I’ve been working on a page in sporadic fits. There are still a thousand ways it can go, yet it’s “mostly” done. What I did this morning is take a black&white copy of it, and use that copy to explore, freed from the stricture of “ink is forever.” Here’s a pic, with the original on the left, and the worked-on copy on the right:

20200421_101243

Notice the final couplet was already done. Like many murder mysteries, this poem started with a theme (the double acrostic HERE ARE THE ELSEWHERES) and the “reveal” (the final couplet “Hope is Blissful Silence–just ask these/Everlasting Peacefulness agrees”). The bestselling mystery author Mickey Spillane once said cheerfully in an interview that he wrote all his books backwards, starting with an ending and then figuring out how to get there. And, Friends, speaking from the experience of the construction of, no kidding, more than a thousand acrostic poems, starting with the first line is the rare exception, not the usual way to succeed.

With my copy I composed a draft of the first four lines, but did it beyond the page border, using white Conté crayon. This is out of a concern that if I fill in the acrostic on the page itself, it might spoil the visual effect enjoyed by the similarity between the letters and words already on the page and the floating, flexing rectangle-with-cutout in the foreground. Also, the lines are a draft, and so subject to change. (I’m not sure, for instance, that it’s such a good idea to have a “Beauty and the Beast” reference in a poem addressing more eternal issues. But maybe it will be more relatable this way. SO many ways this thing can go!)

I filled in the letters for HERE on the left acrostic column and the HERE of the ELSEWHERES in the right column. Trying the resulting motif-tension on for size. I like it–it seems to work. The final version will include that.

I did a few other things too, and the reader is welcome to look for them. But this post is all about the anatomy of the creative process, and I felt it valuable to preserve this one step. There will be many more decisions to make, and more lines to compose. I hope to be done by midnight, but one BAD decision that has afflicted much of my work is to rush things. Don’t want to ruin this one by rushing it!

  1. My friend and former classmate Vicki makes COVID-19 masks, and she sent me one a couple of weeks ago. It fits great, and it survived machine washing. I am doubly lucky, because the Day 20 prompt for National Poetry Writing Month is “write a poem about a handmade gift.”

20200419_220852

To V. S. G.

now i take me out to shop

the mask that Vicki made WILL STOP

the dreaded Cee Oh Vee Eye Dee

19–just stay six feet from me!

THANKS, Vicki!!!

Today’s National Poetry Writing Month 2020 prompt was to write a poem related to objects found during a walk.

the meanderthal

a real-time archeologist
plays ambulatory tic-tac-toe
through the weakly-violated Cartesian grid of greater Phoenix Arizona
and collects
a Lug-Nut, a single Bristle from a Street-Sweeper,
a Tiparillo-Holder with Octagonal Cross-Section,
a Plastic Bottle-Cap with Grip-Ribbing, and–
O MY GOD!–a 1933 MERCURY DIME.

2020 9419 the meanderthal

elation is displaced by S O R R O W
when the archeologist intuits
that the dime was left
deliberately by a
woman facing Death
who had no further use for it.

Today our prompt is to write a poem celebrating the little nice things that get us through a day, a year, a life.

2020 0418 lite nice ness

Lite Nice Ness

Let’s look at the things that give a day a bit o’ gain
It’s as small as landing safely when you’re on a plane
T‘would be mush less saucy had we not War Chest or Shires
E‘er the wee! sweet! lovelinesses spiking our desires

One of the little nicenesses that get me through a day is Bad Puns. I love making them up, and I love when other people make them up and I read them. The third line of this poem is straight out of Badpunsville. “mush less saucy” is doubly punnish. Mush could also be Much, but Mush is edible. Saucy could be either attitude or condimental. And then “War Chest or Shires” is a wretchedification of Worcestershire, which is a sauce pronounced variously as “wurrshurr” or “woostisure” or “watery brown stuff.” I won’t apologize that “War Chest or Shires” matches no known pronunciation. It is closer to the actual spelling as anything I’ve heard.

Lastly, the whole poem is a setup for a Bad Pun. Notice that the first word of every line is a contraction. “Why, Gary??” I hear you asking. SO glad you asked, Friend! (Or “Friends,” if there is still more than one of you still reading.) (Or “Is there an echo in here?” if in fact no one is left reading.) The reason every first word is festooned with an apostrophe is answerable in two words. Here they come. Don’t hate me.

“Contractual obligations.” [Bdumph/Shhhuhh] (Rimshot.)

Ah, Apostrophes!! Don’t you just love the Little Things that Get You Through Life?