v e r l i e b u r r o u g h s

 I was helping the Goddess Flora count flowers that are blooming today the last day  of April. There are so many! Start with white she ordered White was easy. The white cherry blossoms falling like snow And the wild English daisies so plentiful Another white the wild strawberry running and the occasional white bells of bluebells  (alba) rare, how did that get there Same with the forget me nots usually blue hued there were more white flowers than stars in the sky. That’s enough for today said the Goddess of flowers She could see I was tired We’ll come back tomorrow and start with the yellow. Two for one today… Late Muses As April poetry came to a close I was visited by the Muses The Goddesses! Minerva, and Calliope  What took you so long to get here my dears I could have used you earlier Thankfully I had my old friend Flora  to show me Spring’s sweet offerings— Timing is everything. write a poem in which the speaker is identified with, or compared to, a character from myth or legend.

C  hurning out poetry A marathon month of R aw drafts  D oggerel at best I  ncreasing  verbosity/velocity— suddenly G rinding to a halt A pril is the sweetest month N  otwithstanding all of the above. write a poem that uses a word from a Taylor Swift song as its title.

 A bold blue jay perches waiting at my window at feeding time. He gets so excited, and calls to his jay friends  and they arrive— Stayed quiet, he could have had all the peanuts. Now he has to share! try your hand at writing a sijo. This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables. The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise. A sijo is not iambic pentameter, it is longer. Sijo has more syllables, fourteen to sixteen to be exact— I like the constrained sijo style. It is a welcome change of pace.

 My American Sonnet Has a bluegrass, blues, and country ballad vibe and a train whistle from far off  and a rambling man playing guitar in a box car and it’s lonesome (it’s a rainy night in Georgia) a deep baritone voice and a saxophone solo  it feels like it’s raining all over the world  He’s thinking maybe head out west  Maybe there’s still time for adventure  always wanted to walk the great divide See the desert, watch the stars at night  If he gets set up before winter, if things are going good  Maybe she’ll meet him if he sends her down the fare Drifting off to sleep on the box car floor dreaming  to the sad refrain of a rainy night in Georgia. write an “American sonnet.” What’s that? Well, it’s like a regular sonnet but . . . fewer rules? Like a traditional Spencerian or Shakespearean sonnet, an American sonnet is shortish (generally 14 lines, but not necessarily!), discursive, and tends to end with a bang, but there’s no need to have a rhyme scheme or even a specific meter.

 The light lasting longer now  on these spring sprung days— lingering drowsy birds warble  their sweet songs long into evening. write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Alliteration is the repetition of a particular consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words. Consonance is the repetition of consonant sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds.

 They found her in repose underneath the rose Eating chocolate trifle layer cake and smoking cigarettes  (The one thing she said she had the most regrets) A book upon her chest, Margaret Atwood’s best Muttering away ok ok ok it’s ok everything’s going to be ok There was nothing more to say She was exhausted by the war and all the people  she deplored, narcissists, and self-made bores First responders could not revive her But she looked peaceful there, in her garden by the sea (Although having answered some questions truthfully  on Proust’s test, she had lied about the rest). Proust’s Questionnaire write a poem based on the “Proust Questionnaire,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and adapted by modern interviewers. The Interview  What is your idea of perfect happiness? To have good friends a home and surrounded by nature  What is your greatest fear? War What is the trait you most deplore in yourself? Laziness  What is the trait you most deplore in others? Narci

 

Age cannot wither him, nor custom stale It is the Bard’s birthday After 460 years his stories  are still being told He never grows old Pure gold! write a poem that begins with a line from another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it. Antony and Cleopatra

 Took the moon, the tide,  threw a lasso around the sky  cast a spell was a lovely ride  through the countryside  of a poet’s dream. write a poem about, or involving, a superhero, taking your inspiration from four poems in which Lucille Clifton addresses Clark Kent/Superman.

 unrehearsed  it was a given  words  flew between them the struggle was real Rhyme said But I am rhyme ! Free verse said I’m a bird I can fly !  Was there any question  was there any doubt Rhyme was stronger but it couldn’t contain the freebird of poetry. write a poem in which two things have a fight. Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it.

 

~ inspired by a poem written by my friend, the late painter/poet Chris Nancarrow Dusty rose powdered like city girls she wrote of the wild rose that grows along the gravel road  winding up her windows and following the Esso truck A painter would know the wild rose colour  by heart I suppose to mix in her palette  the rose covered cottage, the pink budding blooming perpetually, reflected  in rose coloured glasses, the same hue as the quince jelly lining the pantry shelf come September, and the prize ribbon  winning raspberry jam too. That colour of morning, soft rose on the horizon Summer shimmering, rosy dawn slowly rising. write a poem that repeats or focuses on a single color.

 The tapestry once rich and full is threadbare now The unwritten missing warp and weft of fragile cloth Great loss, war, disease, and poverty  Cultures left in remnants by Holy decree: The Doctrine of Discovery Forced removal at all cost Generations lost Unspeakable trials and tribulation for indigenous nations  What remains in our relationship needs mending  Truth and reconciliation. write a poem that recounts a historical event.

 Death is hunting me I’m hunted by my old dog Dora and my cat is hunting me too I am hunted daily by a one-legged jay I caught in a rat trap I’m hunted by a crippled man with no name who I brushed away when he leaned on me A deer I killed on the highway is hunting me And a big black mama bear (same) I’m not a big fan of this haunting  game. What are you haunted by, or what haunts you? Write a poem responding to this question. Then change the word haunt to hunt.

 Is it cliché, passé, to want to be a tree? I think that’s what I’d want to be If I weren’t already me. A big old Spruce tree, live for centuries  Home to birds and squirrels and bees Watch the world go by, touch the sky feel the earth move under my feet rooted deep. Catch the morning light and the last rays of sun at night Wear a golden crown of cones on my boney branches, breathing in the foggy air exhaling heavy scented resin It sounds like heaven  A tree is what I’d want to be If I weren’t already me. write a poem in which the speaker expresses the desire to be someone or something else, and explains why.

 She watched her program every afternoon  you just knew not to disturb her  when that theme song came on it was the end of conversation with you. I don’t remember the story line. I’d ask sometimes and she would try to explain who’s who  And if I came back a few weeks later I could see the characters hadn’t really moved on, were still embroiled in some feud, I thought it was boring. But she was a Grandma after all, took the children after school while their Moms worked, divorce all that too. So I suppose it was something relaxing to do. I remember my little niece one day burst out singing the soap opera theme song when it came on she had perfect pitch and hummed it magnificently (completely surprised both my mother and me) and we smiled, a rare moment of harmony And I’m smiling now at the memory. write a poem that is inspired by a piece of music, and that shares its title with that piece of music

 Once Upon A Time A portrait of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth hung in every classroom Frogs croaked at night in the creeks Easthope engines played murmuring tunes over the tides at sunrise Door to door rumors spread over coffee Children lined up all day Movie was in the hall, bag o'chips and a pop Nights with the transistor radio glued to the pillow Signal received in scratchy non-stop noise with a song  fading in and out from somewhere far away And then one late night clearly hearing the announcer say   Senator Bobby Kennedy’s been shot Innocence lost. ~ April 2018 (revised) write a poem with an abstract, philosophical kind of statement closing, that is otherwise intensely focused on physical, sensory details.

 They call it snail mail now, but in the olden days it was the only way to send mail; air mail was faster, surface mail was slow, but it cost less for a stamp. You could purchase stamps at the Post Office (you still can) and attach a stamp to your letter envelope, and put it in a mail box.  It was very slow, but the stamps were pretty, and collectable. I know, because as a child I had a stamp album, This was a thing. I was a stamp collector, and I would mail away for stamps (international stamps) to fill my stamp album. My sister had one too. How did we have time for this? I don’t know. Everything was slow. write something about postage stamps

 Poetry is a grocery list, or a bucket list Poetry is hit and miss Poetry is the way the Cherry tree grows wild reaching across the sunny side of the shed in a perfect espalier that you could not design Poetry is a surprise, it’s a June bug that’s been hibernating under the lawn mower all winter until you decide its time Poetry is an invitation  Poetry is a reply Poetry is regret Poetry is what you should have said Poetry is your last cigarette  Poetry lives in solitude  Poetry hasn’t a clue how it got here Poetry has big ears, and a heart like a stone Poetry is when you realize you’re not alone write a poem of at least ten lines in which each line begins with the same word (e.g., “Because,” “Forget,” “Not,” “If”). This technique of beginning multiple lines with the same word or phrase is called anaphora,

 Nature has another thing to do    To you and me; so take the lively air,    And, lovely, learn by going where to go.                ~ from The Waking by Theodore Roethke 1908–1963 Honestly I was quavery, lacking bravery, but the Sun drew me out (and the sound of the birds), it was like a re-birth. A freak quiet on the street, almost too good to be true, but for the birds and me, there wasn’t anyone around. I emerged as if from prison, suddenly free to walk took to it like a duck to water in a swimming sort of saunter Stunned by bird song, And the air! The air I was so starved for,  I drank it in like water. Immersed in this earthy scented safety, I felt a surge of energy. Suddenly I was walking, though I faltered at the start, I caught my stride  And in that Roethke style, my feet knew where I needed to go. Across the road and through the wood to the creek— The creek. The creek sung sweet in that hushed forest shade I thought I heard it speak to me, I was charmed, and stayed awhile  w

 Johnny Appleseed  did it with such ease lightly as you please He planted trees In days of yore giants walked among us invisibly if we could only see a solitary man who planted trees thousands they say although no recorded inventory  Johnny Appleseed  did it with such ease lightly as you please He planted trees Wherever earth was bare he went there with his seeds turned dust bowls into flourishing oasis—  In my dreams I see him wandering still, planting trees Johnny Appleseed, Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, 1871  ~ write a poem that plays with the idea of a “tall tale.” American tall tales feature larger-than-life characters, Paul Bunyan, Pecas Bill, etc. Your poem can revolve around a mythical character, one you make up entirely, or add fantastical elements into a real person’s biography.

  Andrew Wyeth (American, 1917-2009) The Writing Chair , 1962. Tempera on panel, 13 x 20 1/4 in.

 Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.              ~ Henry David Thoreau, Walden write either a monostich, which is a one-line poem, or a poem made up of one-liner style jokes/sentiments.

  I’m in the hallowed halls, the book lined walls of the university library special collections, researching the history of theatre in Canada. Perusing reels of old newspapers on microfilm, deep in the dark basement reading room. Viewing print, and hazy old black and white photographs searching the ads for coming attractions: travelling troupes at the turn of the century, early 1900’s Edwardian era, looking for news, and reviews of British plays and actors, touring the colonies in their heydays. write a poem based on a curious headlines, cartoon, or other journalistic tidbit from yesterdays.

 Smooth ink black Pilot G series nice grip, retractable for travel Office supply store has them still and can order refills. Lined paper and a pen (the very basic tools of the trade) Clipboard propped up on my knees Page aligned with lamp light. A jot, a thought, an ink spot Lost things last,  lasting things lost There are words waiting in the ink What would Keats think? Or Shelley? Ah, pen! You are key to making poetry Essential  as the air we breathe. write an ode celebrating an everyday object

  Prelude One summer night out walking, I met a toad Just dozzying along not hurrying, or hurting  paid no attention to me. I looked it up later, and discovered a toad is a good omen; a sign of good fortune bodes well for a human to bump in to a toad. I wrote a poem to mark the occasion  And I’m telling it now again for no reason Ode to a Toad I saw a toad on the road and I wondered what does this bode? He weren't carrying any load in the moonlight his bumps glowed hopped away when I strode too close. I followed as he tiptoed ‘cross the road then slowed, overshadowed to and froed, then tally-hoed down the road in a hoboed mode. I felt sorrowed as the moonlight bestowed one last geckoed glimpse so I wrote this ode... January 2019 write a poem that centers around an encounter or relationship between two people (or things) that shouldn’t really have ever met – whether due to time, space, age, the differences in their nature, or for any other reason.

 It’s high summer down under  I’m missing you there, imagining the heat. The kookaburra laughing in the red dust days, and the eucalyptus breeze near a white sand beach off the beaten trail,  watching slow boats sail through the wavering air I wish I was there. Dec 2022 write a poem titled “Wish You Were Here” that takes its inspiration from the idea of a postcard. Consistent with the abbreviated format of a postcard, your poem should be short, and should play with the idea of travel, distance, or sightseeing.

 ~ it’s not the destination, it’s the journey that counts write a poem rooted in “weird wisdom,” by which we mean something objectively odd that someone told you once, and that has stuck with you ever since.

 Two things, two anythings  a bee; a cat; two anything a cozy chair: a pair of knees imagining what they would say if they had to write a poem about what they perceive is happiness, or being blessed it’s clearly not happening  they don’t seem to want to talk to me. Sending their sincere anthropomorphic apologies. write about how a pair or trio very different things would perceive of a blessing or, alternatively, how these very different things would think of something else (luck, grief, happiness, etc).

 The Crow is not a songbird  but if you listen carefully  you will sometimes hear them gurgle  contentedly, or give a sort of murmur  while feeding in a flock  (they call a murder) Crows have a raucous call at times loud and over powering  when frightened or disturbed  definitely not a songbird  (that chorus of sweet singers whose music opens sleepy eyes in May) The Crow likes to squawk The Crow has panache  if you watch how they walk with a Jurassic sway descended from the dinosaurs they say. write a poem in which you take your title or some language/ideas from The Strangest Things in the World. First published in 1958, the book gives shortish descriptions of odd natural phenomena, and is notable for both its author’s turn of phrase and intermittently dubious facts.

 It seems dreams are an opportunity for fantastical thinking.  Just last night I dreamed I was travelling down a strange highway through bizarre scenery; time lapsed, like in an old movie picture screening, where the projector breaks down part way through, and picks up again somewhere else entirely new.  In my dream the road was long and treacherous, and blocked by obstacles. A runaway logging truck overturned, just missing me. There was a detour through an underground passageway. And on, and on… On the brink of another disaster, I run into Brad Pitt at a skating rink and ask him for a kiss, and he complies (to my surprise). But I don’t get to see the end of the clip, ‘cause once again the film rips, and I am suddenly outside, at a bus stop, waving goodbye. write a surreal prose poem

In the midnight blue of morning  before the sun does rise I think of you Marguerite your pretty smile, your eyes (You stop to greet me on the street) So warm, so sweet, so alive I see you, waving your hands gracefully As a sea breeze combs through your hair covering your face (That summer day, before you went away) You are laughing, about wanting to stay  in one place, permanently Pity, it was not to be Instead you went home to Honduras (to help your family?)  And there, (they tell me) You passed away. Summer 2022 write a platonic love poem. In other words, a poem not about a romantic partner, but some other kind of love – your love for your sister, or a friend, or even your love for a really good Chicago deep dish pizza. The poem should be written directly to the object of your affections (like a letter is written to “you”), and should describe at least three memories of you engaging with that person/thing.

Captivated blindly, distressed  by lethargy, no grand epiphany  No memory of pages book-marked sleepily   Here, in a far country, snow viewed from a train window There, a couple arguing in a row boat Lost at sea Blood thirst and anarchy  Nameless, gone, through passages like flat-footed Hobbits shuffling off to sleep The hero smokes a cigarette, his one regret a woman in an apron (Martha?)  tired of washing dirty feet. A prisoner dreams of freedom  from his bug infested sheet. There is no plot Such a sad lot! 100 years of solitude no logical conclusion  always more confusion Crawling in the heat, with no shoes on her feet the heroine hears their laughter  through the barbed wire fence and they hear her shriek a phantom in their sleep. A man goes to Paris on a whim to fly his artistic wings meets up with Anais Nin stalking in her stockinged feet laddered, torn and tattered, no reprieve A young boy dreams of battles glorious infamy while his mother  weeps behind enemy lines, she pines fo