Saturday, May 1, 2010

NaPoWriMo #30 - What the Poem Writes

National Poetry Month Prompt #30 (From ReadWritePoem) - Free Day (and farewell)
        Today is the last day of (Inter)National Poetry Month and the Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Challenge. The prompt today is a free day — you are free to use any prompt you have not yet written to from those provided this month, or you can write, and share, whatever you like today.
        Congratulations to everyone who took part in the challenge! For those of you who wrote a poem every day this month, tomorrow we will post instructions for submitting work for the Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Challenge anthology.
        We also want to announce that Deb Scott — who served on Read Write Poem’s administrative team — and Carolee Sherwood and Jill Crammond Wickham — who were part of the site’s creative team — have started a new poetry community. The three will share poetry prompts and other poetry-related content at Big Tent Poetry. Their writing lineup is comprised of many fine poets, including several contributors to Read Write Poem. We hope you will check that site out and see what’s going on under the big tent.
        Thank you all for taking part in Read Write Poem, and for taking the Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Challenge this year. Read Write Poem was intended to help poets share work with one another and learn more about poetry. We hope you will continue on that path. Or, in short, we hope you will all poem on — wherever poetry takes you.


What the Poem Writes

if our days were filled
with thoughts and inspiration -
creative candy -
many poems would write themselves -
celebrations of our lives

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


I can't believe this is the end of the month.  I jotted my poem on a piece of paper as I was a captive audience in meetings most of the day.  That combined with working with students to get their grades up before midnight last night prevented me from returning to post my poem.  Many thanks to everyone who has put so much of themselves into orgainizing and participating in this entire month.   I will hold you in my heart.
Blessings to you all!

Thursday, April 29, 2010

NaPoWriMo #29 - Read All About It

National Poetry Month Prompt #29 (From ReadWritePoem) - Front Page News.
        For this prompt, choose your favorite newspaper or online news provider. Jot down five to ten headlines that jump out at you and without reading the articles, select elements from each headline to create a new event about which your poem reports.


Read All About It

If you can believe it,
Police unable to confirm woman’s claim.
Boobquake –
Cross cultural education –
five times worse.
Time for a doctor’s visit –
Design from the heart -
Secret Life; Motherhood drives moms to drink.
Too risky to call ET.
Who’s responsible?
A random talk on Wall Street –
The bang is back.
Living the dream –
Family first.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

NaPoWriMo #28 - Before You

National Poetry Month Prompt #28 - Intuition
        Take a moment to remember a breakthrough moment in your life or a “freeze-frame” moment from long, long ago. An “a-ha” or an “epiphany” moment or a moment that has a story yet to tell.

        Let’s prepare to write a poem using our intuition intentionally today. Write this prompt on your page: “When I remember my “a-ha moment” from my past, I understand the place I am meant to go with my words and poetry today is … ”
        Restate the prompt as you free-write and don’t write a poem yet. Instead, go about your business of the day purposefully not writing a poem.
        Notice surprising turns of phrases you hear. Listen to people who say things to you that seem especially surprising, lyrics to songs. Eavesdrop intentionally. Wait for at least 2 hours and then write your poem from the words your intuition and your free-writing gave you.

Before You

before there was you -
when I was young and alone
I dreamed you would come
my knight in shining armor -
saved by never ending love

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


I always knew my "prince" would come.  That "knowing" sustained me through many turbulous times and gave my the strength to resist others along the way who would be prince.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

NaPoWriMo #27 - Begin Each Day

National Poetry Month Prompt #27 (From ReadWritePoem) - Let Someone Else Take the Lead.
        Take a word that’s part of you — your name, your birth month, your favorite animal, your guiding principle. Write that word vertically down a page and use the letters to start the lines of a poem. When you’re done, you’ll have an acrostic poem. (Though the prompt could be as simple as “write an acrostic poem,” the word sounds scary this late in the month. This prompt is designed to ease you into the final stretch. Don’t stress too much about the word you choose. NaPoWriMo is just for fun. Are you having fun?)



Begin Each Day

Begin each day in
Reverence for all existence.
Indelible memories of nature’s
Dance permeate my waking dreams - a
Glorious testament to our creator’s
Eloquence… a celebration of his
Technicolor playground for our souls.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Monday, April 26, 2010

NaPoWriMo #26 - The Face of Love

National Poetry Month Prompt #26 (From ReadWritePoem) - Get Scrappy
        It’s getting late in the month, and finishing NaPoWriMo is going to take every bit of resourcefulness you have. Jill Crammond Wickham reminds us about the bits and pieces of poems we may be carrying around.

        Today, before you start writing, you need to do some digging. Dig through your backpack, purse or desk drawer and find a scrap of poem written on an old envelope or bank deposit slip. Unearth an old journal or notebook.
        Find a poem that you started, or perhaps one you abandoned. Read it through. Highlight the lines or phrases that please you. Do not cross anything out (yet)! You now have two choices: finish the poem or take the parts you like and begin a brand new piece.
        If NaPoWriMo has you a little crazy, there is a third option: take the parts you don’t like and use them to inspire a new poem.




The Face Of Love

the lines on your face
provide a map of our lives –
proof of happiness –
a testament to sorrow –
a record for tomorrow

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Sunday, April 25, 2010

National Poetry Month Prompt #25 (From ReadWritePoem) - First Things First
        Keep an ear out for the first sentence (or even word) that is said to you after you read this prompt. (Poetic license: If the first few words are exceptionally boring, wait for the first uncommon or peculiar one.) Take that word/sentence — it could be “mango” or “exemplar” or “have you ever been to this Ethiopian restaurant?” — and build a poem around it. Maybe you have deep thoughts on mangoes or a narrative of heartbreak and spicy injera from the restaurant mentioned. Trust in fate.

 
Battle of Wills
 
Silence has replaced the din
Of everyday living.
Darkness has silenced the light.
The clock ticks on.
The dog grumbles as he rolls over.
The prince snores –
a cacophony of night noise
plays on.
An intruder waits, silently,
to attack.
Muscles twitch, then seize…
Burning tendrils race to grip extremities,
laughing at over-the-counter remedies…
He begs for the treasure…
Take me on vacation…
I’ll still be here,
You just won’t care.
Come on…you know
You want to!
I resist…
Oblivion unwanted.
He taunts me; his will is strong.
Silent screaming continues.
I arise – not wanting to disturb the prince.
I creep down the hallway
in darkness.
Our battle of wills continues.
Time passes slowly.
“Come back to bed, baby!”
Battle din masked his arrival.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I sigh.
He takes my hand
and leads me back.
“It’s OK…It will all be OK….
As long as we’re together.”
His warmth quiets the intruder
As I melt into his arms.
I sleep.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Saturday, April 24, 2010

NaPoWriMo #24 - The Siren's Lair

National Poetry Month Prompt #24 (From ReadWritePoem) - Find a Phrase
        With words like codswallop, it’s clear that Read Write Poem member Marie Gauthier means business! Now is not the time to let your NaPoWriMo work ethic slack.
        Clichés, idioms, what-have-you. As points of inspiration, you might think they’re dead in the water, but that’s a load of codswallop. Time spent investigating word origins is never time wasted.

        So for today’s prompt, travel a while on The Phrase Finder website until you find the phrase or phrase origin that most interests you.
        There are no hard and fast rules. The Phrase Finder has phrases from the Bible, from Shakespeare, phrases coined at sea, something for every taste. Take some notes, do a free-write or three, and see where a little word exploration takes you.


The Siren’s Lair

Beware ye, young men,
Of the siren’s lair
Sculptured bodies
And flowing hair,
Songs sang sweeter that the rarest bird
Don’t believe the lies you’ve heard
She’ll sing the songs you want to hear.
She’ll tell you you’re the greatest;
No one else is as dear…
Your body will be her playground,
You’ll go places you’ve never been.
Her games will be so exciting,
But you’ll never, ever win.
Finally, when she tires of you,
And it’s time for her to go,
Beware the final deed she does -
She’ll relieve you of your soul.
So, listen to the stories, son,
Of men and ships and whales,
But heed the siren and her lair…
Thereby hangs a tale.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


(Image borrowed from the internet.  "Thereby hangs a tale" - From Shakespeare's "As you Like It.")

Friday, April 23, 2010

NaPoWriMo #23 - Circumstance Unforeseen

National Poetry Month Prompt #26 (From ReadWritePoem) - Unlikely Couples
        Read Write Poem member Sage Cohen has a terrific suggestion for today’s poems: Write a poem in which you combine a speaker and an event that normally don’t go together (such as sports broadcasters and poetry writing), as Jay Leeming does in his poem, “Man Writes Poem.”


Circumstance Unforeseen

She owns the corner now –
Standing there daily,
Sign in hand…
Scuffed white stilettos and
Tattered white mini skirt,
She tucks dollar bills and loose coins
in a worn-out Gucci bag.
“No matter what a woman looks like,
if she’s confident, she’s sexy,” she says
as she waves at a passing motorist.
“I’ve just gotta find a new BFF.”
She brushes dirty blond tendrils
away from the dark smudges on her cheeks,
reminding me of a fairytale gone wrong.
“The only rule is don’t be boring and
dress cute wherever you go.
Life is too short to blend in.”
She smiles, displaying yellow, scaly teeth.
“What happened,” I asked.
She starts to cry –“My pets are gone,”
She sobs.
“Pets?”
“Every woman should have four pets
in her life. A mink in the closet,
a jaguar in the garage, a tiger in her bed, and
a jackass who pays for everything.”
I’m too shocked to speak.
A dark car slows.
A young boy tosses a cheeseburger out the window.
She scrabbles to retrieve the welcome gift.
“OMG…that’s so nice. Maybe he’ll
Be my BFF….
Maybe he’ll be my BFFE…”

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

(All italicized quotes are attributed to Paris Hilton.)

Thursday, April 22, 2010

NaPoWriMo #22 - Summer Day in Montana

napowrimo #22: a wordle!

April 22nd, 2010

by the Read Write Poem Staff

Today’s prompt is from Read Write Poem member Catherine who provided the contents for today’s prompt, a Wordle.
Use one, or use them, all in the poem you write today

 
 
Summer Day in Montana
 
Katydid and cicada symphonies
reverberate in the trees.
One crow caws a solo on the breeze;
His choir absent at the roadkill emporium
down the street…their fierce squall echoes
in the distance.
Deep blue sky cradles cloud creatures –
their passing makes me dizzy.
Tendrils from our saffron rose caress
the cast iron pump, inhaling beads of moisture;
concealing the rust that peppers the silver base.
Long grasses rustle and I flinch,
praying the intruder is more friend than foe.
Closer inspection reveals a tiny field mouse
more startled than I.
We part friends.
I marvel at the choreography I see –
All of nature involved in a splendid dance
around me.
I find comfort in knowing this dance will go on…
Today…
Tomorrow…
Eternity…

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

NaPoWriMo #21 - Perfectly Imperfect

National Poetry Month Prompt #21 (From ReadWritePoem) - Perfectly Flawed
        Write a poem about flaws and perfection in yourself or in nature or write about how you feel about being imperfect or perfect.


Perfectly Imperfect

what is perfection -
does fibonacci exist
in math and nature
then can anyone create
an imperfect perfection?

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


Tuesday, April 20, 2010

NaPoWriMo #20 - Perfect Dance

National Poetry Month Prompt #20 (From Read WritePoem) - The Hero Poem
        Write a poem in which you to pay tribute to your hero, past or present.
        I have been playing around with this idea and subject for awhile, so it seemed natural to go back and spend sometime with it.  I lived with my great grandparents until I was almost seven.  They were both amazing people!  There are so many stories to share about my experiences with them.  I hope you enjoy this one.


Perfect Dance

He towered over me;
my Papa.
He’d grab my arms
swinging me
effortlessly onto his broad shoulders
as he whistled his way to town;
my short legs unable to catch up.
I could see forever.

I never knew him with copper-hair
Like mine –
a thin layer of white frosted
the sides of his head;
only one or two wisps
dusted the top.
He smelled of Vitalis and
a sweet, earthy aroma
emitting from a strange brown object,
tucked neatly in the left breast pocket
of his blue-striped shirt;
carefully caressed between his navy-blue suspenders and
the inside edge of his pocket.
Throughout the day,
he would reach up and
remove the cherished object,
tenderly turning it between two fingers
slowly and carefully sliding it under his nose as he inhaled -
eyes closed…face smiling…
like he knew something
no one else knew.
I wondered what secrets he held.

Occasionally, he’d let me smell through the clear wrapping –
I’d inhale as he held the object,
struggling to mimic that knowing look.
I liked it best when he removed the wrapper –
he gave me the ring,
too big for tiny fingers,
but cherished treasure any way..

The days were long;
as the warmth of the sun began to fade,
he’d pull his metal rocker to the corner of our old wooden porch…
he’d reach
into his special pocket;
one last time -
a ritual repeated the same time daily -
a rhythm to this tango I never understood.
He’d carefully unwrap his treasure,
hand me the ring,
strike match on sole –
inhale...
deeply -
rings of smoke magically arose from his mouth…
I was in awe!
Perfection.
I loved the aroma…
I loved the rings…
I loved the mysterious day long dance I never understood…
I marveled at his patience;
ecstasy obviously within reach…

Years later,
when he was gone,
I tried to recreate that scene…
Somehow,
something was lost in
translation…
recreation incomplete…
Occasionally,
though,
I catch a whiff on the wind…
A sweet, earthy aroma
permeates the air,
transporting me back…
to that magical time…
I inhale deeply…
slowly…
Savoring that glorious aroma;
attempting to capture that mystery
once again.
I endlessly search for those perfect rings…
I ceaselessly seek
the rhythm of the dance he knew so well…
I ache
to swing effortlessly
onto his shoulders
where I can see…
forever…
instead of always trying to catch up.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


     I wrote the following as a present for my husband's 50th birthday a few years ago.  I couldn't leave him un-mentioned today as a hero, so I thought I'd share my tribute to him.


Everyday Heroes

With all this talk about heroes,
It’s easy to forget,
The men who haven’t walked through fires
Or brought down hijacked jets.
The men who have worked all the days of their lives
Just doing what they must
To bring food to their hungry families
And honor to their vows of trust.
They have fought the daily battles,
When it was much easier to leave.
They have looked temptation in the eye,
When a simple lie would deceive.
They have walked away from other women
Who offered comfort from life’s storms.
They choose to remain with their families
Within the circle safe and warm.

Chorus:
Oh, he’s an everyday hero.
A father to his daughters and sons…
A husband to the wife he loves…
A friend to everyone…
His hands are rough from working hard;
Yet, his touch is gentle and mild.
The burden he carries can be hard for a man,
So, sometimes he acts like a child.
He’ll never be a millionaire.
He might never write a poem.
He’s just an everyday hero,
Who enjoys coming home.

He arises before the sun comes up.
It’s dark by the end of his day.
He rarely takes a vacation,
Because there are always bills to pay.
He’s tired, but he still helps his family,
Whenever they need a hand.
He teaches them to nurture their inner strength
And to always take a stand.
He shows them that strength has a softer side
By his hugs and his listening ear.
He tells them life isn’t easy…
Just work hard; there’s nothing to fear.
He hugs them good night and gets ready for bed
For tomorrow’s another day…
And although he deserves more in this life he leads,
Tomorrow will start out the same way.

Chorus:
He’s just an everyday hero.
A good father to his daughters and sons…
A faithful husband to the wife he loves…
A good friend to everyone…
His hands are rough from working hard,
Yet his touch is gentle and mild.
The burden he carries can be hard for a man,
So sometimes he acts like a child.
He’ll never be a millionaire.
He might never write a poem.
He’s just an everyday hero,
Who enjoys coming home.

©Bridget Nutting, 2004

Monday, April 19, 2010

NaPoWriMo #19 - More Than a Mission Tonight.

National Poetry Month Prompt #19 (From RedWritePoem - Light Bulb Moments.
        For Rallentanda, and us, this means a flash or light bulb moment. Everyone has had one. Things suddenly fall into place (a realization of the truth of the matter).  Often the situation is too painful to address, so you hide it. For example, you suspect your husband is having an affair with your best friend or you suddenly realize where the missing cash went from your wallet all those years ago.
        It can even be humorous. You usually wear your best under garments for a visit to the gynecologist, but as you’re ready to strip off you suddenly realize you are wearing your old gardening knickers with all the broken elastic. Try to describe the ensuing feelings of embarrassment and desperate attempts to rectify this situation.
        I actually know of someone who tripped and fell on stage at a gala performance. She was so humiliated that she pretended she was having a heart attack (which seemed, to her at the time, the better option).
       Your poem should express the emotions that grip you as you experience your “shock” moment.

More Than A Mission Tonight

Dinner over,
you sauntered across the street –
Guy-talk with Dick –
while I bathed the boys.
Jammies on, books read, prayers said,
then off to bed – no argument tonight –
right to sleep…
Hooray!
Hustling through the dishes,
I waited, expectantly, for your return…
you’d been frisky all evening…
oh, the anticipation…
Finally, a knock at the back door –
Strange, you had never knocked before,
but I loved your games –
I could play too.
I knocked back;
Same rhythm, same beat –
Silence.
I waited.
Now another knock –
I matched it too.
Silence again.
I could wait.
One more time…
Thump, thump, thump-thump-thump…
Thump-thump…
Oh, this was going to be good!
I pulled the curtains back, slowly, ever so slowly and…
provocatively…
Smiling that “Come here, baby,” smile…
You would not be receiving any
mixed messages tonight!
But, you weren’t there –
Two young men in black slacks and white shirts
Stood in your place…
Damn you!
I’m rarely at a loss for words,
But I couldn’t talk…
“Would you like us
to stop by another time?”
I could only nod and smile.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Sunday, April 18, 2010

NaPoWriMo #18 - Tiger

National Poetry Month Prompt #18 (From ReadWritePoem) - Meow!
        Write a poem featuring the cat family, whether big or small.



Tiger

I alone am striped…
powerful, agile body
hunts alone at night…
within my territory,
I wander – still endangered.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Saturday, April 17, 2010

NaPoWriMo #17 - Blessed Renewal

National Poetry Month Prompt #17 (From ReadWritePoem) - Something Elemental.    
     Let’s be elemental. Fire, earth, water, wind. They touch our lives every day. Choose one that interests you, then take a point of view that is not so much your usual. Observe what interaction you’ve known, or not known, with this element.
     You might make it personal or take the element’s point of view (how might humans appear to you from that stance?) or wander where you may. Tell us something about your element that we don’t know.
     You’re welcome to make your own rules, and as always, the most important point is simply to write and share, however it comes your way! Have fun!


Blessed Renewal

I come to your table to breathe.
I inhale your salty air,
deeply,
replacing torturous thoughts with tranquility;
absorbing your breathtaking beauty…
marveling at your power.
As your rhythmic waves wash over
the simmering sand,
you wash away my stress and sorrow;
laying fresh a basin for new feelings
and experiences.
I bow in reverence as the sun
slips slowly beneath your distant horizon –
extinguishing its fiery flame.
As the moon begins its nightly watch,
I am mesmerized by your
shimmering undulations…
reflections
of forgotten dreams.
For a moment,
time stands still
as serenity
seeps silently
inside
my
soul;
blessed renewal.
I praise
your
gift.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010



Friday, April 16, 2010

NaPoWriMo #16 - I Remember

National Poetry Month Prompt #16 (From ReadWritePoem) - What's That Smell?
     Somewhere near where you are sitting is something with a specific smell that will conjure a memory rich with images. Take a moment to find any such object and breathe the scent of it, deeply. It may be as simple as a strand of your hair, a ketchup bottle from the refrigerator, a potholder or a bottle of lotion.
     Add to your breath the simple phrase, “I remember” and breathe the scent in again. “I remember.” Free write from “I remember” for at least five minutes, repeating the prompt “I remember” if your writing slows.
     Use the seeds from your free writing to write today’s poem.



I Remember

I remember…
Lilac and honeysuckle perfume
wrestling with the wild yellow rose
while a honeybee audience
danced on the breeze.

I remember…
the sweet, earthy aroma of
freshly cut green grass permeating
the warm summer mornings
while cicadas played symphonies.

I remember…
the silver cast-iron water pump
standing sentinel over our kingdom…
the smell of ice cold water
splurshing from the spout
as Papa wielded the handle
effortlessly…

I remember Papa…
the telltale scent of Vitalis and
Bay Rum mingling together
as I hugged his neck;
a scent that still awakens
comfort and safety
in my soul.

I remember…
unmistakable aroma of
freshly baked bread
swimming through the
kitchen window,
challenging the others…
inviting Papa and me in
to Grandma’s domain.

I remember…
the cinnamony tart smell
of fresh apple butter
simmering on the stove,
begging to find rest on
a still warm slice of bread.

Whenever I remember…
I’m home!

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Thursday, April 15, 2010

NaPoWriMo #15 - Childhood Games

National Poetry Month Prompt #15 (From ReadWritePoem) - Carrying a Tune.
      In a nice private place, pick out a stanza, or a few lines, that you like from a poem that you don’t otherwise feel was very successful. Say them over to yourself.

      Now hum them. See if you can find the tune.
      And now sing them aloud. (Who cares if you can sing? You’re in private. And this is poetry!)
      Throwing away the rest of the poem, write two more stanzas (stand-alone or connected) that go to the same tune.
       No fair doing it silently!


Childhood Games

Of mudpies and magpies and Duck, Duck Goose.
We played every day in the sun.
Ring around the Rosie and the Mulberry Bush.
Each day was filled with fun.
London Bridge was Falling Down.
Georgie Porgie had Puddin’ and Pie.
I never dreamed you’d go away
Leaving me here to cry.

When we were young, we were carefree.
We played games and sang silly songs.
Will you ever come back to me?
You’ve been gone way too long.

When the sun grew tired and the hot air cooled,
It was time to play Hide ‘n Seek.
We hurriedly hid the best we could,
Then quietly we would creep
Closer and closer to “Home” we’d move,
Hoping we wouldn’t get caught.
We’d laugh so hard, we’d often cry –
“This is life,” or so we thought.

(Bridge) Children grow up and learn new games;
                Sometimes they just can’t stay.
                You promised you would never leave,
                But then you went away.

When we were young, we were carefree.
We played games and sang silly songs.
Will you ever come back to me?
You’ve been gone way too long.

I wish that you’d come back to me…
You’ve been gone way too long.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

NaPoWriMo #14 - Home

National Poetry Month Prompt #14 (From ReadWritePoem) - You want me to write what?
     Nicole Nicholson has a big challenge for us on Day 14: Write a cleave poem. What’s a cleave poem, you ask? It’s three poems in one.

     The whole idea works something like this (quoting the creator of the form, Dr. Phuoc-Tan Diep): “In its most basic form it is three poems: two parallel ‘vertical’ poems (left and right)…[with] a third ‘horizontal’ poem being the fusion of the vertical poems read together.” He goes on to say, “One of my aims was to examine how something can be more than the sum of its parts and can be 3 in 1: synergy, fusion, co-operation, dialectics, marriage, interdependence, teamwork and The Trinity.”
     More info can be found at The Cleave (including samples) and at the “cleave” entry at Writing.com.

     Happy writing! (Editor’s note: A good idea, for those who fear the cleave is too challenging: Try a short one or simply try a form you have never tried before.)

Home

We sat beneath the willow tree--while clouds drift slowly by,

You pledged your undying love to me --inviting magical thinking

Forever and ever; eternity--and tempting daylight dreams,

A welcome rest; tranquility--breathe deeply…

From violent tempest to calming sea--let peace surround you.

It was your love that saved me--you’re safely home.


©Bridget Nutting, 2010

NaPoWriMo #13 - "Poem Staring with a Line from Norman Dubie"

National Poetry Month Prompt #13 (From ReadWritePoem) - Smoke a dubie.

     In his poems, Norman Dubie tells stories, sets scenes and paints landscape, sometimes lush and sometimes wretched. His writing is sure and vivid, and his language is beautiful. As you’ll see below, his similes are incomparable. If forced to compare him with anyone, I’d be more likely to pick a painter than another writer.
     For this prompt, take a Dubie line to jumpstart a poem of your own. Your poem should be titled “Poem Starting with a Line from Norman Dubie.”
      I chose the line, "His chapel fell into flowers long ago."



Poem Starting with a Line from Norman Dubie

His chapel fell into flowers long ago;
A tragedy he can’t recall.
He journeys to the site each day
to excavate the ruins; tools in hand.
He reads the books and makes the plans –
An armchair archeologist extraordinaire –
Even degrees scribed on lambskin are not enough
to uncover lost treasures;
cruelty undeserved.
Memory of his chapel will soon fade;
a blessing mixed with sorrow
for those he loves.
In time, he’ll no longer need
his books and tools.
There will be no more attempts at excavation;
no memory of his chapel will remain.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


     Alzheimer's is a cruel disease.  We have watched it rob my father-in-law of all his ""chapels.  He was an incredibly brilliant man who was able to cover for quite awhile before we realized how serious it had become.

Monday, April 12, 2010

NaPoWriMo #12 - Gathering

National Poetry Month Prompt #12 (From ReadWritePoem) - Secret Codes
     Make up a secret code. Begin by writing a few nonsense sentences, like “The raindrops tap out a cry for help” or “The dandelions are saying all at once, ‘You are overwhelmed.’” The formula is easy: come up with a message and assign it to something unlikely. Remember, of course, that inanimate objects can speak and that signs and symbols may be nonverbal.
       Once you have a few sentences, select the one that is most intriguing to you and use it to start a poem.


Gathering

You wear your coat wrapped tightly
Around your treasure; mottled grays
distracting your worth.
When I was young, I heard your calling –
far more quiet than thunderous.
I gathered you and others,
in a basket used for eggs,
carrying you carefully home.
I wonder - did you feel pain,
when the blade cut through your heart
revealing your soul?
I never heard you cry…
You only whispered stories;
I held you close, repeating what I heard.
Now your treasure is widely known;
Seekers come from distant places
just to capture a glimpse of your glory.
Do you still whisper invitations?
I miss your call.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


Sunday, April 11, 2010

NaPoWriMo #11 - No Regrets

National Poetry Month Prompt #11 (From ReadWritePoem) - The thing you didn't choose.
     Everyday we make choices. Some are small: English breakfast or Lipton? the highway or back roads? Some are more significant: convertible or mini-van? farmhouse or condo?
     Some choices lead us straight into the life we’re living, but for this poem, think about one of the things in your life you didn’t choose.

     Be concrete. Pick an object — something tangible* — and write your poem directly to it, as if you were writing it a personal letter. Explain why you didn’t choose it. What could things have been like if you had? Talk about what your life has become without it. See where the “confession” takes you.

*As an alternative, dig a little deeper and write your poem to a person you left behind.


No Regrets

When I was seventeen and foolish,
I would have gone with you
To California –
just to escape the demons
my parents possessed.
Thank God, you didn’t ask.
Although you really loved me,
My heart belonged to him,
and always would…
Your absence a reminder
of all he was
and all you lacked.
A dozen long stemmed roses
announced your return…
futile attempt to win me back;
a battle you could never win.
I believed in ever-after.
You believed in now…
This alone would be our doom.
I married him.
I never once looked back,
unlike you.
Move on…
Choose happiness.
I did…
Decades later now–
Still no regrets.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Saturday, April 10, 2010

NaPoWriMo #10 - Bridge Of Love

NaPoWriMo Prompt Day #10 (From Read WritePoem) - Celebrate!
     Write about a birthday party, a wedding, a baptism — any kind of celebration where you were with family or friends or both. Write about the colors you remember, the sounds (and how they made you feel) and the tastes you remember from any of those events. Did these things make you feel good? Did you experience any new foods? Did you meet any new people?

     Sometimes, beyond our control, festivities can take a turn for the worse. Maybe that happened to you or someone you know. Whatever happened, be it great or not so great, let’s write about it!



Bridge of Love

At seventeen, seventy years of marriage
is difficult to comprehend.
They were all I’d ever known –
my great grandparents -
Two individuals moving methodically
In a daily waltz; highs and lows
Carefully matched in three-quarter time.
We gathered in Sambo’s dining area –
sixteen foot table surrounded
with loving, chattering, insensitive family -
Papa at one end;
Grandma at the other.
Cataracts clouded Papa’s eyes;
Grandma’s hearing aids squealed.
I sat by Papa – wondering why
they had been seated so far apart
on their special day.
Deafening noise created a chasm
between the celebrated couple,
or so I’d thought.
I learned many lessons that day.
Amid the din, a tear
formed in Papa’s eye.
Their eyes locked.
“Jessie, Jessie, my beautiful Jessie;
You’re as beautiful as the day we wed.”
“I have always loved you,”
She spoke quietly;
He understood.
I caught a glimpse of
Something wondrous; rare –
a bridge of love
between two souls.
I would settle for nothing less.

A few months later,
Papa crossed that bridge alone.
Although broken hearted,
Grandma survived – she spoke to him each day.
Five years passed…
She celebrated my graduation…
rejoiced at my wedding…
marveled at birth of my first son...
On her birthday,
she extinguished ninety-seven candles
with one breath –
we were amazed.

“Papa’s here,” she said one Sunday,
“I know you’ll understand.”
Her time had come to go with him.
“Be happy.”
That night, she slept,
peacefully –
Secret smile upon her face –
a smile reserved for only him –
I’d seen that smile many times before.
Two days passed,
when Papa came
to take her home;
Quietly and peacefully,
she went with him -
holding his familiar hand;
joyfully crossing that bridge -
Again, I glimpsed that blessed bridge -
Endless love;
Two souls entwined for eternity…

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Friday, April 9, 2010

NaPoWriMo #9 - Montana Spring

NaPoWriMo Prompt #9 (From ReadWritePoem - Your Mission

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to:

1.  Use at least twelve words from this list: flap, winter, torch, pail, jug, strum, lever, massage, octopus, marionette, stow, pumice, rug, jam, limp, campfire, startle, wattle, bruise, chimney, tome, talon, fringe, walker; (used all the words)

2.  Include something that tastes terrible; (survival bars)

3.  Include some part (from a few words to several lines) of a previous poem that didn’t quite pan out; (Be careful what you wish for)

4.  Include a sound that makes you happy. (Mima)

5.  Write a poem!


"Found" by Walter Hunt

Montana Spring

With makeshift wattle built - lever for survival - deerskin flap on open door -
exact replica from Papa’s guide, an antique tome
found stowed alongside Mima’s marionette long ago -
we gather ‘round the campfire, startled
by winter’s late attempt to lay a rug of white
from wilderness fringe to fringe.
Had we known, we could have brought survival bars –
ground pumice masquerading
as peanut butter and chocolate.
We warm our hands and bodies by the fire,
Thankful for our pail of twigs and jug of water…
Thankful we’re not in a total jam.

Townspeople, however, fear the storm -
one final massage for early blades of green; octopus ice talons
bruise daffodils and daisies;
trees hang their heavy heads beneath snowy ice shawls –
will they survive?
Walkers limp carefully home to light
Blazing fires – their chimney smoke a torch to travelers
needing shelter from the storm.
Some dream of one last blanket of snow
before the heat.
Be careful what you wish for…

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


When I was very young, I lived with my great grandparents in a small town in Montana.    The painting above hung on the wall in our tiny livingroom - a gentle reminder of snow in the spring. 

Thursday, April 8, 2010

NaPoWriMo #8 - Of Merlin and Butterflies

NaPoWriMo Prompt #8 (From ReadWritePoem) - Unusual Love Connections
Today, think of your current love, your current obsession or the one who got away. Now come up with five or more unusual metaphors for the object of your affection/obsession: wool scarf, cough drop, puddle, half-empty bottle of red wine… Choose your favorite of the bunch and write a poem celebrating (or trashing) your love.

Of Merlin and Butterflies

You were her conquest when first we met:
New kid at school; helpless fly within her web.
I never saw us as one, although you did -
Indiana Jones seeking treasure –
Your adventures lost on my innocence –
Although your tenacious determination
Would eventually prevail.

You cast your Merlin spell –
Alchemy –
I was entranced.
Butterflies took residence inside my body,
Awakening whenever you were near.
I saw “Moondust in your hair of gold
And starlight in your eyes of blue” -
You were the Carpenter’s song
And I was yours for eternity.

Oh, clever sorcerer…
Enchantment remains.
Who knew butterflies could live for decades?

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


Dave and I met in ninth grade.  He had just moved from Washington to Montana.  He was only in Montana for about two years before moving to Indiana.  When we married in 1974, I was nineteen; he was twenty.  Although we've weathered more than our fair share of storms, the honeymoon is not over.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

NaPoWriMo #7 - Summer Love

NaPoWriMo Poetry Prompt #7 (From ReadWritePoem) - Love, Funny Side Up

Write and capture humorous incidents related to love in a 5-line love poem called a tanka. (You may even decide to create your own tanka journal for love poems!) Here’s how to write one:


1.  Describe in concrete terms one or two simple images (two or three lines) from your humorous love encounter, not just what you saw but also what you tasted, touched, smelled or heard.

2.  What were you were thinking at the time this love encounter happened? Write that down, too, as two or three lines, so you have five lines in total for the poem.

3.  Think about making the third line of your poem into a pivot line, so that it links to both the previous two lines and to the final two lines.

4.  Test the tanka by dividing it into two parts so the third line acts both as the last line of the first part and as the first line of the second part. Does each section make sense separately, and then together?

5.  Think about reducing — and even avoiding — capitalization and punctuation because a tanka needn’t be like a sentence or merely a flat statement.
 

SUMMER LOVE

we were newlyweds
we’ll sleep under stars tonight
couple on the hill
lost in love when she approached
wind always blows – come inside

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

NaPoWriMo #6 - Treasure Box

NaPoWriMo Poetry Prompt #6 (From ReadWritePoem) - Converse with Images.  Select an image and interrogate it for poems. I chose my great-grandmother's treasure box - a collection of memories of her life.  Although I can't remember the names that match all of the photos or the stories behind all of the letters, it remains one of my greatest treasures.  (I borrowed a picture from Google Images that is similar to her box.)


TREASURE BOX

Although centuries old,
the wooden box
still protects her treasures –
tin types,
letters,
small, ink-blue, flip-top notebooks
used as journals –
she recorded events of each day
religiously,
some as poems,
some as articles written for
small town rags –
each held its own silent story,
released only
by
her touch.
The box that lived beside her bed throughout my youth,
Now sleeps beneath a blanket of dust on closet shelf -
A visage awaking insatiable longing daily.
Pieces of her life’s journey await release.
I fear the memories incomplete.
I yearn to see her trembling hands,
wrapped in translucent skin,
caress each treasure,
one by one.
I ache to hear
her gentle voice
recount
each story
once again.
I’d listen better…
Youth no longer
an excuse
for
poor memory.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Several years ago when my mother died, I brought my great-grandmother's treasured box home with me.  I started the following story poem hoping someday it might be put to music.  I decided to finish it today.

My great grandparents' wedding picture - Dennis and Jessie Daniel, December 31, 1900.

THE MEMORY BOX

Grandma keeps her memories in a box beside her bed.
She uses them to trigger all the stories inside her head.
Sadly all the photos and stories have begun to fade.
Still she holds them as she tells of all the travels she has made.

The first one is a picture of a pretty little girl,
In laced-up boots, a petticoat, and long golden curls.
She was born in Illinois soon after the Civil War.
Her father was a lawyer; he’d been married once before.
Her Mama was a “looker” and came from a large family –
She raised her kids, taught grammar school, and wrote books of poetry.
They left their farm to homestead in Montana – way out west.
Although the winters were bitter cold, Montana was the best.
They sold the “stead” and moved to town to run the General Store.
Then Grandma tired; she closed the box; she could share anymore.

Grandma keeps her memories in a box beside her bed.
She uses them to trigger all the stories inside her head.
Sadly all the photos and the stories have begun to fade.
Still she holds them as she tells of all the travels she has made.

The next one is a picture of a young man and his wife.
She smiles as she remembers the main man in her life.
Seventy years of blissful marriage before God carried him home.
He’s been gone for years now – Grandma feels so all alone.
She remembers when she first saw him – he was tall with hair so red.
She was setting the type for the paper, before putting the news to bed.
He was a train engineer…his safe whistle was long, short, long…
One day as she waited anxiously, praying he would always be strong,
Her worst fears were realized when she was informed of the terrible wreck.
It was months before he could walk again – they were thankful he hadn’t broken his neck.
He never worked the train again – he carried mail to the store.
Then Grandma closed the Memory Box. She couldn’t share anymore.

The other day I opened up the box and looked inside.
I saw a picture of Grandma’s house and then I sat and cried.
Grandma’s been gone for years now – I still miss her every day.
I miss the stories that she told now that she’s gone away.
I held each picture close to me; I tried hard to recall
The stories of each photograph, but I don’t know some at all.
I long to sit with Grandma as she tells stories of her life;
I miss the ones of Papa – the hard knocks and the strife.
I learned so many lessons; I hope she knows I cared.
I closed the box wishing for more stories to be shared.

The box still cradles pictures, but Grandma’s gone away.
I wish that I could sit with her hearing stories every day.
Some pictures hold the secrets that I didn’t take time to hear.
I wish that I had known then that these pictures were so dear.

Grandma kept her memories in the box beside her bed.
She’d hold them to trigger all the stories inside her head.
Sadly all the photos and the stories began to fade.
I hold them now hoping to recall travels that she made.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Monday, April 5, 2010

NaPoWriMo #5 - Her Name is Sorrow

NaPoWriMo, Day #5 - (From ReadWritePoem) Today, let’s make poetry really personal. Give poetry, as you write it, a name. Possibly a gender. And a personality.

Her Name is Sorrow

They gather together in a circle -
All ages,
Personalities,
Names,
Personas –
They wear many hats.
They come from all walks of life.
Some have been friends for years -
Marrying,
Raising children,
Rejoicing at graduations,
Dancing at weddings,
Awaiting the birth of grandchildren.
Others scorn the rest, openly.
An impersonal activity
soon becomes
personal,
as they vie for attention.
“Pick me! Pick me!”
“I’m better than she is.”
“I have an amazing story to tell.”
They forget we’ll draw straws.

One holds back,
huddling silently in a corner she fears.
She fears the light
knowing most will never believe.
She fears the truth –
revelation that she caused it all.
She fears opening old wounds,
gashes hemorrhaging her soul –
Tears are not recompense
or validation –
even though
they may start and never stop.
Sometimes,
her voice wins
by default –
a brief vindication –
Truth writes itself.
Her name is
Sorrow.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010

Sunday, April 4, 2010

NaPoWriMo #4 - Theory Repudiated

From ReadWritePoem: NaPoWriMo, Day #4 -
Write a poem today that illustrates your idea of what is inside-out.

Theory Repudiated
If experience is the greatest teacher,
I should know…
An organ suspended
On ruffled sleeve
Will wither and wane,
Not thrive.
However,
Belief remains -
Hands clapping save faeries…
Bells ringing mean an angel gets his wings…
Good knights arrive on snow white steeds,
While evil dresses in black.
The handsome prince awakens
The beautiful princess
With one kiss…
Proof of Resurrection.
Good people live happily ever after -
Proof of Karma.

Irony recommends
Remanding vital organ to bone jail
Therefore,
increasing its strength -
Callousness required
For survival.
Theory repudiated –
I still believe.

I will clap hands…
Ring bells…
Entertain good knights and handsome princes…
I will welcome kisses
Knowing beauty has many faces and forms.
I will live well,
Knowing “happily ever after”
is best
Measured in moments -
For that
is
truly
all there is
of
Ever After.

©Bridget Nutting, 2010


I am amazed how each day so far, I began with a destination in mind and ended up somewhere else...a virtual road trip sans map...another exciting advenutre of discovery.

Blessings on your day!

Saturday, April 3, 2010

NaPoWriMo #3 - My Deepest Fear

NaPoWriMo #3 - scared yet?  (from ReadWrite Poem)
It’s daunting to take on a commitment as large as NaPoWriMo, but here you are. Today is Day 3, and you are facing your fears. RWP member Joseph Harker thinks there’s a poem in that; here’s his prompt for you:


Write about something that scares you. It could be tarantulas or your significant other cheating on you or an existential fear of the unknown so long as it unsettles you. Describe it in the most vivid language possible!

Sometimes by articulating our fears, we strip them of their power. (But don’t go too far! A little fear is good to have.)

My Deepest Fear

Writhing and slithering,
They claim their territory –
The grasses and rocks surrounding our home.
They lived here first.
They strike at foreign movements injecting
Deadly poison into unwanted intruders.
Although much smaller than their victims,
Their very presence elicits fear and respect
From larger beings,
Rendering them safe…
An attribute I desire, but cannot possess.
I’m mesmerized by their abilities.
I wonder why my safety is less valuable than theirs.

I was three; small.
The mother led me by the hand.
He was the new grandfather – one of many –
My fear, unfounded, so the mother said.
The mother and grandmother left me there –
As they would many times -
so they could drink and dance…
Small lamb led to slaughter –
Isaac led by Abraham –
Where was God when I was sacrificed?
My bite held no poison…
The larger being had no fear.

I fear pain -
Not pain that remains
as multi-colored bruises on tiny limbs,
Those have healed, although I can’t forget –
I fear pain that lingers in hugs
that hold too long and close,
Kisses bordering from friendly to intense,
Compliments tempting trust –
I fear what follows…
I fear the pain of wondering what the child is worth –
The small child huddling in the darkness of my soul
Awaiting safety still…
Where was God when that child was sacrificed?
That remains my deepest fear!

©Bridget Nutting , 2010


This was not my original intent, but as I wrote this seemed to develop a life of its own.  I am often amazed at the power of poetry/writing to unleash pain we thought was healed long ago.  The work is never finished...the process continues.

Blessings on your day!

Friday, April 2, 2010

NaPoWriMo #2 - RITUAL

Today's Prompt from ReadWritePoem:
It’s Day 2! And Read Write Poem member Therese Broderick has a great prompt for you. (Please don’t expect the introductions to all of our NaPoWriMo prompts to rhyme):
If you love acronyms as I do, your mind has already shortened “Read Write Poem” into “RWP.” But the three letters RWP form known acronyms for at least 31 other phrases, including “Random Weird Person” and “Right Wing Pundits.”
Today’s writing prompt is to type the letters RWP into the abbreviation search field at Acronym Attic and write a poem inspired in any way by one or more of the resulting phrases. You don’t have to use the words from the phrase in your poem, but you can if they fit. GLWI (Good Luck With It)

The following is my attempt, using "Regular White Paper."

RITUAL

Each morning
upon arising,
I gather together
instruments of worship
moving reverently
toward
wooden altar
adorned with dictionary and Dell.
Regular white paper
lies prostrate –
Virgin rag awaiting baptism.
In obeisance and prayer;
I offer pieces
of my soul in exchange
for divine colloquies.
Patiently,
I await profound inspiration…
Sacred blessing
transforming mere soliloquy
into enlightened articulation
worthy of praise…
venerated tributes to ceremony…
Ritual revisited daily.

©Bridget Nutting , 2010

Thursday, April 1, 2010

NaPoWriMo #1 - Shuffle a Poem

Prompt #1: Today's prompt requires everyone to follow these steps.
1. Put your iPod or iTunes on shuffle.
2. Write down the first five titles that come up. No cheating allowed.
3. Use all five titles to draft a new poem. They have to be used intact - you can interrupt them with punctuation, you may not remove or change words.

The titles for me were:

1. The River - Garth Brooks
2. Hallelujah - Justin Timberlake and Matt Morris
3. Dante's Prayer - Loreena McKennitt
4. Mary - Patti Griffin
5. What's This Life For - Creed

The following poem is my result.

I Can Never Be Your Mary
I can't breathe.
The weight of your demands
is suffocating.
It's never enough -
You're always wanting more;
More money...
More coffee...
More time...
More me...
I have nothing left to give -
You've claimed it all.
Still,
you beg and plead,
Knowing deep inside
it can never be
the way it was
when first we loved.
Even if we gathered by the river
of our former innocence and youth,
Arms raised in praise,
Singing "Hallelujah"
and chanting "Dante's Prayer,"
Too much has transpired -
We can never return to times long past.
I can never be your Mary.
I am not a saint.
I am not an angel.
I am a woman...
I, too, want more!
The time has come to make a change
Unless we both choose
to settle for less,
Leaving us to continually ask,
"What's this life for?"

©Bridget Nutting , 2010

I must admit that I wanted to keep shuffling until I received a better "five," but my conscience wouldn't allow more than a passing thought. This was an interesting challenge, for sure. I am anxious to use it as a prompt with my high school students.