The day six prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month challenge is to “write a poem that stretches your comfort zone with line breaks. That could be a poem with very long lines, or very short lines. Or a poem that blends the two.”
I wrote the poem, but the words? Perhaps you recognize them.
My Affirmation
calmness
serenity
comes to me
the universe I cannot see
change
or control
grant them dignity
to be
as they are
humanity…mine…yours…theirs
face change with
wisdom from experience, peace through acceptance, knowledge of listening
with silent love
and…
it
all
begins with
………………………….me
(Bill Reynolds 4/6/2018)
Alertly relax as you look both ways. Fear not gaps but be mindful.
The day four prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month challenge is “to write a poem that is about something abstract – perhaps an ideal like ‘beauty’ or ‘justice,’ but which discusses or describes that abstraction in the form of relentlessly concrete nouns.”
I used an essay I posted in December 2017, as an idea for the abstract noun tranquility. The concretes were the sights, sounds, tastes, and smells that led to the abstraction. You can read the essay if you click here.
Tranquility Remembered: the sounds of silence
My young mind was filled with thought
As I walked, no music or sounds I’d hear
Only deep moans from snow as I crushed it below
A cold white blanket on my pensive dark thoughts
Fairies, charming and peaceful my footsteps they heard
They opened my eyes to tranquil aura yet silent
I saw in the darkness a light with no sound, but
The sweet sounds of silence sent aroma that night
My thoughts melted away into the image of stillness
I heard not a hush of sound cut crisp cold calm air
A silence of power and of peace lifted me up
The flavor of quiet and snow calmed the darkness
Like the artistry of a perfectly painted picture
A vision of nature stillness lived in my brain
That moonlit night not long ago
in halo of street lights and a
reflection of memory of new lying snow
I remember the cold night
I remember the sounds and the silence
I remember the calm peaceful taste of tranquility
I remember I Remember I REMEMBER!
(Bill Reynolds 4/4/2018)
Fill the gaps with memory.
Look for beauty both ways.
The third day prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month: Write a list poem in which all the items are made-up names. This poem is based on a tongue-in-cheek look back at working from the perspective of retirement.
NoMo’ WorkShuns of Retiremeizations
No mo’ traffic commushuns
No mo’ Monday bluesifications
No mo’ burnt coffee offeringtoshuns
No mo’ why I’m late excuzations
No mo’ performance evauliebations
No mo’ worrying about promousayshuns
No mo’ office gossip whosaytions
No mo’ workmate envy whodaypaytions
No mo’ idiot bossbigheadiztions
No mo’ recovery vacatoshortations
No mo’ meeting bordeathpations
No mo’ engineering gobbledygookovations
No mo’ organized rejobmobettatryzations
No mo’ more with lesspraystaions
No mo’ work aggravation peepsalazations
No mo’ monthly disgruntiliations
No mo’ hallucinational goalaberations
No mo’ feckup fairy malfunctioniztions
No mo’ maybenots of probationosensations
(Bill Reynolds 4/3/2018)
Working or retired, look both ways.
Mind those workday gaps.
The second day prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month: Write a poem that plays with voice.
The Wake of Heirs
They sat in chatter and discussed
Their fortune left in will or trust
Set aside lest others see
What vultures now they come to be.
At the door I quietly knocked
Into the room I slowly walked
Eyes on me no longer talked
By death we are most surely stalked.
Tense is the room you just walked in
You know their hearts are showing thin
You’re welcome not just to be there
Last of the clowns, you – the final heir.
(Bill Reynolds 4/2/2018)
Look both ways as you enter a room.
Find the gaps and use them well.
Click on the graphic to link to the National Poetry Writing Month page.
April was my second time doing the A to Z blog challenge. I combined it with my first attempt at the National Poetry Month (NaPoWriMo) challenge. For 2017, poetry was my theme for A to Z. With four exceptions, my poems were in alphabetical order according to topic or poetic form. I had 30 posts for NaPoWriMo, 26 of which I used for A to Z. The NaPo challenge was to write (post) a poem each day.
My theme developed over time. I wrote poetry every day, but I didn’t finish a poem on each day. Some poems took more than a week, while one or two others were ready in hours. I thought some of my poems were long, but that relates to form, content, and purpose.
NaPoWriMo provides optional daily prompts. I did not use the prompts because my rookie status as a poetry writer and dual use with A to Z were complicated enough. Next year I hope to: participate with the poetry month challenge, write one poem each day (start to finish), and use the prompts provided. I also used poems for my weekly writing class assignments, instead of prose essays. I don’t plan to participate with the A to Z challenge again.
However, I’ve always liked poetry, even though I know so little about it. During April, I discovered my greater love of poetry and an overwhelming fondness for writing poems. I grew increasingly curious about poetic forms, genres, and styles. I read several books about poetry and many poems. My quest to learn continues.
My A to Z reveal was the most popular of related posts. The best-liked of my poems were Specks: Coincidence meets Kismet and Sunday Lions. By far, the most commented on was the Collaboration Poem, Dewey and Dad, with my daughter. Other well-liked poems included my Haiku; Onomatopoeia, Never Again, andRegna, The Poetry of Art. Zumurgy Blessingsfinished off the month well liked.
Surprises that did not do well included my sonnet, the tercet, and the poem on coal miners. Dark poems did not do as well as others. Maybe I should not be surprised. I enjoy dark poems and don’t consider mine as bleak as many. However, since I struggled with those three poems (each for a different reason), it’s more likely they were simply not so good.
Another surprise lesson: I can’t predict what you will like. I can tell from your comments how a poem affected you. I received strong positive comments about twaddle I considered only so-so. Things I thought good, took a long time, or challenged me most, were not always popular. For example, the Sunday Lion verse and Xu (Bang the Gong) I wrote quickly and were liked; whereas, I worked for days on the coal miner poem and the sonnet and they sort of flopped. But, there were some positive comments.
Many readers never click like or comment (maybe can’t). So, I don’t get every reader’s feedback. The bane of a writers craft, “what will readers like?” In some cases, there were more likes on Facebook than on this blog. Another example: when I posted the poem about the deer on the Historical Society’s Facebook page there were more likes, but who knows why? This is no scientific evaluation, despite the best efforts of WordPress to collect data. And no one said anything derogatory.
Bottom line, I learned that, for me, poetry is fun – reading it, hearing it, writing it, or remembering it (we memorized O Captain! My Captain! in grade school). I enjoy relating to love poems, poems about nature or human nature, or the occasional taste of the dark side.
Thank you for reading this. If you will excuse me, I have poems to write, read, and to memorize.
Life is lived forward and understood backward,
but look both ways and mind the gaps.
Zymurgy (zy-mur-gy; zī mәr jē) is chemistry that deals with the fermentation processes (as in wine making or brewing), There are zymurgy clubs around America, a brew pub called Zymurgy in Torrance, CA, and even a magazine called Zymurgy. It’s a fancy word for something we didn’t know we had a fancy word for. In words like this, experts, specialists, and aficionados find each other.
***
A toast to the Grog By Bill Reynolds
Hold your drink high as we all salute, Stand proud and tall as you toast our success. Long we have toiled to blog the last dribble, To the craft of zymurgy, my final tribute.
To the blessings of grog from the art of the craft, I brought you my twaddle, the sweet and the daft, With creative support of that spirited guest, I sent you my poems, the poor and the best.
From the wine to the beer, The ferment and brew, The stout and the red Went straight to my head.
My thanks to my readers, Both critics and lovers, And for the crafters of zymurgy to brew, Grateful to all, I am thanking you too.
***
Wine to the left, beer on the right,
Look both ways and have a great night.
Of the gaps be mindful, it’s been so delightful.
Yesterday was Yolonda’s birthday. I wrote this poem for her, to her, and about us. Lordy, we were so young the day we married; a long time ago on a planet far, far away.
Age 19
To Our Life by Bill Reynolds
You’re at the core of my life, the blood of my love. Together for years, we performed so many acts With so many roles we’ve held as a pair, line upon line, We’ve both been there, one with the other, searching for truth.
Unknowing what another play might’ve been, We know what this was; and now we see what it is Like pearls on a string, between two people in love Our years remain, foundations of that same love, And discovery of truth.
We built this world, one moment at a time. Moments we recall; and some too long forgotten, Our time together, creations of a living world, The past is our present, our present the future. And pacing our life, acting on truth.
Burdens of life did task our endurance As humanity’s frailty tested our love. All while building great passion and strength, Nothing in the future can bring change to our past. Stumbling on stones, finding more truth.
Love is not work, not a great task While true work of the universe, it just might be, Not as a choice we make, nor a feeling we have, Love is just that, love is simply love. Love never dies, nor shall this truth.
Happy Birthday, My Love; blessings to you, A toast to your life, how happy you’ve made me By being my wife. I’m glad I found ya. We all love you., my dearest Yolonda. A love discovered is finding a truth.
Road Trip Ready
Live long, love well, seek truth and happiness. Keep looking both ways, and mind the dangers lurking in the gaps.
Why do we have x-words, if they sound like they start with z? I’ve discovered the word formerly used to denote a Vietnamese sum of money. The xu(pronounced soo, as in moo, you, or too) is one-hundredth of a dong. Can you see where I went with this? Enjoy!
***
A Xu for You by Bill Reynolds
I found a lucky Xu
I wanna give it to you.
Ninety-nine more, you kin get a dong.
What’s wrong? Duncha wanna a dong?
With yer dong, ya can get along.
That’s right. You can have a long dong.
A long dong with a song, all…
For a measly, simple xu.
So, wacha gunna do?
First a xu, then a dong.
With yer dong, get a gong.
Bang a gong with yer dong!
So, let’s sing the song,
Let’s bang the gong
You got a dong, so…
Let’s get it on.
***
Look both ways, then sing the song and bang the gong.
Let’s get it on, but mind the gap in yer dong when you sing the song.
The deer statue has been resting on the Luzerne County Courthouse lawn, in Wilkes-Barre (pronounced berry), PA, since 1909. However, it was first placed in the city’s central area, where the old courthouse was, in 1866. That was a year after President Lincoln was assassinated, the Civil War ended, and Walt Whitman wrote the poem, Oh Captain, My Captain (all in 1865).
I wrote this poem from the persona of the deer, who never seems to complain. Since home cameras and photography became popular, people have been taking pictures of friends and family sitting on the deer. The photo I used is of my mother holding me on the deer, circa. 1947. Thanks to Sue for tweaking it to look mo’ betta here.
***
I Knew You When… by Bill Reynolds
Oh, deer me! As you can see,
my time here’s been so long.
The Civil War was in the past,
all memories aren’t quite gone.
One year after Whitman wrote
his poem of woe, his poem of hope,
I came to this city, I thought quite pretty.
On Public Square, I stood so proud,
for twenty-four years, I knew that crowd.
In nineteen-oh-nine, to a new home I moved,
to guard this lawn where I now stand.
O’er a hundred years, as I’ve now proved.
Six generations I’ve watched them grow,
grands both ways I got to know.
Been standing here without a sound,
through floods and droughts upon this ground,
storms and disasters all around.
I’ve felt your touch and bore your weight,
There’s more to come, so here I’ll wait.
Bring your camera and your smile,
for here I’ll be yet quite a while.
I was here, you all should know
the day yer granddad stood so near.
I’m sure we’ve met, but before I go,
It’s me they call the Court House Deer.
***
Remember the past, look to the future, live in the present.
Mind the gaps and be well.
The deer statue has been resting on the Luzerne County Courthouse lawn, in Wilkes-Barre (pronounced berry), PA, since 1909. However, it was first placed in the city’s central area, where the old courthouse was, in 1866. That was a year after President Lincoln was assassinated, the Civil War ended, and Walt Whitman wrote the poem, Oh Captain, My Captain (all in 1865).
Our Literary Journey 