napowrimo #9: your mission

by the Read Write Poem Staff

Read Write Poem member Robert Peake has shared with us a prompt he used recently with one of his established writing groups:

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to:

Use at least twelve words from this list: flap, winter, torch, pail, jug, strum, lever, massage, octopus, marionette, stow, pumice, rug, jam, limp, campfire, startle, wattle, bruise, chimney, tome, talon, fringe, walker;
Include something that tastes terrible;
Include some part (from a few words to several lines) of a previous poem that didn’t quite pan out; and
Include a sound that makes you happy.

Write a poem!

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.

lauraajk

April 10th, 2010 at 10:05 am

http://poetry-life-distilled.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-day-9.html

michelle

April 10th, 2010 at 10:29 am

http://bitsandpieces.wordpress.com/2010/04/10/napowrimo-9-your-mission/

I’m almost caught up!

Kat

April 10th, 2010 at 11:19 am

I thought this was really challenging but I’m trying to keep to the prompt as a personal challenge!!

The bruise on my limp arm
from who knows what or how
the unexpected tangy taste
stronger than lemon juice
or a sour gummy worm combined
startled us
expecting the feeling of a smooth silky texture
upon our palate
not a suspicious talon just retrieved
from the pail
wanting to torch it all
then throw it into the campfire
but alas
that would be acknowledging defeat
god forbid
not as if he has a walker
he’s still under retirement age
but the need to prove himself as
a provider
is never ending
and who suffers
me
so I concentrate on the whistle of the wind
like the sound it makes if you put your ear near the
fireplace as it escapes through the chimney
knowing like all things
this will eventually end
he strums the line connected to the lever
massaging his catch like a gentle lover
stows it away in a glass jug for further review.
Fishing is one excursion, we will not be doing together in the future.

robertwynne

April 10th, 2010 at 11:50 am

Potential

I am a flap of cloud, fluttering
from octopus to marionette, from
atmospheric tome open at the first page

to chimney composed of nothing
but water masquerading as smoke.
I am a pumice jug, harboring

an ancient recipe of barley and hops
in my thick, porous surface. I am
a winter rug, fringe bruised dark

by the snow-covered boots
of tired skiers limping toward chairs.
I am the sad tang of olives

pickling a startled tongue, strings
strumming their impressions
into fingerprints, the song of a campfire

longing for marshmallows. I am
Olympic torch, broken walker, lever
unmoving against stubborn arms.

I am homemade jam, empty pail
lowered deep into a well, the wattle
of every turkey which distracts

from sharp talons. I am a massage
after a marathon, treasure map
stowed beneath a mattress, smooth stone

saved because of childhood memory.
Hold me up to the light. I glow
like silverfish strung on a line of hunger.

Desire has no other name. I will burden
even the smallest spaces in you
with the knowledge of my existence.

Robert replied:
April 10th, 2010 at 7:13 pm

Killer.

Maya

April 10th, 2010 at 12:21 pm

I tried using the prompt…I don’t think anyone wants to see how horrible my draft turned out although I did use parts of the prompt in my final piece: I explored the word ‘flap’ a little bit deeper, and I incorporated a sound that makes me happy (wind).

I wrote my poem by hand late last night and didn’t get a chance to post it, so I posted it this morning under yesterday’s date. http://www.mayaganesan.blogspot.com/2010/04/napowrimo-9.html