Third Day MVICW Conference

 

 

The morning session for Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing Writers' Conference was titled, "The Masks We Want". The session was about writing persona poetry. We had to list four historical figures and four fictional characters as the first step. Through other steps we decided on one of the eight figures.  I ended up writing from Yoda's point of view just before Luke arrives on Dagobah. Again, these poems were done during the open writing time, so they will probably be revised later.

“Train or Not Train”

Tired, I am

Hmmmm

Unsure, I am that I can train the son of Anakin

For years a lightsaber I have held not

Ready to fade this crude matter is

Too young, yet too old is he

Tainted his mind is

Of this war

Between soldiers it is not

Hmmmm

For the Force he must have courage for

Past the emotions he will have to find his way

Hmmmm

Tired, I am

Responsibility to fill, I know I have

Do what I must, I will

Train, I will

A path, I will show

Tired, I am

Hmmmm

A Jedi or his father’s side choose he must

Hmmm

A disturbance in the Force, I feel

Arrived he has

Train, I will

Train, I will

Hmmm

Tired though, I am

April Poetry Challenge 2021: Day Five

 

Day 5 Prompt: The First (Blank)

Form: Free Verse

The First Time I Saw a Spirit

It was past my bedtime

I was six years old

My father

sitting at the table

Illuminated by the light above

His shoulders sloped down

He did not know I was there

I walked to his left

that is when I saw my first spirit

A demon, a wisp, floating

above the ice cubes bobbing

 in caramel colored liquid

My father sipped the spirit 

down with the liquid

As the glass hit the table a different

spirit would materialize

I must have let out a breath

because my father turned toward me

But it was the spirit speaking

his words dragged out of his mouth

slow and trembly

“What are you doing up?”

His hand heavy on my head

I stepped back, 

afraid of the spirit

swimming in his eyes

“Had to use the bathroom”

My father smiled

I did not recognize it

There were too many teeth

He sipped the second spirit

a third appeared

I stumble

as the wisp, the demon,

smiled

at me

   like my father

“Goodnight” I said

And hear a grumble from the figure

At the table

As he sipped again

 and again

 and again.

I did not sleep well for years

Until I finally gave into the spirits

beckoning

But I have no son to bother me

It is just me

Ice

Caramel liquid

And a little spirit floating above my glass.

 

April Poetry Challenge 2021: Day One

Day 1 Prompt: Introduction

Form: Blitz

"Things of Death"

How are you

How are things

Things are good

Things can be better

Better time

Better love

Love is tough

Love hurts

Hurts my soul

Hurts my vision

Vision of my future

Vision filled with you

You with coffee

You holding my son

Son crying

Son walking

Walking then running

Walking different paths

Paths on mountains

Paths of life

Life alone

Life lived true

True to a name

True to the letter

Letter about the past

Letter of verses

Verses that rhyme

Verses filled with heart

Heart of a man

Heart of a woman

Woman builds strength

Woman saves the world

World on fire

World falling

Falling from the sky

Falling for you

You make me weak

You make me strong

Strong enough

Strong beyond measure

Measure of time

Measure the distance

Distance between hands

Distance I will walk

Walk to find you

Walk until death

Death from life

Death of fear

fear

life

Poetic Form 81: Haibun

 A Father's Gift

A man, shoulders soft from time, stands next to his child, who is now taller 

than him. The man holds a box, a gift, for his son. Wooden, carved with 

calligraphy of the past. The box is heavy in the man’s hands. His son lifts it 

with ease. They smile; one is bright, the other scarred. In that moment one 

can feel time shift in the son’s favor. The man’s chest falls and rises through

earthquakes of memories. The son opens the box to find,

fall leaves ---

crumbling on to

his path

 

Poetic Form #81: Haibun

The haibun form combines a prose poem with a haiku. The form was popularized by the 17th century Japanese poet Matsuo Basho. The prose poem and the haiku communicate with each other in some way. The prose poem usually sets a scene in an objective manner. The haiku follows the rules for haiku.

Poetic Form 76: Elegy

 

Thoughts of a Son (an Elegy to Time)

I remember holding you

while mom rested. The Vikings

playing on the hospital 

TV. Remote on the bed 

rail. I wouldn’t give you up to

anyone, not even mom.

The world was brand new again.

I felt like everything was

possible. You learned to crawl,

then walk, and then run. We read

books in the middle of church.

Took walks so we could touch the

bark on the trees. Watch squirrels

play tag on the limbs. I tried

to show you how to reach the

horizon before the sun

burned away all the colors.

But now, now there is silence

at the dinner table that

echoes in my heart, leaving

me wishing I knew how to

stop the sun from falling so

far below the stars we use

to watch on late summer nights.

A baby boy grew into 

a child that became a teen

that stood inches above me.

Today you are a young man,

but time holds you as my son.

Poetic Form #76: Elegy
The formal definition of an elegy is a song of sorrow or mourning. 

Today, though, poets have written elegies for the ends of things, a life,

a relationship, even a football season. There are no rules on form. 

With an elegy the message matters.

Poetry Challenge Day 5: Moment

Driveway Basketball

The summer sun was bright

Gatorade bottles lined the bumper

of our minivan

My shirt dark with sweat

There is a universal moment all fathers

Must undergo

    We are different men on the other side

    and so are our sons

We always played best of 5

    I had never lost a series 

Games played to 11

    have to win by 2

The three point line was the last section of the driveway

My son was in junior high

I was a year into 40

    I was now looking up to him

The series tied 2 games to 2

Game 5

    I found myself down

        and winded

        my legs wobbly

    shots blocked when I drove

        short when I found space to shoot

Maybe it was the sweat in my eyes

    but when he checked the ball

    I swore I could see him five years in the future

A young man

    confident 

        and strong

I called timeout

I needed a drink

He took one, too

    but we were quiet

    there was more than the summer heat in the air

   

My son only need a point to win

    I needed six to tie

As I asked him to check

    I felt my heartbreak like it had done so many times before

A father’s heart is scarred from both joy and pain

    moments of joy hurt the most

        I steadied myself for the outcome

I drove left

Crossed over to the right

    pulling up for a jumper

He elevated to block the shot

    knocking it past the check line

Before I could even turn around

    the ball was approaching the rim

Nothing but net

He yelled, “Yes!”

Exhausted I dropped to the concrete

The sky was a cloudless blue

Silence

My son’s smile and hand appeared above me

“Good game,” he said, 

like we always do

I said 

“You earned that,” as he helped me up

I turned around 

    On the grey concrete a dark imprint of my torso

    like the body outline of a murder victim

It wasn’t a crime scene, though

It was a right of passage

    For both father and son