Tag Archives: poem a day

#491: Some days you just don’t want to write . . .

I Some days you just don’t want to write. You get up and you try to meditate,but something is wrong with your dog and sheis harassing you non-stop while you sitand you find yourself angry, cursing inbetween deep breaths in and out. And the promptfor today is uninspiring, the list of brainstorms you made for sonnets runsContinue reading “#491: Some days you just don’t want to write . . .”

#490: Sonnet with a Stolen Last Line from Shakespeare that is not a Sonnet about Shakespeare, FYI

When reading sonnets by another poet, I think to myself, mine aren’t very good. And I try to dial in the source of that doubtby pointing at the things I like in his, the things that make his poems better. He’s not rhyming, his lines, most all five beats;I’m not doing or doing these sameContinue reading “#490: Sonnet with a Stolen Last Line from Shakespeare that is not a Sonnet about Shakespeare, FYI”

#489: Ode to the Zip-up Hoodie

Between October and into the very last days of AprilI am wearing you, one of three zip-uphoodies I own. I favor you over pull-overhoodies, because, when things heat up,you can be removed so quickly, and put back onwhen things cool down, and then you can be removed, and put back on, and removed, and putContinue reading “#489: Ode to the Zip-up Hoodie”

#488: My son at eighteen years becomes a fan . . .

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 . . .”

#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 . . .”

#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”

#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”