Blink

Fall asleep.
Blink.
Good morning.

Begin the day.
Blink.
Good evening.

A child is born.
Blink.
University.

Chase after hours.
Blink.
Memories are fading.

Go back to reclaim them.
Blink.
Catch the soft moonlight.

My children’s children.
Blink.
Grown and leaving.

Fight the darkness.
Blink.
Fall asleep.


 

Prompt: Incorporate three of five suggested phrases.
Form: Invented. I’ll think of a name for it tomorrow.

Fragile

In such a narrow margin, close confined,
Between the crushing depths and empty space.
This thin, sustaining band where life can grow.
How perilous existence is for fish.


PROMPT: Set underwater.
FORM: Unrhymed blank verse.

Warm Up Stretches

Last month, I attended a poetry workshop. After most of the others there had shared their work, and had constructive feedback, I shared mine. I got told that I demonstrated “good use of language”, but that my offering was “not poetry”. The instructor didn’t explain what I was doing wrong, just that I was, definitively, wrong.

That hurt, far more than it should. Some people are jerks, and I know that. But it really hurt to have my work shot down with no explanation. When I saw this challenge, I knew that I had the perfect way to put that hurt behind me, and get back to writing.

So here is my warm-up piece, a kidney punch to the ogre of insecurity. Warning: naked sarcasm ahead.


Feedback

The English is good, and the grammar correct,
But this is not poem.
The rhythm is fine, and the stresses line up,
But this is not a poem.
The metaphor struggles on atrophied limbs,
The rhyming is weak, and the words just don’t sing,
And it’s not the way I would have written the thing;
No, this is not a poem.

1 5 6 7