Two poems: beyond the marow / The Contents
Back on the poetry front, I’m trying to play a bit of catch up, and I liked the prompts for April 15th and 16th that Poets and Writers list:
Choose a favorite line from one of your poems and write a new poem using that line as the first one.
beyond the marrow
beyond the marrow, the core of bones—
there is realization: that with us
it was as if I was trying to light incense
from a lit cigarette, to create a flame
where none could ever exist,
and even if you burned for me
(a little), you’d always eventually
burn down to a fractional thing of
yourself, not nearly enough to love.
Flip through the dictionary (I did this with the first book I found, The Shell Collector, by Anthony Doerr) randomly and choose ten words. Write a poem with each word in every other line. (The words I found were: index, hypnotic, cocoon, droplets, knuckles, bramble, voluptuous, belt, dozen, clot.)
Little girl, walking through your tiny town,
walking to the library, to go through the card index,
to find somewhere to escape, from the shouts,
from the hypnotic battle between grown ups.
Cocoon yourself in someone else’s life,
live within the story of the story, never-ending.
Book in hand, droplets on your glasses, here comes
your pup, she wandered but came running to walk you home.
Your knuckles get whiter as you grip the binding,
bound to be cold and frightened of what you’ll find,
and brambles catch you as you shamble on uneven walks,
homeward bound, those few enormous blocks.
And in the door, the greeting is voluptuous,
What did you get? something good to read? I love you
dear sweet girl of mine, I love that you love to read.
They’re belting out praises for your qualities, in joyous moods.
You can’t possibly understand the contents of bottles,
which come in dozens and get scattered, like dandelion seeds.
They shower you like raindrops, in hugs and kisses,
a sudden aneurysm, a clot of love, barreling down upon you
and by the library, a train hollers as it passes by.
I especially love this prompt, because it reminds me of a scene in Before Sunrise, when a street poet approaches the couple walking in Vienna:
So, I would like to make a deal with you. I mean, instead of just asking you for money, I will ask you for a word. Yeah, you give me a word, I take the word, and then, and then I will write a poem, with the word inside. And if you like it, I mean, if you like my poem, and you feel it adds something to your life in any way, then you can pay me whatever you feel like.
We all want to add something to someone’s life, don’t we?