I spent a ton of free time on Tuesday rewriting some old work. I hear that doing so is a good way to develop your style and writing practice. 😉
Anyway, these prompts were fun to compose for. (Except for that I dislike writing metaphors.) You probably won’t see a ton of ~deep~ thoughts from me during this challenge. (Day 7 is one of the exceptions.) I am playing with form and style for the most part. Content? That comes with time and inspiration. And a certain sense of comfort with putting one’s thoughts on the Internet.
Prompt (Day) 7: Write an Abundance Poem
What do I know about abundance? Oh, right.
The dolls.
My maternal grandmother used to collect late 19th/early 20th Century dolls. She had a doll room. (Her late best friend Hazel wasn’t so lucky as to have her own doll room—hers were on shelves surrounding her bed. Facing her. While she slept.)
Visitors to my grandparents’ old house were startled by the abundance of dolls. They were in every nook and cranny—everywhere you turned, another doll. Maybe several dolls, grouped by who-knows-what-shared-attribute. While sorting through my grandparents’ photos on vacation a few years ago (yes, I vacation at my grandparents’), I found a series of photos from a Cincinnati Doll Club luncheon my grandmother once hosted. She’d arranged some sets of dolls by outfit, manufacturer, age of the doll, etc. My grandfather went a step further by rearranging one group which had been set at the foyer mirror. Two dolls, facing toward each other and slightly inclined toward the mirror. One held a lipstick tube in its hand. That doll had scrawled on the mirror:
“Welcome to our home.”
Let’s just say I chose to respect the dolls and their space. Please enjoy my chant poem in deference to these antique beings of someone’s nightmares.
THE DOLLS
miniature idols one-fifth my size
we only live in the house of the dolls
behind each corner, a glass-eyed surprise
we only live in the house of the dolls
positioned against diminutive chairs
we only live in the house of the dolls
one even sits at the top of the stairs
we only live in the house of the dolls
will I forever feel this sense of dread?
we only live in the house of the dolls
look! that one stands at the foot of my bed
we only live in the house of the dolls
Prompt (Day) 8: Write a Metaphor
Ah, metaphors, bane of my existence. My lack of enthusiasm for metaphors probably means I need to keep practicing them. Today’s poem is a callback to being outdoorsy during the final days of March 2022. I worked this into a Fibonacci “Fib” style to soften the blow of working with a not-favorite form.
I smelled wisteria during my early-morning taco/coffee run on the day I composed this. (Yesterday, by the time I publish this post.) Wisteria forever reminds me of the spring after I turned eighteen. So much freedom and promise ahead.
WISTERIA
I
bloom
in March
unfurl my
petals sweet fragrance
tumbles from vines above the path.
kellyekosanda 