Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Life Force------Totally Optional Prompts/The Last Piaster
This week's prompt is a quote: "When you were called upon to speak, you were supposed to say why you think you're alive, why you were born, and why you're still around: What are your reasons? Everyone needs to come up with his or her own personal answer." From a novel called Diary of a Heretic, by Kathleen Maher. For an extra twist... try responding to this prompt without using the word "I" (me, my, mine).
Piaster 003 Vision Burn Brain Drain from The Last Piaster
Integrate each of these 11 phrases unchanged and in the order listed throughout your poem. There are no other restrictions. This exercise should cause a few of those synapses to fire.
the moon, broken off like
a red flower brilliant as
her fingers delicate as
the island stretches off the coast like
your backbone rigid like
the bicycle careening down the hill like
crazy bird its song like
she spun of like
his monotonous voice like
days pass like
I experimented, combining both.
She stood watching the moving sliding clouds. Slipped out
the moon, broken off like a biscuit dipped in tea.
She smiled, concentrating on the sky,
Mars showed up like a red flower brilliant as a ruby
on her fingers delicate as
a cooked plate of noodles she had eaten a while back.
Her vision reached far, thinking
how the island stretches off the coast like
a shapeless amoeba in her school biology book so long ago.
Sighing, she asked the polar star
"why is your backbone rigid like ramrod?"
A noise broke into her reverie, looking towards the road, she saw her husband
on the bicycle careening down the hill like a serpent slipping on glass.
For a miniscule moment, scaring her out of wits,
her thoughts revolving like falcons preying.
Drops of rain fell on her soft as melted butter
That lonely helicopter acted like a crazy bird, its song like
a screeching tyres of a skidded car.
At the sound of deep dark silence, she spun of like a top.
With mixed feeling, she watched her husband walking down to her
and heard his monotonous voice like pebbles hitting water,
ripples of her heart going round and round.
Why had she blanketed out her mind, shrouded it with boredom with him,
letting her days pass like snail trying to cross a road, costing all his lifetime.
What was it that kept her alive; pages of her days should have ended.
A tiny whimpering sound tugged at her heart.
Picking up her infant from the carrycot, she hugged her daughter.
Reflexively baring her nipple for her baby to feed on.
Nurturing a life created by her is reason enough to live, to be born.