by the Read Write Poem Staff
It’s daunting to take on a commitment as large as NaPoWriMo, but here you are. Today is Day 3, and you are facing your fears. Read Write Poem member Joseph Harker thinks there’s a poem in that; here’s his prompt for you:
Write about something that scares you. It could be tarantulas or your significant other cheating on you or an existential fear of the unknown so long as it unsettles you. Describe it in the most vivid language possible!
Sometimes by articulating our fears, we strip them of their power. (But don’t go too far! A little fear is good to have.) 
Reminders for everyone
Read the Read Write Poem NaPoWriMo Challenge Kickoff post for details on how the challenge works — and how you can engage with Read Write Poem this month, no matter what your personal writing challenge is for the month of April.
Please read this page to find out how Read Write Poem’s prompt posts work. Remember that work linked from any post this month is shared in precisely that spirit: sharing, as opposed to critiquing. If you haven’t done so already, please read all the pages under About in the navigation bar.
Poem 3! silver butterfly
I guess…my first comment didn’t make it through moderation? I don’t really understand, but okay…joined. I formerly went by ’sara swanson’. On that note, what’s with all the saras floating around, sheesh |V .
Forgotten In The Drawer
http://mmw113.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-3-forgotten-in-drawer.html
#3
http://bitsandpieces.wordpress.com/
Dark, predatory
every natural thing complies
somehow, with nothing
Day 3 of my shitty teenage poetry…
http://eyemachine.xanga.com/724686088/napowrimo-a-small-heart/
Thinking about fear led me to think about worry… and this poem pretty much wrote itself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Worrywart
A wart on the brain,
Ugly, unwanted,
Keeps me alert—
Looking for loose boards
In the fence that keeps the
Mean dog out,
Wondering about the stove
Or the coffee pot for
The hundredth time,
Rummaging through closets
Of past conversations for
Scraps of judgment.
They say worry is praying
For what you don’t want—
And I worry about that!
Is this propensity in my DNA?
Or just the result of watching you,
Soaking up your jumpy energy
During those early years,
My mind like wet cement.
Is the imprint indefeasible?
Its power in you
Kept us from eating peaches.
Peaches, for Christ’s sake!
But the wart’s roots
Are loosening
And something like
Forgiveness flows in.
I’ll dare to eat peaches—
Feel the sweet juice run
Through my fingers.
I’ll eat enough for
Both of us.
Marie replied:
April 4th, 2010 at 12:11 pm
I love the first few stanzas. You expose the things we (all?) worry about so well! I love the ending, too. I hope you eat a lot of peaches.
Kelly replied:
April 5th, 2010 at 9:37 am
Thank you, Marie. That’s funny – I was thinking the first stanza really needs some work. Glad you liked it.
late dang it!!!!
http://motherveg.wordpress.com/2010/04/03/napowrimo-3-scared-yet/
Fears
http://legacyleonard.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-prompt-3-fears.html
Fears
http://legacyleonard.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-prompt-3-fears.html
late on this one: http://redpetals04.wordpress.com/2010/04/03/383/
My poem for Day 3: http://web.me.com/susansonnen/Susan_Sonnens_musings/Blog/Entries/2010/4/3_NaPoWriMo%2C_Day_3.html
Today was the 10th anniversary of my father’s death, so I didn’t follow the prompt but wrote a poem about him instead:
http://memali.posterous.com/3030-day-3
http://tasmith1122.wordpress.com/2010/04/04/rwp-napowrimopoetic-asides-day-3/
http://makeda42.livejournal.com/59545.html
Memory’s Stubborn Persistence
The pocket watch denies the pocket
even though it’s so empty it offers
no reason for the way the word ‘control’
boot-steps these ants into formation.
I try and try to forget everything
that spins out of my feeble grasp
but the world is fluid as meaning
succumbing to the beholder’s eye.
Fear is what hides under the bed
when the painting is unfinished,
and also what stares back from the mirror
when the ink has dried into something
unrecognizable to anyone but you.
Here’s poem #3, rewritten several times and now out of time!
“Scared”
http://www.shewrites.com/profile/NancyHatamiya
I couldn’t get very far with this but it’s a start:
http://meetinggrace.wordpress.com/2010/04/03/napowrimo-3/
by the way, I’m in San Diego so submitted on time
http://self-intoxication.deviantart.com/art/Drugdeath-159474110
Rough rough draft
http://scrapsandsass.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-3.html
Problematic
April 3, 2010
chisel in hand
I etch away
my problem:
carving from
the inside out,
where the
troubles r,
scraping, scratching
chipping, cracking
reshaping obstacles
that seem to b
nonsensical,
brushing away
the crumbled dust,
graciously, piously,
joyously
celebrating no ell,
with a little luck,
and a little pluck,
a sculptor’s eye
and a wit that’s wry,
I’ve pruned
my problem
to a
poem.
Day 3:
http://alienfireworks.blogspot.com/2010/04/day-3-todays-readwritepoem.html
I’m trying to find it
But it’s a
Like the difference between
Talking dirty and the kind of orgasm that rattles your teeth
I’m flipping through images
suspended in a milky void
like that Tom Cruise character
in the movie, Artificial Intelligence
or that Ted Talk genius having
too much fun to extrapolate what
it might be like to himself to hell,
a well intentioned curious acrobat
handstanding all the way down
like a teenager camping out
with booze and matches
in a drought-strafed clump
of boulders and stumps
who isn’t thinking about
lions or tigers or bears
the lunar landscape of
black and bald mountains
of smoke and carcass
or the life-altering chemical
composition of loss and regret
times infinity.
I’m plastering together vignettes,
marionette resurrections, bad movie
moments and slopping through the
slap crash of the brutality bent edit
trolling for tricks to ram up against
the dark spark of the fight/flight
being helped by the breathless
compression of the midnight hour
bearing down.
I close my eyes to look the other way
hand over heart, over pulse, out of time
try to feel, try to see, try to find it
but it’s a ricky-ticky cardboard shadow
a carney con, no connection at best – no dice.
I’m not fooled by the digital deadline -
eleven minutes and counting –
not a good enough actress or a self –
mportant enough legend in my own mind
to be horrified enough by typos or rewrites
to resist the jump – ready or not,.
Then I remember a woman in my office
Ten maybe fifteen years older than me
I’m trying to figure out if she wants to live
Enough to quit smoking, which she claims
To be ready to do.
She tells me her best friend died a year ago.
Her family is all gone. She doesn’t seem
Afraid or upset about any of it. I try to console
Her anyway and pull something out of her loss
A dark spot I can buff into something shiny
She says, “just wait. You’ll see.”
It didn’t scare me then. It was later. Not after
The first loss or the second. It was after that.
I was afraid of being the last one standing.
a minute to spare. now i edit. ohhh. scarey.
Here’s my # 3
http://brokeness.blogspot.com/2010/04/randomness-napowrimo-3.html
first edit of #3 – hope to have blog figured out tomorrow, so I can post viable link to art/words without editing here. oh technology. love you, hate you, love you, hate you… fear you…
THE LAST ONE
flipping through images
suspended in a milky void like
tom cruise in artificial intelligence –
plastering together vignettes
marionette resurrections
and bad movie moments –
running them through
the slap crash brutal edit
the midnight compression
of the hour bears down
slams up against the
fight/flight monkey
exhausts itself –
I close my eyes
hand over heart,
over pulse, out of time,
try to feel, try to see,
try to find it but it’s a
ricky-ticky cardboard
shadow, a caricature
at best
no connection –
no dice – no fear
I’m a bad actress in a
spanish soap opera
and I can’t find fear
can’t locate it in my body
my memory, my imagination.
I dig deeper.
I remember a woman
ten, maybe fifteen years
older than me.
I’m trying to figure out
If she cares enough about
her life, if she wants to live
enough to quit smoking.
she’s already told me
about the death of her
best friend, and spouse
her parents and siblings.
she sits blank-faced
while I search for some
gem of redemption to pull
out of her mountain of loss.
I finish my pep-talk
we stare at each other
the only sound a wave
machine filling up the
silent spaces.
finally she says,
“just wait. you’ll see.”
losses and years later
I figured it out – I found it.
I was afraid
of being
the last
one
standing.
My poem is here:
ragbone.wordpress.com
Scary indeed! What did I commit to???!?
http://scriptophobe.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-3-confession.html
http://triatriatria.wordpress.com/2010/04/03/moondream/
http://ingeborgsblog.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-april-3rd-scared-yet.html
Yeah, super late. Not gonna lie…I was hung-over yesterday.
Winter Birthday
I pester to make some small distance between us,
leave the television on to fill this empty room.
Within the hour the vodka bottle is empty
and the birthday cake is in the freezer.
I tire of hearing the footsteps of people who
don’t love me, the man upstairs I hear talking
to no one. I pray for the empty parts of me to feel numb,
pray for the name that will be a constant at my lips,
in this time before love, when I used to drive into the belly
of the city to meet him, or a night when I crashed into a boy
too young that I barely know. It has snowed in Georgia
and I can not relish in others delight and panic,
or the still calm that comes with the cold weight
of winter. I wish to shiver, numb to my own history.
http://poetry-life-distilled.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-day-3.html
For April 3: “My Greatest Fears…Now Gone” ~ http://treasures.edublogs.org/2010/04/03/readwritepoem-april-3/
Enjoy!
Completely forgot to link my poem here yesterday! Here it is:
http://mayaganesan.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-3.html
http://kyleakoyote.tumblr.com/post/496688808/scared-aka-napowrimo-3
I actually liked this poem.
yesterday a draft too rough by far and allergies too interfering
Fear is,
http://vanessavaile.posterous.com/wripo-3-fear-is
A day late, and not really from the prompt, but it’s still a little about fear.
http://thebooklife.wordpress.com/2010/04/04/4-3/
I flip through images
suspended in a milky void,
plastering together vignettes,
resurrecting shadow puppets,
humming through mental notes
and bad movie moments -
I run them through
a slap crash edit
the hour bears down
slamming all of it
up against it
exhausting the
fight/flight monkey
in me
eyes closed
hand over heart,
over pulse, try to feel,
try to see, try to find it –
but it’s a cardboard cut out
of CG emotion
running out of time
a caricature at best
like a bad actress in
a spanish soap opera
I have disappointed
I can’t find fear in my
mind or body, can’t
fake myself into it
I dig deeper
up floats a memory
of me with a woman
in my office who is ten,
maybe fifteen years
older than I am
the age I am now
give or take, five or ten
I’m trying to figure
out If she cares
if she wants to live
enough to quit smoking
she asked for my help
she paid me the money
she showed up on time
she tells me her story
of death by the numbers
her spouse and best friend
her parents and siblings
she sits blank-faced
while I search for
some silvery gem
cracker jack prize
to extract from her
tower of loss
we stare at each other
the only sound a wave
machine filling up the
silent spaces
finally she says,
“just wait. you’ll see.”
years and losses
later I understood
I was afraid
of being
the last
one
Sorry I couldn’t post this on the third! I was at the family’s house this weekend and even had to call my sister to read me the third’s prompt. But here it is!
Fear.
Stuff Happens
1 2
Uncertainty unhinges me I pray to trust
No amount of planning look to the birds of the field
lessens uncertainty I’ve the brain of a predator
stuff happens not a bird-prey brain
Stuff happening is a certainty so I worry about what and when
3
Reading and gentle music
walking in wind and rain
sitting quietly aside a creek
yet I monkey-mind to
what if…stuff happens
http://peaceandflying.tumblr.com/post/497366221/sour-patch-kids
“Sour Patch Kids” – and i did go with the prompt.
just a warning, i have a streampad that automatically plays music, so if your sound is up loud, you get to listen to I’ll Make a Man Out of You from the Mulan soundtrack yeahyeah!
Bad Dream
awakened
sheets soaked
hair on neck and arms alive
a darkness dwells
the number 4 sewn into a haze of purple
styrofoam cheddar set aside for a pair of horns
tundra abandoned for turf
boyhood hope crushed
like a plastic beer cup
their painfully thin legs contorting into movement
lightning fast, your eyes barely able to follow their tracks.
the feeling on your arm like where a stray hair has made its fleeting home
is when paranoia sets in
not knowing its next move
the room grows
your body shrinks
much like a scene from anything hitchcock
oh how I have become so familiar with Paranoia
We are twin sisters
thinking each others thoughts even when we are in different places
I am ready to, not by choice, welcome you into my overactive mind when I enter a musty room, an outdoor shed, or even the walk to my front door on a humid night.
I didn’t get around to responding to this prompt until April 6th – Things I’m Not Scared Of .
Voices Over River Glow
Angeliad of Surazeus
2010 04 03
http://open.salon.com/blog/surazeus/2010/04/03/voices_over_river_glow
I am not scared of snakes,
lizards, spiders, mice, rats,
hissing Madagascar cockroaches, wild horses
and cattle, having handled them all.
Nor tornados,blizzards, floods, dust storms, falls from high treehouses, punches in the nose, having lived through them all.
The fear is my family legacy, the shaking hands, the nerves slowly deteriorating, the breathing no longer automatic, the memory no longer reliable.
Of not being able to read my beloved books or a sheet of music, to call my grandson by his name–this more than any slimy beasty is my
fear.
Fears collide
Indeed
too scared to believe
don’t we all feel it?
Too big
too small
too short
too tall
I am afraid I didn’t make a difference
took the easy way out
made too many mistakes
will they remember when I’m gone
that I once was here?
once I tried
too much
too much to say
too little held back
afraid I gave up
leaving little to the mind’s eye
where do I go now
living in paradise
shutting out the world
do I accept it all
or do I keep trying
sometimes being very trying
fear of fear
What Remains
They appear at the precise moment
I allow myself to believe
I might be rid of them for good.
Invading shadows darting
out from dark corners
unexpectedly like cancer or poverty
welcomed, haunting.
Their unpredictability frightens me
more than any virus they might carry.
I am afraid to relax into my easy chair
to linger too long in my kitchen
for fear of being startled by these little
invaders of my privacy
looking for a scrap of food I
left behind my stove.