Prompt for day 11:

'Wikipedia’s Random Button is a great and magical thing. Click it and write about whatever subject comes up.'
I got it from this:
 a massive list of poetry prompts...

Ok, here were some of the fist random pages wiki gave me...

1900–01 Scottish Second Division

 Assa Singh v. Menteri Besar of Johore

Lehel (disambiguation)

Pregnane

so I kept clicking random, although I know that is cheating (the pregnane hormone one could easily inspire a poem about finding out I was pregnant but there has been a lot of personal stuff thus far and trying to move away from it...)


and the next one was Miss World 1996 and that is what I am going to think about and try and turn into a poem.

10:

3 reasons why poetry sucks sometimes*

1: how it can be used as an apology;
like a pretty love poem will wipe away
the scum from the night before,
selfish scabs picked off
with sentimental sloping writing.

2: how cruel and demanding it can be;
like an unsatisfied lover it demands
attention until the poem comes wetly
across the waiting lap.

3: how it attracts and divides;
mostly it creates fierce bonds
between poets but it can also spark
into fire as the words burn one
against another into smoke.

*but I love it anyway

Prompt for day 10

Write a poem that is an actual numbered list, and let the nature of the list come not from the title but the accumulation of details. Some possibilities include: seven regrets without named parties; five historical events I wish I'd been present for and one that I had; my experiences with everyday people in different cities I've visited.

9:

I really enjoyed writing the poem (that became poem 4) from a list of words supplied by Carrie Etter.

I am happy to report she has a whole new list of poetry prompts to inspire people. Here is the one I am using today. 'Use five of the following six words in a poem: dirt, hand(s), path, tree (or a kind of tree), sky, weight.' Here is the poem I made from them. It turned into a love poem of sorts. My kind of love poem anyway.




This is not a fairy-tale
yet he is a woodcutter
and his skin smells of trees.

Leaf under sky and axe
blade against bark;
she meets him on the path

and breathes him in.
Petrol, oil, sawdust and dirt;
wholesome eucalyptus.

Today he was felling
a  gum tree and the logs
are a gift to keep

her fire burning;
His fingers are rough
but his hands are tender.

Abridged 0-29

My little poem Bikkja is included in the latest edition of Abridged magazine. The theme was 'primal' and I grinned when I read that as I thought, yes! my poems fit! It arrived in the post this morning and it made a satisfying thunk as it landed on the carpet. Words and artwork to absorb and enjoy.

8:

a pine desk
hand made by you
to fix my clutter


love is sanded
into the curved edges
and smooth surface

7:

'In the child of the soul the trees wander.'
That's what he whispered to me.

He was the master of pretentious clap
trap: he thought it made him sound

intelligent and mystical but it only
made me want to pull his tongue

from his mouth and preserve it in a jar
with a label that said:  silence is better.