"the only one in the world"

the only one in the world
is the world itself
there is no other like mother Earth

I know I'm unique
that genetically speaking I am
the only one in the world

just like me, but I am small
and what sustains me
is the world itself

we neglect her at our peril
there is no escape if we kill her
there is no other like mother Earth

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the "only one in the world" prompt at Poetic Asides. It also fits with the escape prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

As the month is coming to a close, I'm starting to think about which five poems I'm going to submit to Robert at Poetic Asides as my top five for the month, so I've been focusing on those prompts more over the past few days.

Shameless plug: If you want to read the other three poems I posted today, you'll find them here: Message in a Bottle, falling poem, and a little trifle called Second Thoughts.

Message in a Bottle

It depends, of course, on which bottle you
are holding and what is within. Some harm,
some nourish. Some open the senses while
others dull. Some will loosen your tongue and
lead to words of regret. But I have yet
to find a liquid within a bottle
that will inspire a poem. Quench a thirst,
toast a loved one, yes. But create, no. The
bottle messages are ephemeral.
They must be consistently replenished.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the message in a bottle prompt at Poetic Asides. It is also my attempt at what Robert has called "The Big 10", a poem with ten lines of ten syllables each

falling poem

it's
a
part of
learning to
walk, ride a bike - it's
natural to stumble and fall.

why not algebra, making love?
why is it that we
fail because
we fear
to
fall?

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the falling prompt at Poetic Asides.

Second Thoughts

it's so hard
getting a quorum

trying to get
sixty of us

in one place
at the same

time is impossible

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the second thoughts prompt at Poetic Asides.

Looking In

I found
a poem
that had

a mirror
in it
and that mirror

looked in
at a mirror
in me

that had
a poem
in it

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the mirror poem prompt at NaPoWriMo.

I wrote this one about a week and a half ago. I was in Barnes & Noble doing my usual evening writing. For National Poetry Month, I've been browsing their poetry section and looking at various books. That particular day, I had picked up Poetry in Motion: 100 Poems from the Subways and Buses, and I stumbled across a poem titled "Reflective" by A. R. Ammons. My poem is a mirror of his.

Two from school

Complementary

so many paintings
Two Fingers
The Lovers
Deuce
Frieda and Diego Rivera
what you'd expect

but what catches my eye?
the two black
and white photographs
of crepuscular rays
and clouds
both titled
Equivalent

how do docents
end the trip
for my students?
staring at a flag
with green and black
stripes with black stars
on an orange field
then looking at
a whiteboard

* * *

Jazz Talk

   Wealth and fame
   he's ignored
   Action is his reward

the thrumming of those four strings
walking that bass line
under four-color animated lyrics

thank goodness it wasn't
the Simpsons theme
it was time for another
song to take its place

   Happy talk, keep talkin' happy talk,
   Talk about things you'd like to do.

eleven octaves on the electric keyboard
the melody in the right hand
but not held - palm turned down
as ephemeral as sound
as short as memory

it's a good thing students
don't have a sustain pedal
I'd never have any quiet

   All aboard, get on the "A" train
   Soon you will be on Sugar Hill in Harlem

Billy wrote this one
on his way to see Duke
but it was Joya who penned the lyrics

Everybody should know Duke's music

   Potato, potahto,
   Tomato, tomahto

not just listening to the vocalist
but us singing too - call and response

gives new meaning to auditorium

   Seven steps to heaven

riding that rhythm
and brushes on the snare drum

that's one of the sounds
that makes me love jazz

   It don't mean a thing,
   If it ain't got that swing

   Um-diddle-diddle-um-diddleye
   Um-diddle-diddle-um-diddleye

* * * * *

The first poem was written in response to the prompt from We Write Poems to write a yin/yang poem based on any kind of pairings that are complementary.

It was inspired by a field trip to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. We're participating in a program called Visual Thinking Strategies, and a field trip to a museum to use those thinking strategies with actual art pieces, as opposed to reproductions in the classroom, is part of the program. While my class was split into small groups, led by docents, I was free for an hour to walk around the museum on my own. It was heavenly.

The second poem was not written to any prompt. The San Francisco Symphony has a program called Adventures in Music. It includes a trip to Davies Symphony Hall, which we've already done, but also visits to our school by professional musicians. This poem was my attempt to capture the magic of live music as performed by the quartet that called itself Jazz Talk.

These two poems seemed to go together, as they were inspired by art and music, were made possible by the experiences I have as a teacher, and were my attempts to reflect in poetry that art and music (and maybe a little teaching snuck in there too).

Hymn to Boeuf

O glorious animal that God has set for us,
we honor you by taking your life
and making it our own, your flesh our flesh.
This is as it has been and how it shall be.

We sear your flesh, drive the evil out,
so that our nourishment is pure, only love,
just as your milk nurtures our children.
This is as it has been and how it shall be.

O divine cholesterol, we take you in,
as God has prescribed, for we have dominion
over the animals of sea, air, and earth.
This is as it has been and how it shall be.

The protein builds our muscles so we
may worship and praise God. Our arteries
clog so that we may die and go to heaven.
This is as it has been and how it shall be.

We thank you for this divine gift,
life, which we take with swift mercy,
so that we may live with compassion.
This is as it has been and how it shall be.

Amen.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the Day 15! prompt at NaPoWriMo:

write a poem... in the form of a hymn to something that is bad or that you dislike.

Full disclosure: I am vegan. I do not eat animal flesh or anything that comes from animals, like dairy products. So, I am not being a hypocrite here. In fact, what I'm complaining about, the thing I dislike, is the hypocrisy of people who claim to be compassionate but who do not extend that compassion to animals. I will apologize in advance if you find my "hymn" offensive, but I've had people quote the Bible at me to justify their actions.

Pinwheels

we played with pinwheels
in the afternoon sun
running down the grassy slopes
a cheap entertainment
but fun nonetheless

a gentle breeze came over the hills
like a squeeze of lime in ice water
something ordinary and simple
to replenish our bodies
every cell, tissue, and organ

and our eternal souls
bound in these imperfect forms
never quite enough
not quite quenching
the thirst inside

then the bugle tattoos, calling us in
as dusk begins to creep into our midst
and we overhear a piquant word
as we dash by, and as a sharp memory
floods us, the tears are a laugh
in the left eye and a cry in the right

wiping them away
though no one will notice
in the diminished light,
we steal closer to the front,
so we can see
the catherine wheels fly

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the first A Baker's Dozen wordle prompt at a wordling whirl of Sundays. Brenda, over at Beyond the Bozone (you should go read her poems), has been posting wordle prompts every Sunday in April, and now she has dedicated a new blog, a wordling whirl of Sundays, to posting these wordles to inspire us. I encourage you to go check it out; I'm certainly going to play along.

Public Service Announcement

Drivers, start your engines!

Show pedestrians and other drivers
your inattention and rage.
Driving with two hands is not permitted.
Your dominant hand must
at all times be occupied
with something other than driving.
Options include texting,
changing settings on your stereo,
and applying make up.
You are not limited to these options;
we urge you to be creative.
Do not bother signaling lane changes.
Tailgating, honking,
flashing your highbeams,
and flipping the bird
are expected and encouraged.
Excessive speed is required.

This is an open course.
You are amateur drivers.
Please drive irresponsibly.

Thank you.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the Big Tent Poetry prompt about what you would shout down the street.

Backwards

A man and his wife had two sons.
Both were intelligent. One let
his heart rule his mind, while
the other was ruled by his mind.

Second Brother was never satisfied.
He always tried to live up
to the reputation of his older brother,
but he always found himself wanting.

Eldest Brother ran a profitable
company, outwitting his competitors.
He knew the name and face of every
employee, and also every spouse.

Second Brother always had a woman
on his arm, and sometimes more
than one in his bed at night.

Eldest Brother hosted many parties.
And was invited into the homes
of many, for he was talented
in the ways of song, wine, and women.

Second Brother lived alone because
no woman would tolerate for long
his rash decisions and mutable nature.

Eldest Brother was brought low
by his neighbors when they uncovered
his repeated and widespread deceit.

A quick-tempered man does foolish things,
and a crafty man is hated.

* * * * *

This poem is in response to the Day Nine prompt at NaPoWriMo to write a poem backwards:

Today, try to write a poem backwards. I don't mean letter by letter, or word by word, but line by line. Start by writing out an old saying that takes the form of a declarative statement. Like "Birds of a feather flock together," or "A miss is as good as a mile." That will be the last line of your poem. The next line you write will be the second-to-last, and so on, until you reach the "beginning."

Process Notes: I found a proverb from the Bible that appealed to me, and started with that ending. I did not write the poem line by line, but stanza by stanza.

We got back Sunday evening from visiting family for Easter, so I will be catching up reading poems and leaving comments. I have not been online since Saturday morning.

Three Poems for Poetic Asides

don't think, write
get those words down on
paper right away

in your brain
they're no good, just clutter
slowing you down

set them free
see what they have to
say to you

you don't know
what you think until you
write them down

and I can't
read your mind, so write
down those words

then we can
talk and get somewhere new
you and I

* * *

It ain't my
business what other
people think
about me.
The mouth is for talking and
the brain for thinking.

* * *

like as
simile

is
metaphor

comparisons
satisfactory

is
sublime

* * * * *

The first is in response to the "Don't (blank), (blank)" prompt and I also used it as my form poem. Each stanza is a Jack Collom lune of 3/5/3 words.

The second is in response to writing an "ain't none of my business" poem. It also happens to be a shadorma.

The third is in response to the "Like (blank)" prompt.

Spent the morning checking to see what poems I had posted to my blog which I had not posted at Poetic Asides, then discovered the reverse was also true. So, here are three poems I've written this month and posted in the comments at Poetic Asides that I have not yet posted here. A huge "Thank You" to Anders Bylund for his Poem a Day Search Tool.

Addendum: I'm going to be gone most of the weekend and not online, so I will be catching up with reading poems and commenting late Sunday and Monday.

"I am sorry about my fear"

I am sorry about my fear
it was my mind's way
of avoiding pain

I know you loved me
you asked me to stay
that made me want to leave

I loved the feel of your
body beneath mine
it was always best

in the morning, the sun
on your skin, the bottles
of Speakeasy beer on the floor

by the bed, but the burning
inside my heart was not
passion, but fear

and the beer smelled
and the sun was too bright
and I just wanted to be without

* * * * *

This poem is in response to a prompt at Big Tent Poetry that begins "I am sorry about...". I also used a Prompt Mash-Up from Not Without Poetry:

The following prompts are from Bill Alton. Use them as titles, opening lines, or combine all of them into a single poetic form.
1. My body is a speakeasy
2. Morning comes without the sun.
3. I loved him most when he asked me to leave.
4. Pain is the mind’s way of burning through fear

Process Notes: I took all of the nouns from the sentences above (body, speakeasy, morning, sun, pain, mind's way, and fear), some of the verbs (loved, asked, leave), one adjective (burning) and one preposition (without) to use in my poem.

Doggy Love

i'm willing to eat your dis / once
because you are a kid
and don't know any better / yet

watch as i pull / a long pink balloon
from my mouth / blow it up
twist it into a doggy for you

you will play with your doggy
for five minutes
until you turn away your attention
and your doggy falls
to the grass / pop

i'm willing to eat your sadness
over and over every day
if i have to
because i love you

you ask for another doggy
but i am out of balloons

i offer you a hug instead
it helps calm your tears
but it doesn't make you happy
and we both know it

but the hug makes me happy

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to three prompts: one, a love poem at Poetic Asides, a poem beginning "I'm willing to eat..." from We Write Poems, and one in which you pull a small object out of your mouth from Big Tent Poetry.

The inspiration for this poem came when I was reading "Willing to Eat Worms" by Amy Barlow Liberatore at her blog, Sharp Little Pencil. Thanks for the inspiration, Amy.

Richard (aka Mr. Walker)

Why?

Why
would
any
one design
shackles, forging links
of strength, to keep one powerless?

Why is it so difficult for
us to touch someone
with softness
and bonds
of
love?

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the prompt at Poetic Asides to write a big picture poem. I have also used a prompt from Sunday Scribblings, design, and One Single Impression, shackles.

Flattery Is Not Forever

flattery is not forever,
it lives a mayfly life

if it could sing
it would be all crescendo

shouting its message
to the world     then nothing

a silver phrase heard
by others also gone

not even divine perfume
could recall that memory

a body fallen, rotting,
leading to the sprouting

of new life from the scars
of the old life now fled

but flattery is not a song
it is a crude utterance

an inept attempt at love
that recounts only desperation

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the Sunday Wordle prompt from Brenda at Beyond the Bozone.

I've enjoyed writing poems to Brenda's wordles; this is my third this month. But this one was especially difficult and challenging, because four of the words she chose were from one of my poems. Thanks, Brenda.

A Little Humor This Morning

The first poem for today is a limerick written in response to Mad Kane's Limerick-Off:

A fellow with a very long name
took a wife who would share his shame.
Decided the couple:
Get naked, then couple,
To inflict on their children the same.

The second is a nursery rhyme that I wrote a few days ago. It wasn't of the same mood and tone as the other two that I wrote, so I didn't add it to that post.

Turkey Lurkey started to work out.
Lady Lurkey was impressed.
He was no longer plump and stout.
But she was most depressed
When her Mr. Lurkey
was made into lean jerky.

If you'd like something a little more serious today, then please check out: Flattery Is Not Forever.

Everyday Miracle

it's happening right now
I look out at the Pacific
and imagine those molecules
gaining energy and momentum
leaping from the ocean
into the air - and staying there

leaving the salt behind
fresh water floats free
no boiling required

then they move closer together
a haze that obscures the view
subdues the blue with wispy
curls of gray-white hair
a summer fog that pours in
through the Golden Gate
cumulus clouds heaped together
bright against the azure sky

rainfall in February
and then how bright
everything appears afterwards
as if the air has bathed
sun shining on wet grass

puddles for children to splash in
rivulets running against the curb
falling into paved-over streams
that lead straight to the bay
then heading out to sea
under the Golden Gate again

where the bonds of three dance
preparing to leap and fly again
more powerful than man
changing state
shaping earth
supporting life

* * * * *

This poem was written as an ode to a thing I love in nature from Big Tent Poetry.

Sevenling (the officer pointed)

The officer pointed the profile gun
at me: male,
white, mid-forties.

The officer pointed the profile gun
at him: male,
Latino, early twenties.

The flashing red lights are not for me.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the profile prompt at Poetic Asides. I wrote it yesterday, and today revised it, using the sevenling form, which I first saw at Scrambled, Not Fried. Thanks, Ron.

Lost Soul

he fabricates the illusion
that he is in control
building it up with an adamant
will devoid of imagination

what he cannot see in himself
is clearly evident to me
and what is tragic is that
it is not peculiar but commonplace

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to two prompts at Three Word Wednesday, one using adamant, fabricate, and peculiar, and one using evident, illusion, and tragic.

"Never Again"

hearing that phrase reminds
me of watching Jazz
the film by Ken Burns
where Dave Brubeck recounts
the time when he was a boy
growing up in Salinas

and his father called over
an elderly black man
he employed on the farm
and asked him to remove
his shirt so his son
could see the whip
scars on his back

and his father said
this must never happen again

it was that message
shown by a loving father
to his son who shared
with tears in his eyes
that lesson for us to hear
that moved me most of all

tears in my eyes too
and it wasn't about the music

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the prompt at Poetic Asides to write a never again poem.