Day Four – NaPoWriMo, 2022

Poetry Prompt – #Screw It
after Mathia Svalina

1. Flick a finger at your nearest word.
2. Screw the word at the wrist.
3. Elbow a number of words to one side.
4. Shrug that paragraph cloaking your right shoulder.
5. Or your left shoulder; if that’s the hand you write with.
6. Stretch the neck of that word intent on strangling you.
7. Lick a word; more than once if it’s tasty, especially if
   it excites the hormones rather than the bones of it.
8. Spit out the words you cannot spell just remember you
   are neither a cobra or an alpaca; leave the spitting to them.
9. Eight is my lucky number.
10. I ate as many words as I could devour.
11. I can still see my toes.
12. Eleven is my lucky number too.

Benita H. Kape (c) 5.4.2022

Poetry Prompts

“Finally, here’s our optional prompt! Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem . . . in the form of a poetry prompt. If that sounds silly, well, maybe it is! But it’s not without precedent. The poet Mathias Svalina has been writing surrealist prompt-poems for quite a while, posting them to Instagram. You can find examples here, and here, and here.”

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Day 3, NaPoWriMo 2022 – a Glosa poem

March Into April, Aussie 2022

July, July

There’s a dreary morning coming up
the sky’s as dull as a shoe.
It’ll be a day that won’t touch
even the gap of blue.

(By Vincent O’Sullivan)

It was March, East Coast of Aussie coping it bad.
Rain hangs and doesn’t budge.
Of weather warnings; given the superadd.
There’s a dreary morning coming up.

It seemed the rain was never spent.
It kept on coming through.
With climate change little will prevent.
The sky’s as dull as a shoe.

The water was up to windows, then the roof.
An airclub/field, planes swept away: too jolly much.
But they’d reclaim them and regroup.
It’ll be a day that won’t touch

The days they’d waited to see again.
When they would reassemble and review;
Right down to the last drop of sky, fundament –
Even the last gap of blue.

Benita H. Kape (c) 5.4.2022

“And now for our (optional) prompt. This one is a bit complex, so I saved it for a Sunday. It’s a Spanish form called a “glosa” – literally a poem that glosses, or explains, or in some way responds to another poem. The idea is to take a quatrain from a poem that you like, and then write a four-stanza poem that explains or responds to each line of the quatrain, with each of the quatrain’s four lines in turn forming the last line of each stanza. Traditionally, each stanza has ten lines, but don’t feel obligated to hold yourself to that! Here’s a nice summary of the glosa form to help you get started.”

NOTES: It was jolly well more complex but I have done one before, eight years ago (which I like better than this one.) But yeah I got it done.