I’m having a really hard time with the idea that the 8th of April might be the first day on which I don’t complete the composition of two poems, one of which must be a sonnet. I could let myself off the hook, I suppose, because yesterday I posted a 28 line sonnet, or, rather,Continue reading “#488: My son at eighteen years becomes a fan . . .”
Tag Archives: National Poetry Writing Month
#487: On Getting a Parking Ticket
Almost nothing elseangers me like a parking ticket. Stopped for coffee with a friendand in that hour or lesssome gutless park patrol personswings by and slaps the ticketin the windshield under the wiper. I’m mad. It makes for a very expensivecup of coffee, perhaps the most expensive cup of coffee I’ve ever had. And I’mContinue reading “#487: On Getting a Parking Ticket”
#486: I wouldn’t call myself insomniac . . .
Here’s the seventh sonnet on the seventh day, a full week of two poems a day for a month. Right about now, the 20 days ahead is looking to me like a long haul. Today’s sonnet includes some extra-credit, bonus material. Sometimes 14 lines is not enough. So how about a twenty-eight line sonnet? Or,Continue reading “#486: I wouldn’t call myself insomniac . . .”
#485: Wish You Were Here
I knew that I recognized this prompt from NaPoWriMo today. Total deja vu moment as I found myself looking to the web for a free graphic I could use of the back of a postcard. Then I just gave up and wrote the poem. But I wanted to know for sure, and, lo and behold,Continue reading “#485: Wish You Were Here”
#484: Kevin was obsessive, compulsively so . . .
Kevin was obsessive, compulsively soand would sometimes anger when things didn’t gothe way he liked, would bite with sarcasm, poke at his wife, but this was his worst. Even though he’d say that when he metmy sister, he was a drugged-up mess, from the beginning none of us saw this. What we saw was aContinue reading “#484: Kevin was obsessive, compulsively so . . .”
#483: A Mom Thing
My mother was not Jewishbut would often use the nameof the traditional wineas if it were a swear word. She’d exclaim in frustration,“Manischewitz!” I never learned why she did this, nor did I knowwhat the word meantand I never asked. Only after she died, and I was thinking about all the oddballsayings of hers, didContinue reading “#483: A Mom Thing”
#482: Shakespeare tried to immortalize his love . . .
Shakespeare tried to immortalize his lovein sonnets, in perfect iambic linesand in masterful metaphor, enjambed rhymes.What lives on is the poem, not the person. But it’s better than nothing, I suppose,and everyone who dies should have a poemcomposed in their memory, 14 lines,a poem that preserves something of a soul, that argues that the worldContinue reading “#482: Shakespeare tried to immortalize his love . . .”
#481: Three Blessings
Three Blessings(after Alicia Ostriker) To be blessedsaid the poetis to find a poemthat is not your poemfrom which you cansteal thingsto make into your own things To be blessed said the termiteis to find woodthat is not your woodinto which youcan borough and breeduntil the world collapsesright around the humans To be blessedsaid the atomisContinue reading “#481: Three Blessings”
#480: My brother-in-law died from his cancer . . .
My brother-in-law died from his cancerat home on February twenty-fifth.I hadn’t seen him since October lastwhen he still had some hair and could carryon with conversation as if he was not really sick. Even then, though, he hadconfined himself to the sofa; he could physically do little else and welikely knew that it would neverContinue reading “#480: My brother-in-law died from his cancer . . .”
#479: Spiders
Once gigantic spider-like creatures ruled this world. They were as big as lions or gorillas. The Strangest Things in the World, Thomas R. Henry Spiders I don’t kill spiders any more. For the most part, I ignore them.When I can, I scoop them upand I put them outside, which, depending I supposeon the variety ofContinue reading “#479: Spiders”
michael jarmer 