January 23, 2015 smallstone “Invisible Sleeping Woman”

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sleeping woman

Today’s prompt: The Daily Poet provided several pathways in honor of Salvador Dalí, who died this day in 1989. I chose to use the title of one of his works as the title of my poem for today. This was my favorite prompt of the month and one that I’ll be sure to revisit later. So many images to play with here!

Invisible Sleeping Woman

“To sleep, perchance to dream…”
Where does she go when she sleeps?
Lost in her dreams, a participant
or a passive onlooker?
When she awakes from a dream,
where has she been the moment before
her awakening?
Illusive, elusive memories of someone
somewhere else.
Is it she? Or another
invisible sleeping woman?
“…ay, that’s the rub.”

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January 22, 2015 smallstone

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Gerard_ter_Borch_-_Die_Briefschreiberin_(Schwester_Gesine)

Today’s prompt: Write a couplet, a two line poem in which the ending refers to something that is lost.
I wrote today, oblivious to cost.
The hours have passed, but can I count them lost?

January 21, 2015

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cardinal

Today’s prompt(s): This is a preliminary attempt to respond to Margo Roby’s Tuesday prompt as well as to The Daily Poet prompt for January 21. Put simply, Margo asked us to write a poem in which we were to pair opposites, either in content or diction. The Daily Poet suggested writing down sensory experiences from today and incorporating some of them into a poem. This haiku is only the beginning of a response to Margo’s prompt, but it does reflect images collected today. In a personal note, today is the first anniversary of my mother’s death.  I wrote haiku every day last January and February and it seems fitting to write one today.

red feathers echo
beating heart underneath
snow falls in silence

January 20, 2015 smallstone “Recurrence”

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test taking

Today’s prompt: Write a poem about a recurring dream. Have the first word and the last word of each line begin with the same letter.

Walking to class, I’m well on my way,
Mathematics – nothing daunts me more
’til I recognize that the test
I’ve been dreading is imminent.

Could it be that this math class,
a class I’ve scarcely attended
and intended to drop for ages,
continues and now commands
my presence momentarily?

Hysteria turns to horror
because I’ve not opened a book,
nor taken a single class note.
Whatever will happen when…
Oh. I wake up before I find out.

January 19, 2015 smallstone “Happy Birthday, EAP”

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Edgar_Allan_Poe_portrait

Today’s prompt mentioned Edgar Allan Poe, on the occasion of his birthday. This poem is written in the spirit of Mac Low’s A Vocabulary for Peter Innisfree Moore. However, there are 42,054 anagrams of the name “Edgar Allan Poe.”

(Poe)ticizing Poe

Parade Galleon
Galena Leopard
Alp Lore Agenda
Allegro and Ape
Gala Parole Den
Analog Pearled
Agenda All Rope
A Laden Pergola

Opal Red Galena
Ape and All Gore
Lone Gal Parade
A Pagan Eel Lord
A Palled Orange
A Paroled Angel

January 18, 2015 smallstone

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Gelada_group

Today’s prompt: Write about an unusual death, either real or fictional. On line, I found the story of a man who fell to his death trying to rid his balcony of a troop of rhesus monkeys.

I’m sleeping. That noise, the one that’s
penetrated all my dreams.
The murmur, growing ever more intense
Now the chattering a cacophony
outside my window, inside my dreams.

It must be stopped. My dreams demand it.
Step outside and chase the demons away.
What? My balcony overrun
with whites of eyes and teeth and
incessant insistent chatter.

A score, a hundred humanoid devils
to drive away. I swing blindly,
all ferocity and bluster. I whirl
like a dervish, suddenly airborne,
then careening down and finally
free.

January 17, 2015 smallstone “City Welcome”

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View_of_Philadelphia_Skyline_from_University_of_Pennsylvania_Downtown_Campus_-_Philadelphia_-_Pennsylvania

Today’s prompt: Write about something you did yesterday, including specific details and sense memories.
We exit the train.
The gap is there with no
reminder to mind it.
The line for the escalator so long
that we climb the stairs,
praying that we will not slow those
hurrying behind us.

The underground station,
a shelter from the windy day.
We stay below, in the warmth,
the mingled smells of fast food,
cheap perfume and homeless men.
Past the sounds of the off-key saxophone,
the flower vendor’s wilted roses.

Now the escalator to the street.
We head toward the exit,
where we’re met with cold air
and the food truck scent
of curry and kebabs. Welcome.