Michael Allyn Wells

Sunday, April 18, 2010

To Think of Summer

[For today's prompt, take the phrase "To (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Some examples: "To the left, to the left," "To write or not to write," "To Kill a Hummingbird," "To the Doghouse," etc. There are so many possibilities.]

There you are—
on the wings of summer

wind in your hair
Marigolds everywhere

sunshine falls across your face
brown eyes shine without a care

you entice seemingly
without even knowing

I think you wear summer
best of all

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Body and Mind

[For today's prompt, write a science poem. Science encompasses a lot, so your poem doesn't have to be scientific to still be a science poem. For instance, you could have a poem titled something like "The Science of Love," and then examine a relationship. Voila! A science poem! Of course, it'll be interesting to see how many poets talk about volcanoes and single cell organisms, not to mention finding out how many "mad scientists" are out there.]

"every cell in your body is eavesdropping on the brain" ~ Deepak Chopra

Every cell?
The cells in the second joint
of my left pinkie finger?

This idea of "smart cells"
poses a whole new bioethics.

If I knew full well
that it's unlawful to drive drunk,
then falling off the wagon
and operating a vehicle
is more than a lapse of judgment.
My legs and feet that did not walk away
knew, my hand that kept
raising the beer can had knowledge—
so many cell co-opted in this—
they could have intervened
but failed to.

Somehow
this makes any transgression
seem worse. Let's face it,
your whole body
was into the act.

When I was told no more cookies
before dinner and then caught
in the cookie jar, had my had slapped…
it deserved it, for it too was culpable,
as were my shins and elbows—
hell, poke my eyes for good measure
and ground my sperm!
They all were in on it.

Knowledge is a heavy responsibility.
My whole body is convulsing at my thoughts

So Easy – So Scary

Technorati Tags: no restrictions at gun shows

Technorati Tags: lack of restrictions,gun purchases

Friday, April 16, 2010

Deadline

[For today's prompt, write a deadline poem. You can interpret what a deadline poem is however you wish. Maybe it's a poem that laments the idea of deadlines. Maybe it's a poem about someone intentionally missing them or who never has problems with them (I wish I were that person). Regardless of how you take it, remember that you have until tomorrow before another prompt will be posted. Consider that your poetic deadline.]

In an urban trauma center
a gunshot victim
becomes just a portion
of the 2 am bedlam—

the changing of the guard;
EMTs hand off the victim
to the hospital staff—

in a hurried continuum
down a corridor
throw swinging doors
now under bright lights
the crimson soaked shirt
is cut away—

bags to IV tubes refreshed,
monitor hooked up,
orders shouted like barking
from competing street vendors

from here it looks like chaos
but the movement is routine
as a well practiced fire drill.
This is the fifth or sixth gunshot
this week— I lose count
and it’s only Thursday.

“We’re losing him” shouts a voice…
“Stand back,” comes another.
“Clear!” things become
slow motion here. Another,
“clear!”

The red line on the monitor flattens out—
They've reached another deadline;
“Time of death 2:32 a.m.”

The Poetry Deal by Diane di Prima

I found this wonderful piece of writint at SF Gate. Below I'll leave you with an explanation by the poet laureate of San Francisco Diane di Prima - I could identify with so much of it. After you read it - follow the link and read "The Poetry Deal"

Diane di Prima is San Francisco's poet laureate. About "The poetry deal:" I committed myself to a life of poetry at the age of 14, as a sophomore in high school. I'd been writing some poetry since I was 7, but to me "commitment" meant that I'd write something every day, and would learn all I could about the craft of the poem. As the years passed, I kept doggedly at it, writing, studying obsessively, and always avoiding classes and workshops. By the time I was 24, I was putting out a book a year. Forty years after that commitment, it occurred to me that - selfless and unquestioning as the creative life is - there actually is something like a contract between me and my art.

click below

The Poetry Deal by Diane di Prima

On Death

[Maybe it's a little too close to tax day, but today's prompt is to write a death poem. You can write about a specific death or consider death as an idea. In the tradition of Emily Dickinson (and other poets), you could even address Death as an entity. Or you can surprise us with a different spin on the subject.]

From birth we commence
with dying. —with no understanding
of this fact or knowledge of what death is.

Our life is wrought with death daily,
we experience it in little things—

first, cheap toys that that break down
and leave us…

the randomness of an ant crushed
under our feet…

the spider your mother took out
with the sole of her shoe…

the naked baby bird
fallen from a nest— it's beak open
it's neck broken.

It becomes more personal
with the death of a pet. A dog
or cat, or turtle… something to which
we've grown attached
up and dies…

and we learn
the deeper meaning of sadness—
more profound than the plastic decoder ring
that was broken and thrown out;
and I think

each time we see death
the world dies a little bit more
for what has passed on

and as children we are often spared
the trip to the funeral home because we are
so young; but at what point…
at what point do any of us
achieve understanding? At what point
do we suddenly have a comfort level?
I think never…

for death stalks us
day in
day out—

it will wait for us.