Thursday, September 1, 2016

September 1

We're starting a new kind of challenge. Ekphrastic poetry about Paul Klee. This month isn't going to be easy, but it will be great!


  1. Thank you so much for these amazing prompts! Your generosity as a writer is wonderful!

  2. This is my first time doing 30 Days, great prompt.

    My Neighbor and Her Mechanical Dove
    Dear Woman,
    On summer evenings around the same time, you and I
    used to share cigarettes on our balconies. Several dozen yards away, facing each other
    across the courtyard. You’d leave the door open to watch jeopardy through the screen door,
    And through that same screen door, if the lighting was right, I’d catch glimpses of it, spinning in circles
    around your livingroom. A flurry of flapped mylar wings and a body tethered by string to a central point
    high above, retracing the same flight plan, day out, until it’s batteries gave in.
    But I never saw its batteries die, and I never saw it stop, I only saw it spin. And I only saw you smoke,
    and wait, looking out across the courtyard with the same look of resignation signaling that one
    day was pretty much like another.
    I wondered back then then if it had meant something to you, that little plastic novelty bird, that
    drugstore dove that you kept alive, always flying, always spinning above the linoleum and couches and
    formica table. If there was a reason why its wings always reached for the next stroke of wind, why
    you kept it going even if it was only in circles.
    Now I think that maybe it had to do with the way you looked out into the horizon with me, when the
    sun was setting. And even then, even from a distance I could see that gleam from the sunset catching in
    your eye, that faint tell of a want for something. Desire and longing silently hushed by blue collar
    realities and opportunities missed.
    So now, when I sit in my balcony, looking across a different courtyard, sometimes drift off and think of
    and it, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s still soaring in circles the way we left it when we last smoked
    together all those years ago. And I wonder if it still brings a glimmer to you face to see it, batting its
    wings, with no fear of crashing to the ground.

    1. That's a really beautiful poem man! I wonder what Klee would have thought of that kind of bird

  3. I met a friend
    At a bohemian tea house
    Tucked away in downtown
    Between a Jiffy Lube
    And a pawn shop
    I drove my Chevy down that street
    Afraid I'd see Marcellus Wallace
    Come running out of a surplus store
    I parked in front
    Of an auto body garage
    The fumes of burning gas and pot
    Mingling with the smells
    Of old garbage and run off
    I walked into the tea shop
    Sat down at a rickety metal bistro
    The kind that started its journey
    In grandma's backyard
    I was assaulted by the clutter
    Faded dusty silk flowers
    Stuffed in painted terra cotta pots
    Mist coming off a nearbye water feature
    Coating the floor like dew
    The shrill of Four Non Blonds & Toad the Wet Sprocket
    Piped in on tired speakers
    While a sea of 20somethings swayed
    Keeping time to songs that said nothing
    But meant everything
    I focused on the mural
    That covered the walls up onto the ceiling
    Naked mermaids and court jesters
    Swimming in an ocean of royal blue paint
    I smelled the left overs of patchouli incense
    Imbedded in the threadworn cushions
    While algae floated lazily
    In a forgotten dog bowl
    I waited an hour
    My friend never showed
    I let the chai tea go cold

    1. Molly, I think this is your strongest yet! There is so much going on in this poem, and I love the reference after reference.