Prompy #362 – One Wish for Right Now

When we were children, wishes were part of our immediate reality, and believing that our wishes would come true was easy: “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight; I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.” What happens to our wishes when we grow up? We still have them, right? This prompt is about a wish that you have right now. 

 

Here are some “wish poem” ideas:

 

1. Your wish during this unsettled and challenging time of Covid-19, civil unrest, and “difficult politics.” What’s the one thing you wish for most?

 

2. A poem based on a wish to see or spend time with someone you lost touch with years ago.

 

3. A poem based on a wish to see/talk to someone no longer living, perhaps someone who didn’t survive Covid -19.

 

4. A poem based on a wish you had as a child.

 

5. A poem based on a wish to be a child again or to be past this time in human history.

 

6. A poem based on a wish that was realized and lost.

 

7. A poem based on a wish you know will never come true.

 

8. A poem based on the old caveat: “Be careful what you wish for…”

 

 

Example:

 

A classic wish poem: “He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” by William Butler Yeats.

 

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prompt #361 – Five

It’s hard to believe that October is here. 2020 has been a strange and challenging year in many ways. This season, between October and the end of December, has always been my favorite, and I’m trying hard to not let that be diminished this year because of Covid-19. Poetry has always had the power to lead me to peaceful places, and I turn to poetry (writing my own and reading other poets’ work) more often than usual these days.

 

In certain symbolisms, five is a number of balance and harmony. During this ongoing and protracted pandemic, these qualities are important in our lives and not always easily achieved.

 

For this prompt, I thought something simple with just a few guidelines might be something you’d enjoy (and, hopefully, something that might elicit a bit of balance and harmony for you—with an eye toward whatever moments of peace we can find).

 

Guidelines:

 

1. Take yourself to place outdoors in which you can relax (your front porch or back deck, your backyard, near a lake or stream, the woods, a park). Take some deep breaths, let yourself become absorbed by the space around you. In this time of social distancing, we often feel isolated and alone, but find something peaceful in the place you choose and think about the balance and harmony in being alone (not lonely, but alone).

 

2. Once you’re settled and comfortable, look around carefully. Notice things around you (objects, trees, plants, water, stones, etc.), and write down five things that capture your attention. You might select five things that are similar or the same (five flowers, five birds, five clouds above you, five people walking by).

 

3. Now notice the details of those “things.” Jot down some notes.

 

4. Then write a poem that’s based on, about, or that includes the five things you selected. Are these things associated in any way? Look for connections among the five “things” you've chosen and yourself. How do they “speak” to you? What story might they tell?

 

5. Let your environment become the “landscape” of the poem. Write in the present tense—here and now. Let the objects direct the content of your poem. Describe them, define them, contextualize them, analyze them, repurpose them, recreate them. Play on the number “five.” Let your poem take you where it wants to go, but don’t let your five “things” get lost. You might even limit your poems to just five lines (some formal 5-line poems include the quintain, the limerick, the pentastich, and the tanka).

 

Examples of 5-Line Poems:

 

#25

By Emily Dickinson

 

A sepal – petal – and a thorn

Opon a common summer’s morn –

A flask of Dew – A Bee or two –

A Breeze – a’caper in the trees _

And I’m a Rose!

 

(From The Poems of Emily Dickinson, ed. by R. W. Franklin, 

Harvard University Press, © 1998. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

A Meditation in Time of War

By William Butler Yeats

 

For one throb of the artery,

While on that old grey stone I sat,

Under the old wind-broken tree,

I knew that One is animate,

Mankind inanimate phantasy.

 

(From The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats, Scribner Paperback Poetry, 

© 1996. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

Birds

By risë

 

Sounds of highway traffic

crash like waves

serenaded by

tunes of

seasonal snowbirds

 

(From Spy in da House, Author House LLC, © 2013. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

What You See All Night

By Adele Kenny

 

The wild bird you catch and let go—what you see all night at

the corner of your eye (along the outline of unfolded wings)—

when the self gives itself up (a bell diffused into air)—more

idea than expression:

 

a lightness, a thirst, or nothing at all. 

 

(From A Lightness, A Thirst, or Nothing At All, Welcome Rain Publishers, 

© 2015. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

 

 

Prompt #360 – In Memory of vincent tripi

(Above Photos by Tom Clausen)

 

 A very dear friend of mine, vincent tripi (who always used the lower case when writing his own name) passed away on August 17th. I’d spoken to him on the phone about a month before—his passing was completely unexpected and, to my shock, I learned about it on Facebook. vince and I became friends in 1988 when he sent me a copy of his first book. We’d heard of each other through the Haiku Society and various haiku journals, and I was honored to receive an inscribed copy of his book.

 

A close friendship developed over the years that was uniquely special—a long-distance friendship of sorts because (for much of the time I knew him) vince lived in California, and I live in New Jersey. We only met in person once after he moved to Massachusetts. On that one wonderful afternoon, we talked, laughed, prayed, and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He was the only person ever to call me “Delly.” The inscription in one of his books reads, “Dearest Delly, You’re the gift. The poems are the wrapping. God is the Giver.” I came to know vince as a believer, one with a childlike sense of fun and enthusiasm for life.

 

vince called often, and many times when my mom was visiting me he would spend a lot of time talking to her on the phone. They, too, became friends. After my mom died, he dedicated his book somewhere among the clouds, poems from a year of solitude to her memory in the kind of loving and generous act for which he will always be remembered.

 

vince was a haiku poet with immense vision and superior technical skill. His expansive spirit informed his writing, and he left a legacy of haiku that bears testimony to his dedication to the form. His books (many from his own Tribe Press and meticulously designed and produced by vince himself) will continue to delight and inspire all who read them. There is so much richness in vince’s writings—they are filled with his love for literature and the natural world, his philosophy, and his faith.

 

Although most of his haiku and reflections are memorable, this one from paperweight for nothing took on deeper meaning in August:

 

 

And change is forever ... it will not leave me here.

                                                                                         —vincent tripi 

 

No, change did not leave you here, my friend—

but wherever you have gone, you remain with us in memory and through your words.

May your dear soul rest in light and peace.

____________________________________  

 

                                           Hereafter ...

                                                 pine cones falling

                                                       where i knelt to pray 

 

                —vincent tripi 

                       (from between God & the pine)

 

 ______________________________________

 

For this prompt, I’m honoring vince’s memory by revisiting haiku as a form for you to work with. So far, I haven’t been able to write a poem in vince’s memory, so I’ll be working with you on this one.

 

About Haiku

 

Haiku, a minimalist form of poetry, has enjoyed considerable popularity among modern poets. Allen Ginsberg and Pulitzer Prize winner Paul Muldoon wrote collections of haiku, and haiku-like poems are found in the works of such literary notables as Ezra Pound, Amy Lowell, Richard Wright, and Gary Snyder. During the 1960s, a haiku movement began in the United States, which catapulted haiku into popular consciousness. Since then, haiku has been widely taught in schools, and hundreds of haiku journals have published the works of numerous haiku poets.

 

The Haiku Society of America, Inc. was established in 1968 and continues with a membership of many hundreds. Although something other than “mainstream” poetry and very much its own genre, haiku are compact and direct, and are usually written in the present tense with a sense of immediacy (a sense of being “in the moment”). The natural world and our responses to it are integral to haiku. While haiku appear to be light and spontaneous, their writing requires profound reflection and discipline. Haiku are about spiritual realities, the realities of our every-day lives, and the realities of human and natural world relationships. Most importantly, haiku honor the inside of an experience through attention to the outside. 

 

Haiku inspire detachment. That is, detachment from self-interest or self-absorption. The best haiku are life-affirming and eternity-conscious. They are spontaneous and unpretentious but are entirely focused and either gently or startlingly profound. Through haiku, both the writer and the reader are invited to reflect upon minute details that lead to larger realities.

 

Haiku may even be considered a kind of meditation. Finely-tuned powers of observation reveal the haiku moments that happen continually in the world around us. A haiku is a way of seeing, a way of capturing experience, a kind of “aha” moment or instant when something in the ordinary captures our attention and leads us to a closer, more concentrated look at its connection to nature and humankind. 

 

The haiku’s origins have been traced to a form of Japanese poetry known as haikai no renga, a form of linked poetry that was practiced widely by Matsuo Bashō and his contemporaries. Bashō infused a new sensibility and sensitivity into this form in the late seventeenth century. He transformed the poetics and turned the first link in the haikai no renga (the hokku) into an independent poem, later to be known as haiku in the sense that we understand the term today. Following is one translation of Bashō’s most famous poem (certainly the best known haiku in Japan and possibly in the world).

 

Furu ike ya                            Old pond!
kawazu tobikomu                  frog jumps in
mizu no oto                           water’s sound

 

Traditional Japanese haiku were typically written vertically on the page from top to bottom. Each “line” contained seventeen sound symbols. These were usually divided into 3 sections, with the middle one being slightly longer than the others, and often with a pause at the end of the first or second section to divide the haiku into two thoughts or images. These thoughts or images contrasted or pooled to create a sense of insight or heightened awareness and uåsually involved nature. A kigo (season word) was used to indicate the season or time of year. 

 

While most traditional Japanese haiku contain 17 sound symbols, early translators were mistaken when they assumed that a sound symbol is equivalent to a syllable in the English language and that haiku should be written in three lines containing 5,7, and 5 syllables respectively. Although incorrect, these “defining” qualities of haiku are still adopted by many. 

 

A more acceptable standard for English-language haiku is 10-20 syllables in 3 lines having a longer second line and shorter first and third lines. Three lines have become the norm, but haiku of one and two lines are also seen, although less frequently. Typically, haiku contain two phrases (or images) that are inherently unrelated but are juxtaposed to show some commonality within a particular experience. That said, the parameters are often stretched depending on content and meaning, and successful experimental haiku of a single word have been written. 

 

A structural feature of the haiku is the kireji, or “cutting word.” In Japanese, kireji is a word used as punctuation, often signifying a question or an emotional subtext. It also signifies a break or pause at the end of a line. In English, cutting words are generally replaced by punctuation like exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes, or less often, commas or ellipses, depending on how sharp a “cut” the author wishes to achieve. 

 

Haiku describe things in very few words—they never tell, intellectualize, or state feelings outrightly. They never use figures of speech (similes, metaphors, etc.) and should not rhyme, nor do they have titles. Some haiku poets feel that one measure of a haiku’s success is its ability to be read in a single breath. Note: The word haiku forms its own plural; haikus is not correct. 

 

Guidelines:

 

1. Bashō said that each haiku should be a thousand times on the tongue. Before writing anything, read many haiku from a range of sources (there are lots of them online) to get a “feel” for the form. Be sure to read some haiku that have been translated from the Japanese, but spend more time on good haiku written in English. Read some of the haiku aloud.

 

2. After you’ve read some haiku and have a sense of what they’re about, think about an experience that you’ve had.

 

3. Remember the season in which you had the experience, and then think of a word or phrase that suggests that season. For example, peonies is a season word for spring; snow and ice are season words for winter. A simple phrase like “autumn leaves” can evoke feelings of loneliness and the approach of winter’s darkness (shortened days, longer nights). While many haiku appear to have a nature focus, they are more-specifically based on a seasonal reference that is not necessarily about nature.

 

4. Organize your thoughts into approximately three lines. First, set the scene, then suggest a feeling and, finally, make an observation or record an action. Use only the most absolutely necessary words. Write in the present tense, don’t use figures of speech, and keep things simple.

 

5. Be sure to include a contrast or a comparison. Many haiku present one idea for the first two lines and then switch quickly to something else in the third. Alternatively, a single idea is presented in the first line and a switch occurs in the second and third lines. Nearly every haiku has this kind of two-part, juxtapositional structure. A Japanese haiku achieves the shift with what is called a kireji or cutting word, which “cuts” the poem into two parts. One of your goals is to create a “leap” between the two parts of your haiku. Creating a haiku’s two-part structure can become a balancing act because it’s difficult to create just the right equilibrium without making too obvious a connection between the two parts or leaping to a distance that’s unclear or obscure. At the same time, you must work toward sparking the emotions (not ideas) that you want to communicate.

 

6. Try to think of haiku in terms of your five senses—things you experience directly, not ideas or your interpretation or analysis of “things.” Think in terms of sensory description and avoid subjective terms. 

 

7. In a nutshell—focus on a single moment (detach from everything else); recreate that moment in words.

 

Write simply and clearly,

forget about 5, 7, 5 syllabic structure,

start with about 10-20 syllables in three-line format,

include a season word,

make sure you create a two-part juxtapositional structure,

include a shift between the two parts of your haiku,

avoid figures of speech, rhyming, anything forced or contrived.

 

 

Making Connections—A Good Place to Start: 

 

1. Spend a little time walking outdoors. Then find a place in which you can relax. Stay close to your house if you wish or find a more secluded place.

 

2. Once you’re settled and comfortable, look around carefully. Notice things (objects, trees, plants, water, stones, birds, etc.) around you and write down several sets of two things that capture your attention (and, hopefully, your imagination). You might select two things that are similar or the same (flowers, trees, blades of grass birds, clouds). 

 

3. Now notice the details of those “things.” Jot down some notes. Remember, you’re working in sets of two.

 

4. Next, pick one set of two things that you especially like and write a haiku that’s based on, about, or that includes the two things you selected. Look for connections between those “things” and yourself. How do they “speak” to you?

 

5. Think about how you can link your two objects and switch from one to the other.

 

6. Let your environment become the “landscape” of the poem. Write in the present tense—here and now. Let the objects direct the content of your poem. Let your haiku take you where it wants to go, but don’t let your two “things” get lost.

 

7. When you finish one haiku, try another! You might just find that writing haiku is a little like eating your favorite candy—impossible to stop with just one!

 

 

                                        Write one,

                                             or maybe a thousand haiku

                                                    geese migrating

 

                                                                                 —vincent tripi

                                                                                 (from to what none of us knows)

 

 

Prompt #358 – One with All Being

We must become so alone, so utterly alone, that we withdraw into our innermost self. 

It is a way of bitter suffering. 

But then our solitude is overcome, we are no longer alone, 

for we find that our innermost self is the spirit, that it is God, the indivisible. 

And suddenly we find ourselves in the midst of the world, 

yet undisturbed by its multiplicity, 

for our innermost soul we know ourselves to be one with all being. 

—Herman Hesse

I recently came across the Herman Hesse quote above, and it really resonated for me when applied to the Covid pandemic and all the other stressful and unsettling things that are going on in our world. I’m reminded of current terms and catch phrases such as “social distancing,” “quarantine,” “sheltering in place,” “self-isolating at home,” and “being alone together.”

As human beings, we are social by nature—creatures of community and companionship. As we experience the varying degrees of being alone dictated by this virus, it may be a good thing to think in terms of our "aloneness" and how it can lead to ultimate oneness with each other and all that there is. 

Alone and lonely are both adjectives, but they have different meanings. A person is alone when he or she is by himself or herself. A person is lonely when he or she feels isolated, abandoned and, therefore, sad. “Alone” refers to a state of solitude, rather than the emotion that “loneliness” suggests. Loneliness can sometimes feel like a kind of existential angst. Writers like Sartre, Camus, and Kafka have written novels about this feeling and what it tells us about being human. There is also an abundance of poetry about it. 

During this pandemic, we are often more alone than we are accustomed to being as we work from home, attend classes online, are unable to safely socialize with colleagues and friends, and cannot gather in large groups. It’s important for us to differentiate between loneliness and being alone, although, understandably, during stressful times like these, it is completely possible to be both lonely and alone at the same time.

  

Hopefully, in writing about being lonely and/or alone, we can use our poems and shared experiences to show that we are not utterly different and are still part of humankind's universal community.

 
Guidelines & Tips
 

1. Does the opening quote touch you in any special way? What does it mean to you (how do you understand this quote)? Is there a spiritual aspect expressed in the quote that speaks to you?

2. Can you apply the quote to your personal life and what’s going on in the world today—the Covid pandemic?

3. During the past several challenging months, when being alone in some manner and to some degree has become part of our daily lives, how has being alone affected you and your loved ones?

4. If you’ve been feeling stressed out, depressed, and lonely because of the COVID-19 pandemic, you’re not alone. We’re all feeling the effects of social isolation. What are some ways in which we can combat these feelings (telephone calls, emails, texting, Zoom gatherings, other electronic methods of bringing people together virtually)?

5. Start by making a list or doing a free write about how being alone and/or loneliness makes you feel.

6. Using your list or free write, begin writing a poem about loneliness, solitude, or any aspect of the Covid Pandemic that has forced you into more time alone, and greater introspection than ever before.

7. Craft your poem carefully, not overburdening it with too many details and by not overtly using words like “loneliness,” “solitude,” or “being alone.”

8. Try to keep your poem short (under 40 lines) or perhaps a short prose poem.

9. Don’t include anything that’s not absolutely essential to the poem.

10. Try to evoke feelings of loneliness by showing, not telling. You may wish to relate a specific incident (narrative poem) or you may prefer to be more general. Either way, remember to be unique in your choice of language and figures of speech.

11. Avoid over-use of adjectives.

12. Be wary of becoming maudlin or over-stating sentiment.

Examples:

The Solitude of Night

By Li Bai

(Translated by Shigeyoshi Obata)

It was at a wine party—

I lay in a drowse, knowing it not.

The blown flowers fell and filled my lap.

When I arose, still drunken,

The birds had all gone to their nests,

And there remained but few of my comrades.

I went along the river—alone in the moonlight.

Source: The Works of Li Po The Chinese Poet (EP Dutton & Company, 1921)

Flood: Years of Solitude

By Dionisio D. Martinez

To the one who sets a second place at the table anyway.

To the one at the back of the empty bus.

To the ones who name each piece of stained glass projected on a white wall.

To anyone convinced that a monologue is a conversation with the past.

To the one who loses with the deck he marked.

To those who are destined to inherit the meek.

To us.

https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/loneliness/poems-about-loneliness-that-everyone-can-relate-to/

The Loneliness One Dare Not Sound

By Emily Dickinson

The Loneliness One dare not sound—
And would as soon surmise
As in its Grave go plumbing
To ascertain the size—

The Loneliness whose worst alarm
Is lest itself should see—
And perish from before itself
For just a scrutiny—

The Horror not to be surveyed—
But skirted in the Dark—
With Consciousness suspended—
And Being under Lock—

https://interestingliterature.com/2018/12/the-loneliness-one-dare-not-sound-a-poem-by-emily-dickinson/

And this pandemic specific poem by friend and fellow poet Jane Ebihara (originally published in Frost Meadow Review “Pandemic Poetry,” August 10, 2020).

 

Pandemic 

April 2020

By Jane Ebihara

                        eliminate all non-essential travel stay six feet away from others wear

                        a mask in public stay home stay home the virus doesn’t move we do

                        stay home wash your hands stay home wash your hands don’t touch

                        your face

                        stay home

from home—

our sanctuaries and cells—

we long for the ordinary

          a haircut  a gathering  the gym  a carwash  a night out  an embrace

I stand at the window looking out

                      looking out

in April wind

a long abandoned nest

no bigger than a teacup 

clings to the dogwood

a male cardinal at the feeder lifts

seeds to the beak of his mate

three turkey vultures swoop low

cast shadows on the lawn

http://frostmeadowreview.com/pandemic-poetry/ (Scroll Down for Jane's Poem)