Sunday, April 30, 2023

Palinodes

 

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GloPoWriMo Day 30 - some palinodes to what I wrote earlier in the month






Write a poem they won’t understand




Hide it.

Bury it under exotic words and fashionable

figures of speech,

Shower them with similes.

Make your language as dense as a forest.

Surround them with a soundwall of 

alliteration. Resort to repetition, if all is lost.

Whatever you do,

make sure they won’t understand.

Hide it.

Hide it well.




This poem retracts views expressed here and here.





Image created by Bing AI




What It Might Become




The Egg



That morning song, your time to rise.

That midnight call, an ill omen.

Those wings, a shadow from above.

A feather, that you find

and keep for luck.




The Magic


It might have been inside you all along.

Or maybe it doesn’t exist.

Does it matter?




The Dictionary



That thing which lists and orders, 

That thing which informs and defines.

That thing which prescribes.

A collection of words.

A museum of exhibits,

their little wings pinned.

No escape.



The three short poems were written as an answer to these poems.








Saturday, April 29, 2023

So, You Want Nettle Soup?

 



Image created by Bing AI




So, You Want Nettle Soup?




Nettles may sting and prick your skin,

but don't let that stop you from diving in

to a bowl of soup that's creamy and green

with flavors so fresh and rich and clean. 


I can see you coming, armed with shears.

You must be hot in those thick clothes. 

Rubber gloves won’t help, for I will find a way.

You didn't notice that hole in the bag?

Once I’m in there, you’ll think you are safe.

I am sure you’ll want to take off those gloves.

Then I’ll attack and get my revenge.

Until then, I’ll lie low and 

pretend I am dead.




GloPoWriMo Day 29 - a two-part poem that focuses on a food or type of meal

This poem is a dialogue. The first stanza was written by Bing AI. The second stanza was written by me. 










Friday, April 28, 2023

The Little Black Notebook

 



Image created by Bing AI



The Little Black Notebook




So many forgotten names. Zdenka’s fruit cake. Zdenka is no longer alive. Olivera’s Spanish cake. I don’t remember eating this one. My mother couldn’t really cook or bake, but she loved eating. Apparently, she honoured the person who had given her the recipe, which is nice. Nada’s coq au vin. I wonder where she is now. We used to eat this every Sunday until I could no longer stand it. I wish someone would make me coq au vin now. Ankica’s Slovakian cake. Now, that was delicious, though I am not sure if it has anything to do with Slovakia. I didn’t know Ankica had given her the recipe.  That must have been so long ago! I should focus, I need to find the chocolate cake.  Branka’s meat pie. She died too. I miss her. I never liked meat pie. I still don’t. I loved Branka’s pancakes. Vinka’s fish stew. I hated the stew and only ate the bread. Slobodanka’s honey pie. Now, that doesn’t ring any bells. I don’t even remember eating it, but sometimes she would write something down just because someone said it was good.  No, I don’t remember half of these recipes, but they sound delicious. I have to try this pasta. Olgica’s baklava! That’s a secret recipe. If asked, she will make it for you, but she will not tell you the ingredients. How did my mother manage to convince her? Never mind, here it is. And here is the chocolate cake. It says Mom in brackets. My grandmother’s recipe. So many recipes. Fruit cake (Mica). Ice cream (Hranilovic). Hungarian pie (Jola). Blueberry wine (Mom). Moussaka (Simka). Soft cake (Juca). Chestnut cake (Brana). Milica’s cake. Canadian cake (excellent). I am going to keep cooking and baking, until I have tried out each one of them. I bet she used to think that too. I will need to start right now, or I will run out of time.






GloPoWriMo Day 28 - an index poem 




Thursday, April 27, 2023

The Tuftroot of Pain

 


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The Tuftroot of Pain





Here’s my only houseplant, the only one that survived,

its little back bent over, 

from where a heavy curtain fell and broke its spine.

Yet it refuses to give up,

its leaves still green and vibrant.

If it’s in pain, it is not telling.

And here are the three of us, all strong and feisty:

my grandmother, my mother and I.

All in our fifties, our backs bent over, 

each one nursing her own pain.

My grandmother, small and gracious,

her face upturned, as if

listening lovingly.

My mother, leaning forward, as if

suddenly forced into humility.

And myself, my shoulders rounding, 

my eyes cast downwards, as if

in modesty, though I am anything but

modest.




GloPoWriMo Day 27 





Wednesday, April 26, 2023

Vasa's Cake

 


Image created by Bing AI




Vasa’s Cake




This story should be told

like a fairy-tale:

Once upon a time

there lived a prince called Vasa.

For the cake you will need:

eggs and sugar

He fell in love with a fairy,

tall and gracious,

thin and frail.

Her name was Jelena.

walnuts and flour

One day, she fell ill.

They said she would die.

some dark chocolate

There was a doctor in Vienna.

some milk

So, Vasa sold everything he had.

melted butter

orange juice

By this time, you must have guessed:

Vasa was just a humble merchant and

Jelena was just a local beauty.

Yet, this is a fairy-tale and

it should be told as such.

some orange slices

vanilla extract

For, like a true hero, he saved his love.

And, like a true hero, he was rewarded.

some water and a pinch of salt

Neither a palace, nor a magic carpet

but a cake, to bear his name forever.




GloPoWriMo Day 26a portrait poem that focuses on the subject’s name

Here's more about Vasa and Jelena. The original recipe is here, and you can run it through Google Translate if you are curious about the cake itself. It is not easy to make, but absolutely delicious. 






Tuesday, April 25, 2023

Peppermint Field

 


Image created by Bing AI




Peppermint Field




If you dream you are in a peppermint

field, (if you get lost in a peppermint 

field in your

dream), its aroma on your

skin, the memory of its

touch, its

burning taste on your

tongue, its soft rustling

call in your ears,

if you get lost in the fields of

green, feeling

exposed 

and in need of

guidance, 

you will wake up,

the remains of your

dream scattered around you, this roadside 

grass that others walk on,

your heart.





GloPoWriMo Day 25a love poem that names at least one flower, contains one parenthetical statement, and in which at least some lines break in unusual places.




Monday, April 24, 2023

On Heartbreak

 


Image created by Bing AI





On Heartbreak



The first crack 

marks 

the earliest development stage.

It is

sometimes muted,

sometimes delicately fresh in flavor.

After a period of silence, the second crack begin,

softer and gentler,

deceptively nuanced, enigmatic,

richly to sharply bittersweet.

At least, that’s the stereotype.

The quiet finish centers around

pipe tobacco and scorched clove.

Burned bitter tones dominate.





GloPoWriMo Day 24 - a poem in the form of a review

This found poem is based on darker-roasted coffee reviews found 

on this website.






Sunday, April 23, 2023

My Home

 




Image created by Bing AI







My Home



I


I am the garden.

I am sure you have guessed this by now from the way

I keep lamenting about the change of seasons,

the fallen apples, the broken branches,

the general asymmetry of trees

and the way the birds repeat themselves.

I am the garden.

The metaphor is not original.

I know you expected more.


II


It is important to believe that the garden still exists,

just as we left it.

That we didn’t dream it up.


III


We conspired to stay here forever,

but the house crumbled around us.

The house is gone from the maps.

The river rose and washed it away.

We found ourselves, stranded,

at the top of the hill,

a new-born sea raging beneath us.


IV


Did I do this? 

Did I neglect details

in my visions of you?

Did you crumble while waiting for me to notice

the misplaced brick,

the crude carpentry,

the lack of structure, 

the failure to keep it all

under control? 

Or was it my inflated ego

that made me believe 

I was a builder?


V


You cut that cherry tree 

that was protecting my entrance. 

You exposed me to the winds. 

Draft got in and now  

I am always cold.


VI


I am going home.

My decision is final.

I will find my home

exactly as I left it.

Not a brick will be missing.

My home, as I wrote it down.

My palace, as I painted it.




GloPoWriMo Day 23 






Saturday, April 22, 2023

Patience

 




Image created by Bing AI






Patience



“Patience” is a nice word for those who seek revenge. But strong fists are also fine in this day and age.




GloPoWriMo Day 22:

"Find an Emily Dickinson poem – preferably one you’ve never previously read – and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it!"

I used Emily Dickinson's "Faith" is a fine invention  





Friday, April 21, 2023

Calm

 


Image created by Bing AI




Calm



Stay calm,

even when there are

thoughts.

Today I almost lost

my streak.

That’s thinking!

My perfect streak.

Breathe in,

breathe out.

Ten more minutes

of this.

Thinking!

Breathe in peace,

breathe out stress.

It is important to breathe 

naturally.

I am calm.

Though the world is

collapsing.

It is hard to beat this

calmness.

Two more meditations.

Two more apps.

My perfect streak.

That’s 20 more minutes

of my life

gone.

I am acing this.

I am

calmworthy.

My heart is

beating

too fast.

Should I get

a fourth app?

It is free.

That’s ten more minutes

of my life.

How much is that 

in a year?

Two more minutes

until it’s over.

Then I’ll be allowed to cry.




GloPoWriMo Day 21 - short lines






Thursday, April 20, 2023

What they will say about us

 


Image created by Bing AI





What they will say about us



These people could not
read or write. They left nothing
to help us learn who 

they were. Just a small 
plastic rectangle. Long dead.
Probably a toy.

That is why we think
they were simple and childish,
ignorant and poor.




GloPoWriMo Day 20 - what future archaeologists, whether human or from alien civilization, will make of us




Wednesday, April 19, 2023

The Moth

 

Image created by Bing AI



The Moth




She is just an ordinary girl.

A neighbour.

She seems strange and doesn’t talk much, but

she is very polite.

Then why are you so worried that she showed at your door?

And why do you keep looking 

over your shoulder?

This is just an empty field and

there is no one here but you.

Old childhood fears creep in and

you start running.

You get home and turn on all the lights.

In the garden, the moths are gathering

around the lightbulb.

An owl is hooting. 

You cover your neck.

You will stay awake tonight.

That way you will be safe.

Next thing you know, you are in a windmill.

The wheel has stopped and

the silence is complete.

In the distance, you can see your neighbour.

She looks at you and smiles knowingly.

You want to wake up, but you can’t. 





GloPoWriMo Day 19 - a poem about a childhood fear

Leptirica (The She-Moth) is a Yugoslav horror movie from 1973. When I was a child, this movie gave me a fear of the dark. If you love old horrors based on folk tales, you can find the movie with English subtitles on YouTube.




Tuesday, April 18, 2023

The Poetic Alphabet

 

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The Poetic Alphabet




A poet must
beware the 
childish
dependence on  
exotic words and redundant
figures of speech.
Gradation,
hyperbole,
irony, you get the picture.
Just 
keep it simple and
logical.
Mind you,
no one says an occasional
oxymoron or
pun, or even a 
quote will 
ruin your poem. A random 
synecdoche is fine, as long as you don’t lose
track of your  
unique 
voice and
your poetic 
vision. That’s 
what sets you apart - your
x-ray vision and your poetic
zest.





GloPoWriMo Day 18 - an abecedarian poem






Monday, April 17, 2023

Early Potatoes

 

Image created by Bing AI






Early Potatoes





Natascha is not as devastatingly elegant
as Prada, but she too
has excellent taste.
She is resilient and
matures early.
The plant is semi-upright.
Like her human namesake, she probably has
back problems.
Her eyes are shallow.
Mine offer more depth, I hope.
We are both attractive and
have smooth skin.
What shall I say?
Good genetics and
a healthy lifestyle.
The fruit is poison and
so are the flowers.
Hidden, the real fruit
is safe.






GloPoWriMo Day 17 - a poem that contains the name of a specific variety of edible plant
And how could I resist writing about an early potato with (more or less) the same name as me?






Sunday, April 16, 2023

What It Isn't

 



Image created by Bing AI




The Egg 




It's neither square, nor round.

It cannot fly, or walk.

What it will be, it's not.





The Dictionary




It's not a pet and

can’t be tamed.

It leaves no room for 

guesswork.





The Magic 




It isn’t here or anywhere else.

It’s not a person, or a thing.

It doesn’t live and it hasn’t died.





GloPoWriMo Day 16 - a poem of negation











Saturday, April 15, 2023

The Bribe

 

Image created by Bing AI









The Bribe




She claims she is not ill, just under the weather. She has managed to lose some weight recently and her old clothes are too big. Never mind, she will buy new ones. The doctors treated her so well, they were wonderful.  She is grateful to them and doesn’t know how to express it. They won’t accept any of her presents, which is making her sad. Well, now she has made them a cake and they won’t be able to refuse a gift like that. She will offer to eat it with them and surely they will accept. Between us, she will just pretend to be eating. She is on a diet and this time it is working. She will need a lot of new clothes. Her husband can’t refuse her anything right now. He has turned into a big softie and keeps crying for no apparent reason. He is just relieved that she didn’t need the operation. No, she can’t afford to die. Her children are still small and they need her. She will live, she knows she will, no matter what everyone says. She has got this. She is praying every day and her prayers will save her.  She is feeling stronger already and she has never looked better. The doctors will have to accept this cake. She has made it with a lot of love. If they give it back, she will get really angry. She will just stand there and will not accept no as an answer. Just like she refused to listen when they told her they couldn’t help her. They have helped and she is grateful. She is so grateful that her prayer has been heard. 




GloPoWriMo Day 15 - a person who has been held out as an example






Friday, April 14, 2023

Give me back my stilettos

 

Image created by Bing AI







Give me back my stilettos




My flat mules of pure green satin

Of yellow silk of striped suede

Of my light blue lace.


My pumps of spotted cotton

Of burnished leather of checkered prints

Of sequins and jewels


Give me back my strappy sandals

Give me when I ask you nicely





GloPoWriMo Day 14 - turning a favorite poem of the past into something humorous

I used Vasko Popa's Give me back my rags #1

I had some fun going through various shoes on Manolo Blahnik's website.








Thursday, April 13, 2023

The Faith

 

Image created by Bing AI





The Faith




The river stole the gods.

That really eroded people’s faith in them.







GloPoWriMo Day 13 - the punchline

I used Random Sentence Generator to generate the first line.


Wednesday, April 12, 2023

To My Fugitive Poem

 


Image created by Bing AI






To My Fugitive Poem




You keep hiding from me.

I have searched under the bed and on the top shelf.

I have decluttered my desk, thinking I would find you inside.

You know I hate decluttering.

I have turned over every last scrap of paper, 

looked behind the drawers,

and inside the fireplace.

Our last conversation didn’t end well.

I have washed the windows, hoping to see you

lurking outside.

The house has never looked cleaner.

 I heard something in the street, so I ran outside

in my nightgown and slippers.

I thought I could hear you breathing, 

but you didn’t show your face.

Now I am back inside.

I am sitting here in silence,

with the curtains drawn and the lights out.

You will have to come home at some point.

We have played this game for so long.

You promised this time would be different.

So I wait.

I have always been naïve

that way. 




GloPoWriMo Day 12 - addressing a poem directly





Tuesday, April 11, 2023

Tough Love

 


Image created by Bing AI




Tough Love




Daddy, can I keep the crab?

He is lovable and cute.

I will play with him all day.

Daddy, can I keep the crab?


Daddy, can I keep the crab?

He will make a perfect pet.

He is quiet, clean and small. 

Daddy, can I keep the crab?


Daddy, can I keep the crab?

I will take good care of him.

I will feed him orange cake.

Daddy, can I keep the crab?


Daddy, can I keep the crab?

He is lonely and so scared.

I will be his human mom.

Daddy, can I keep the crab?


Daddy, can I keep the crab?

I will make a hat for him.

Bow ties for his lovely shell.

Daddy, can I keep the crab?


Daddy, can I keep the crab?

I will bring him corals red,

Seashells white and pebbles blue.

Daddy, can I keep the crab?


Daddy, can I keep the crab?

If he pinches, I won’t cry.

If he runs, I’ll follow him.

Daddy, can I keep the crab?


Can I at least step on the crab?

I'll just crush his little shell.

It will make a funny sound.

Daddy, can I step on the crab?





GloPoWriMo Day 11 - overheard language

I used this post from Overheard at the Beach.






Monday, April 10, 2023

Pirate Waves

 


Image created by Bing AI




Pirate Waves




The day is young and so are we,

sailing on the deep blue sea.

Our hats are white, our jackets blue,

we are pirates, bold and true.


The winds are strong and so are we,

rolling on the rocky sea.

Our arms are strong, our hearts are black,

we will find a ship to wreck.


The sea is calm, the night is near,

we are lost, so full of fear.

The wind is gone, our arms are weak, 

we are far beyond our peak.


The sky is dark, we are washed ashore.

Alas, we are bold no more.

Our hats are lost, our jackets torn.

Our days of wrecking ships are gone.




GloPoWriMo Day 10 - a sea shanty






Sunday, April 9, 2023

Lavender

 

Image created by Bing AI





Lavender 



Sweet sister, touch my weary eye

with your gentle compassionate hand,

breathe a balmy melancholy sigh,

dispatch me to that soft sepulchral land


where my soul will roam through meadows lone,

in enchanted caverns search its precious gifts

and in silent dens hope upon a dawn 

when from these lands midnight gloom shall lift.


How intoxicating is your fragrance sweet!

On its wings I fly to distant shores,

to noisy markets full of spice and mead

and magic spells and potions that will lure


a tired soul into oblivion,

a dreamless night, dark as obsidian.




GloPoWriMo Day 9 - a sonnet






Saturday, April 8, 2023

The Smoking Gun

 

Image created by Bing AI





The Smoking Gun




The drawer bit me, it had teeth.

Inside, my aunt’s stash of family photos.

A picture of me at my parents’ wedding. 

She never allowed me to touch the ballerina,

Sugar-coated, sweet-smelling, sharp as a razor,

Spinning loudly.

My aunt Vera lived in a suburb called Ćava.

And, of course, that was another girl in the picture, not me.

I was born four years later, if you must know. 

She gave me a pair of pointy pumps from the 50s.

She would  give me anything I asked for, except the ballerina.

A gift from her ex-husband, she said. 

The ballerina was not made of sugar because I tasted it.

I still wanted it more than anything else. 

The neighbour came to the door to ask for tea.

She had ladder stones,

which made no sense.

The bitter tea of remorse, my aunt said.

By that time, I was busy diggng through the drawer

and I’d given up trying to understand.

The gun was so beautiful and not a toy.

She let me touch it, then took it away.

Another gift from her ex-husband, she explained. 

She gave me the bullets and I played with them for hours.

My Twelve Sons will not repeat my mistakes, she told my mother,

while she slid the guilty-looking bullets into the drawer.

So, later in life I was careful 

never to put on as much weight as she had. 

Mojih dvanaest sinova, she used to call me,

because that’s how much I was worth to her.

The ballerina ran away on a stormy night,

or, at least, that’s what they told me

and I refused to believe anything else.

My aunt had run away on such a stormy night.

At 15, you don’t know what love is,

my mother said.

I am sure that gun would tell a different story. 

Her husband had given it to her for protection.

She almost killed him by mistake one day.

I thought that was the most romantic of all stories.




GloPoWriMo Day 8 - Twenty Little Poetry Projects

The procedure is a little involved and you can find out more about it here.






Friday, April 7, 2023

What Makes a Good Poem

 


Image created by Bing AI



GloPoWriMo Day 7 - a list poem

This is a found poem. It consists of sentences and phrases found in this text.




What Makes a Good Poem



 

A good poem is a slip-of-a-thing,

a blind date with enchantment,

emotion surprised.

A good poem is a menagerie of craft; a spinning of sound,

an act of discovery.

A good poem is like medicine:

A flavor that lingers on the tongue,

surprises your senses, shakes you awake,

a word that doubles back on itself, not once but twice.

I want poetry that children can understand,

and a way of ending that makes the reader exclaim with delight,

“Robert Frost is icy blue and white!”





Thursday, April 6, 2023

Something Monstrous

 


Image created by Bing AI




GloPoWriMo Day 6

Our task today was to take a look around Poetry International for a poem in a language we don’t know, then read the poem to ourselves thinking about the sound and shape of the words, and the degree to which they remind us of words in our own language, then use those correspondences as the basis for a new poem.

I used Part 3 of the poem Photographs by Mária Ferenčuhová. The poem was written in Slovak and I first "translated" it to Serbian, then translated it (this time really) to English. The result is a very raw draft (especially the Serbian version), but it is the beginning of something that can be worked on. 



Image created by Bing AI




Strava 


Nikada, na rubu vremena.

Sa tektonske ploče

u trenutku prhne

par crnih krila.

Sve se rasprskava.

Posrnuli, ustaje.

Veliki odron tutnji.

A šta joj to kida utrobu?

To strava uzima svoj prvi dah.



Something Monstrous



Once, on the edge of time

something dark flaps its wings,

the tectonic plates crack,

the Fallen stands up again,

the great landslide rumbles.

What is it that's tearing her insides?

Something monstrous takes its first breath.





Wednesday, April 5, 2023

The Day My Dog Performed a Miracle

 


Image created by Bing AI





The Day My Dog Performed a Miracle




My dog jumped onto my aunt’s legs.

He knew she could do with some protection. 

She started laughing, then asked for dinner.

That was a miracle, my uncle claimed.

She hadn’t said a word for a week.

She hadn’t eaten or slept either.

He was afraid he’d lose her too.

The laughter continued in the days to come.

She cracked jokes, lying on that bed.

She mentioned the boy’s name once or twice.

She never cried or spoke about that day.

Afterwards, she kept Pekinese dogs.

One of them had performed a miracle on her, she said,

had kept her company during sleepless nights, 

his head on her chest, her hands around him,

his little heart beating 

under her palms.




GloPoWriMo Day 5 - a poem in which laughter comes at what might otherwise seem an inappropriate moment 





Tuesday, April 4, 2023

Snow in Spring

 



Image created by Bing AI





Snow in Spring



What happened to your little red rose?

The days of spring are here.

Jack Frost kissed it, I suppose.

What happened to your little red rose?


Flowers growing in their rows.

My favourite time of the year.

What happened to your little red rose?

The days of spring are here.




GloPoWriMo Day 4 - A Triolet

I used nursery rhymes to create the poem. 




Monday, April 3, 2023

I Have Your Rags

 



Image by Esi Grünhagen from Pixabay 



GloPoWriMo Day 3 - Find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite. 

I have chosen Vasko Popa's Give Me Back My Rags #11. The original poem is here. I am not sure who has translated it to English. The website doesn't say.

I didn't focus on replacing every word. Rather, I replaced the key words with their opposites. The result is rather sinister.

Here is my version:



Image by Adriano Gadini from Pixabay 



I Have Your Rags


I've smudged my face with your face.
Stitched your shadow to my shadow.

Ruffled the plains in you.
Turned your hills into plains. 

Declared ceasefire among your seasons.
Turned all the ends of the world to you. 

Untwisted the path of my life towards you. 
My wide open, my predictable path. 

Just try not to meet me now.