Ahoy, scribblers! You've reached the finish line! How do you feel? Awesome, I hope, because you are. Along with smart and pretty. If you didn't write a poem everyday, who cares? If you did, you rule. Read some non-fiction as you rest up for next year. We'll see you then.
The last prompt is, "Write a poem incorporating at least three 'I remember' statements. This invocation of memory seems a fitting way to end our month together."
Onto the poems.
My father told me of rocks
that swallowed horses whole
in the time when rocks
could breathe.
And many horses remember still
their ancestors turned to stone.
They spook with the inheritance of fear—
an ancient trepidation.
While, another wisdom says:
horses spooked
on sight of frozen rock,
were already overwhelmed.
Posted here.
*
Improv
Dear Science: Come to bed with me. Let me start over. Your greatest men were believers. And all of their wives! The most rational thing you could do would be to walk out your back door and go bowling. Wait. This just in—not bowling. Nascar. No. Get an education. You are an education. Your mother is an education. And a believer. It is all so simple. You vex me with your definitions and demonstrations of the various meanings of words. Your examples are a museum I would rather not walk through. The sun is out. Let’s each lunch on the steps. The most splendid thing you could do would be to revise thought. Or put it down the disposal with peach pits. Nix the peach pits. That could be dangerous. The weather is fine and has not been so for centuries. Sincerely, Christian
Inspiration Fabric
Rust-red challis, all over paisley
first day of school, never got made.
White eyelet, the first day of spring
and your bare legs all gooseflesh.
Your grandfather's seersucker
coat on your father. and mismatched
pants without the pucker.
A mint julep in that polished cotton,
dark grapes pendant from the pergola.
This is the life you say but
the sheets are raw and your body.
That is a wool dress says your mom
You're making everyone hot
