heightened perception
opening the senses to floods of emotion
when facing the tremendous unknown
The impressive beauty of discovery
sparking the creative mind to
sort through the behemoth array
of memories and form
new associations
each texture astronomical
each smell pythonic
In moments of wonderment
it becomes easy to sit peacefully
without imposing hurry
and enjoy each herculean sight
I applaud wonderment its mighty perseverance
its elephantine stubborness
and ability to always stay in front
of the latest trends and fads
If I must find fault
it would be that sometimes
a sense of wonder can be too massive
overwhelming, even exhausting
but that is a warbly criticism
for sleep brings recovery
So bring on the wonderment
gigantic and colossal
Highly recommended
A day can change so quickly
the sun slips behind the clouds
limbs break in the wind
becoming glass-shattering projectiles
the house floods, or burns, or burns while flooding
families shrink or grow
chairs are shifted around the table
Change will always happen
childhood dreams fleeting
take a lifetime to achieve
and once achieved warp and grow gargantuan
like Carl Jung discovering the matrix–
the simulation is now a garden snake
chasing its tail
How do we value change?
as dear as flying horses to fairy tales
or garbage to seagulls
as feared as homelessness
or a leader’s dangerous idiocy?
A day can change like
the whims of Mt. Rainier’s cloud hats
or a stain finds satin on a walk to school.
The cardio-glide found on the roadside
pairs well with cheese and wine,
so it does not produce change,
not this day
however, the vinyl records and books
do well to lighten the mood
because a day can change so quickly
This prompt inspired me to look back through what I’ve written this month and the one poem that inspired a remix was the one that started with a line from the anne carson bot: A Future Voice in the Dark. Changing that first line and the title, got the words flowing into my present tense poem to go with the Hoa Nguyen prompt.
The poem
To Study This Twinkling
How long can I study this twinkling? A vibrato in time and space defining now. I remove my pajamas to put on sweats, I am on the way to the mailbox, walk to the car to make sure it starts, the red BRAKE light comes on, it roars to life, I hear “DIY Quarantine” from a voice on the radio, flip the key to off and open the door, so I won’t hear anymore. I jump out, pull the door handle to make sure it’s locked, habits leave traces of the before. I continue my journey, moss creeps across the driveway, bits of dead fir branches rest on the bushes, the mailbox has spiderwebs over the lock. I am delighted to see Poets & Writers in there. I don’t see anyone, I don’t hear a car, I hurry back. The drizzle is cold. I place the mail on the counter–wash my hands with soap and water. But the magazine? I use hand sanitizer on the magazine, but I’m not ready to sit with it yet. I hear “this is it, the apocalypse” and “I’ll pay you at another time.” Words that alligator to this moment. Uninvited, they bite right through. “I go back into the breathing method,” words of a mountain climber clinging to sanity guide me to common ground. The sun breaks through, the world completely changes. Shocks of crimson and blush, pearl and violet jar my senses as I swivel. I grab my camera and run outside. This study ends, a new one begins.
Strong dimpled flesh in my favorite color
the perfect size for the palm of my hand
peels away revealing chalky off-white veins
and an enticing, refreshing scent
that lingers on my finger tips
I use my thumb to remove more of your coat
and both thumbs to pull you in half
each section the perfect treat
the first bite rewards with refreshing juice
tangy and sweet in unison excite the taste buds
I devour your sections
faster and faster
my fingers become sticky
your peel lays open and empty
sad evidence of my violent
satisfaction
Experience Writing 