05-02-2023, 12:00 AM
I have two:
April 3,
Topic: April Fools Day makes me think of Fool's Gold. Write a poem inspired by confusing or misidentifying something or someone.
On Reading Eliot's Burbank by RiverNotch
Once, I thought I knew the land
of which he drew his map of man,
the hollow moonlit streets of Rhapsody
leading to London's aged king
casting his line into the Thames,
mourning the loss of his Norton.
But synechdoche and metonymy
must always give way to history, and
the bridge he built between his sestieri
can't always be ignored.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
April 30: Write a poem as a fatalist - in other words, write a poem inspired by fate, luck (good or bad) pretty much not being in control of your own destiny.
by Wjames:
There are 7,000 people
in the Unorganized Kenora District,
and fifteen million hectares of forest.
A moose is the head of state,
a beaver is the minister of finance,
and everything with eyes
is a landscape painter
at heart, walking the shield rock
and smelling the pine
on the way to ten thousand lakes
and countless muskeg swamps
draining Hudson Bays rivers
into the earth.
There will be more invaders soon
and the forest is unarmed
and prostrate.
April 3,
Topic: April Fools Day makes me think of Fool's Gold. Write a poem inspired by confusing or misidentifying something or someone.
On Reading Eliot's Burbank by RiverNotch
Once, I thought I knew the land
of which he drew his map of man,
the hollow moonlit streets of Rhapsody
leading to London's aged king
casting his line into the Thames,
mourning the loss of his Norton.
But synechdoche and metonymy
must always give way to history, and
the bridge he built between his sestieri
can't always be ignored.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
April 30: Write a poem as a fatalist - in other words, write a poem inspired by fate, luck (good or bad) pretty much not being in control of your own destiny.
by Wjames:
There are 7,000 people
in the Unorganized Kenora District,
and fifteen million hectares of forest.
A moose is the head of state,
a beaver is the minister of finance,
and everything with eyes
is a landscape painter
at heart, walking the shield rock
and smelling the pine
on the way to ten thousand lakes
and countless muskeg swamps
draining Hudson Bays rivers
into the earth.
There will be more invaders soon
and the forest is unarmed
and prostrate.