Day 11: write a ‘portrait’ poem (see link)
ripped
out of speckled light,
becomes
a skinny frame of blood,
a
portal of curious apparitions
gazing
out, to be stepped inside,
a misshapen
city shrouded
in haze
inviting lost souls
to wander,
explore spellbound,
be
swallowed whole by
red on
maroon.
Day 10:
write a ‘poetic form’ poem, and/or write an ‘anti-form’ poem (see link)
The waka is a Japanese 5-line poem (or stanza) with a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable per line structure.
The first 2 lines should make up
one piece, the next 2 lines should make the next,
and the final line can
stand on its own or as part of the second group.
without foundation
of choice inflex reflex auto,
smash-and-grab
of ideas,
bereft
of blueprint, line, fleshed-out arc.
Moving pictures
walking inside out of themselves.
Moon
flit, cut felt,
cherry blossoms
blow-out rhyme
falling,
a slide out of flux,
rewind, rewound,
unwind, unfound,
sunken states
of passing light.
Day 9: write a ‘help’ poem (see link)
in a tea-leaf
face ground into a porcelain cup,
scratched
jazz bouncing beneath a dusty needle,
interpretative
dancers aglitter under a disco ball,
a sodden
lottery ticket grasped in a warm pocket,
strangers
sharing jokes at an iced-up bus stop,
a message
and smiley sat waiting on a dating app,
the purr
of a cat as it noses you awake.
Day 6: write
a power poem (see link)
velvet-mounted
blade
and magic
helmet,
slide on
a pair of steel gloves,
a stream
of chain mail,
dead-spiked
boots,
summon a
ride
on the
last unicorn.
you don’t
want me to leave,
but only
want to interrogate:
where I’ve
been,
who I’ve
met,
where I’m
going next
without you.
Not wanting
me to be
anywhere
without you.
I
usually lose.
So today
I’m prepared.
I’m
suited up.
And the
world is waiting
without you.
Day 5: write a tree poem (see link)
broken deep
with your fingertip
written in rings,
rotating days into years.
where a bough breaks,
bark peeling like skin.
leaves take flight,
red-green haloes.
Day 4: write
a short poem (see link)
be unmeasurable.
Day 3: write a disappointment or celebration poem (see link)
can go either way –
a wedding or a funeral.
where two walk out or one lies in,
both a crossroads in the life path.
the hang of shoulders,
hues and scents of cut flowers.
or wear a blue expression,
bring new, reminisce on old.
or reach a dead end
without explanation, conclusion.
companions for the ride.
A horse and cart stand showy or lonely.
throw confetti, share the first dance.
For the other, one magpie sounds sorrow.
an invisible divide,
a curtain, a separation,
something to divide a nation.
families, friends and pets,
languages and religions,
phrases, thoughts, echoes
of memories and stuffed albums.
demolish, build again.
You’re left with the grit,
the weight, the dearth of
belonging, of knowing.
a hunger for how things were,
those rose-tinted yesterdays
before the rise of a great wall.
left a shadow, a scar,
a thing unerasable,
a bleed in the sky.
A waking of the hour.
A call to act,
not look away again.
Day 8: write
a ‘True (blank)’ poem (see link)
but it
would only be one truth
or a slice
you wish to say,
play, unravel,
dig out of the dirt
in the
way you unearth a plant
section
by section. First the leaves,
trailed
by the stalk, the roots
sinewed,
rough and gnarly
still
swallowed hole invisible,
moss-strewn,
this green gunk
spreading
the word, inviting
the truant
world to listen in.
