05-04-2024, 04:37 AM
Hello notch-
You noted, the entire month fell under Lent, so I decided to select and arrange prompts according to a certain theme. Can you guess what it is, or what the "hidden meaning" behind each prompt is?
I'll just address this in general terms. The most obvious thing is that Eastern Orthodox Lent falls about a month after the western version. I noticed that you started and ended NaPoMo with prompts regarding innocence- losing and regaining it. Since I no longer practice religion I'd need to do a lot of research in order to come up with any fitting responses, so it's best if I leave it at that.
- Caillebotte, by Tim, on the 4th (write about a rainy day). The painting was described wonderfully by his poem:
Caillebotte, Paris Street; Rainy Day, 1877
Rain thins the shadows
on cobble stone streets
amid the canyons of Paris.
Umbrellaed pedestrians
Proustian figures
wander in every direction
heads bowed to watch
raindrops intercept their steps.
Immortal now
a moment stolen from the sky
and born again on canvas.
Repin, by duke, on the 8th ( write about returning from exile). Like with Tim's poem, Caillebotte, this one by duke equally captures the the details of the painting
Repin
See, they did not expect Papa’s return
in felt boots, three toes lopped by blizzard-burn,
black rags and wretched beard. They only learn
now of the end of exile’s long sojourn.
Their housekeeper is shocked but recognized
the master; wolfish children realized
they’re puppies once again. Wife, not apprized,
stands fearful of the love she sorely prized.
buskers poem about "torture" on the 11th was brilliantly tongue in cheek, with a quirky twist of an ending:
I would rather write about elephants than torture.
In Africa, where summer’s a scorcher,
people often end up in a lion’s
belly. Of beautiful young Nelly
there’s a tale of woe. Being a ho
makes her tale no less tragic,
it’s sad if it’s anthropophagic
regardless of the victim. As to why I picked him -
for Nelly identified as a male animal -
specifically, an elephant adorned with a lotus
whose forefather was gifted by Sandrokotus
to Seleucus, then in turn to the Molossian king,
serving in the formidable ranks of Hannibal -
I picked him because it serves a cautionary tale:
you’re not an elephant, female or male,
if you don’t have a trunk.
On the day of the story, young Nelly was a-roaming
feeling lucky as a punk,
railing at the advice of the witch doctor - monk
against venturing in the gloaming
when the felines are de-homing
in the savanna. “Junk!
Your thinking always stunk!”
roared foaming at the mouth, a cross young Nelly,
quivering like jelly
with rage. “Does a pachyderm need permission?
The matriarch knows her mission,
and single young males
scatter, like gales,
prides of scraggly lions, from Uganda to Wales.”
Then Nelly (known as Ryan)
upped and sauntered
into the savanna
like Castro into Havana
and Trump into his cabana.
At the sight of the first hungry feline
Nelly’s pants showed a pee line,
though briefly, for after a strangled scream
which might as well have been a bad dream
but for the whomping,
the chundering and chomping,
as unlike an original elephant
into the lion’s belly went
with monogrammed clothing elegant
young Ryan, also Nelly, gent.
Junior, by wjames on the 13th, (write a diatribe), was a subtle enough response to the prompt that I found intriguing:
Junior
Picture the scum
selling three dollar cucumbers
and five dollar heads of lettuce
lounging on the veranda
of a mansion on Vero Beach.
He leaves half a croissant on the table
for the flies to pick at until a maid comes
before laying his back on morning waves.
After noon, he strolls the garden
by the equestrian centre in a polo,
humming to the birds.
Even though she didn't complete all 30, the acrostic poem ('procrastinate') by Quix definitely gets a nod :
Perfection is the key to this
Riddle, if I can just find the
One ideal solution then
Certainly afterwards the
Rest will all fall into place.
Although, I’ve heard it
Said that perfection can
Twist the mind and cause
Insecurities and hesitation.
Naturally the first step is to
Accurately size up the goals
Tally the to dos in a list then
Eat a snack and take a nap then …
Quix also gets a nod for this phrase in her poem about maturity, on the 16th:
amputating your imagination
St. John of Shanghai, by notch on the 28th (write from the perspective of a bird). I found this one very descriptive and unique.
St. John of Shanghai
He thought me clever for coming to him first
but even saints can be disappointed:
I was not descended from those doves
that whispered into St. Basil's ear
whenever he presided over a service.
Instead, he had to play the teacher again
and I, the dutiful student, learned to perch
quietly on the corner of every seat
or feed from his hand without pricking his skin
or even circle overhead
during the feast of the Theophany
to astonish the crowd, to impress upon them
how palpable the Mystery was.
The children would say, perhaps impiously,
that because of the water he sprinkled on me
I was a baptized bird.
The adults would observe, upon his repose,
my frantic fluttering of the wings
which he had repaired, on our first meeting,
as if I were in mourning,
but I tell you: I was too clever,
too much his good student, to feel such pain.
I knew where he had truly gone.
I knew only joy when my own heart stopped.
You noted, the entire month fell under Lent, so I decided to select and arrange prompts according to a certain theme. Can you guess what it is, or what the "hidden meaning" behind each prompt is?
I'll just address this in general terms. The most obvious thing is that Eastern Orthodox Lent falls about a month after the western version. I noticed that you started and ended NaPoMo with prompts regarding innocence- losing and regaining it. Since I no longer practice religion I'd need to do a lot of research in order to come up with any fitting responses, so it's best if I leave it at that.
- Caillebotte, by Tim, on the 4th (write about a rainy day). The painting was described wonderfully by his poem:
Caillebotte, Paris Street; Rainy Day, 1877
Rain thins the shadows
on cobble stone streets
amid the canyons of Paris.
Umbrellaed pedestrians
Proustian figures
wander in every direction
heads bowed to watch
raindrops intercept their steps.
Immortal now
a moment stolen from the sky
and born again on canvas.
Repin, by duke, on the 8th ( write about returning from exile). Like with Tim's poem, Caillebotte, this one by duke equally captures the the details of the painting
Repin
See, they did not expect Papa’s return
in felt boots, three toes lopped by blizzard-burn,
black rags and wretched beard. They only learn
now of the end of exile’s long sojourn.
Their housekeeper is shocked but recognized
the master; wolfish children realized
they’re puppies once again. Wife, not apprized,
stands fearful of the love she sorely prized.
buskers poem about "torture" on the 11th was brilliantly tongue in cheek, with a quirky twist of an ending:
I would rather write about elephants than torture.
In Africa, where summer’s a scorcher,
people often end up in a lion’s
belly. Of beautiful young Nelly
there’s a tale of woe. Being a ho
makes her tale no less tragic,
it’s sad if it’s anthropophagic
regardless of the victim. As to why I picked him -
for Nelly identified as a male animal -
specifically, an elephant adorned with a lotus
whose forefather was gifted by Sandrokotus
to Seleucus, then in turn to the Molossian king,
serving in the formidable ranks of Hannibal -
I picked him because it serves a cautionary tale:
you’re not an elephant, female or male,
if you don’t have a trunk.
On the day of the story, young Nelly was a-roaming
feeling lucky as a punk,
railing at the advice of the witch doctor - monk
against venturing in the gloaming
when the felines are de-homing
in the savanna. “Junk!
Your thinking always stunk!”
roared foaming at the mouth, a cross young Nelly,
quivering like jelly
with rage. “Does a pachyderm need permission?
The matriarch knows her mission,
and single young males
scatter, like gales,
prides of scraggly lions, from Uganda to Wales.”
Then Nelly (known as Ryan)
upped and sauntered
into the savanna
like Castro into Havana
and Trump into his cabana.
At the sight of the first hungry feline
Nelly’s pants showed a pee line,
though briefly, for after a strangled scream
which might as well have been a bad dream
but for the whomping,
the chundering and chomping,
as unlike an original elephant
into the lion’s belly went
with monogrammed clothing elegant
young Ryan, also Nelly, gent.
Junior, by wjames on the 13th, (write a diatribe), was a subtle enough response to the prompt that I found intriguing:
Junior
Picture the scum
selling three dollar cucumbers
and five dollar heads of lettuce
lounging on the veranda
of a mansion on Vero Beach.
He leaves half a croissant on the table
for the flies to pick at until a maid comes
before laying his back on morning waves.
After noon, he strolls the garden
by the equestrian centre in a polo,
humming to the birds.
Even though she didn't complete all 30, the acrostic poem ('procrastinate') by Quix definitely gets a nod :
Perfection is the key to this
Riddle, if I can just find the
One ideal solution then
Certainly afterwards the
Rest will all fall into place.
Although, I’ve heard it
Said that perfection can
Twist the mind and cause
Insecurities and hesitation.
Naturally the first step is to
Accurately size up the goals
Tally the to dos in a list then
Eat a snack and take a nap then …
Quix also gets a nod for this phrase in her poem about maturity, on the 16th:
amputating your imagination
St. John of Shanghai, by notch on the 28th (write from the perspective of a bird). I found this one very descriptive and unique.
St. John of Shanghai
He thought me clever for coming to him first
but even saints can be disappointed:
I was not descended from those doves
that whispered into St. Basil's ear
whenever he presided over a service.
Instead, he had to play the teacher again
and I, the dutiful student, learned to perch
quietly on the corner of every seat
or feed from his hand without pricking his skin
or even circle overhead
during the feast of the Theophany
to astonish the crowd, to impress upon them
how palpable the Mystery was.
The children would say, perhaps impiously,
that because of the water he sprinkled on me
I was a baptized bird.
The adults would observe, upon his repose,
my frantic fluttering of the wings
which he had repaired, on our first meeting,
as if I were in mourning,
but I tell you: I was too clever,
too much his good student, to feel such pain.
I knew where he had truly gone.
I knew only joy when my own heart stopped.