Lots of artsy stuff here, and a challenge for YOU to get creative!
- Hidden by linoleum or carpet.
- Tour some of America’s castles.
- Poetry reading. Start with the video included, and click on links for additional readings.
- Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks.
- Sweet blog post with some gorgeous photography. Keep reading and scrolling.
- Tips for painting clouds.
- I will be participating in the Index-Card-a-Day challenge in June and July, making a small artwork on a 3×5 card every day. You can too!
- How a painter is like a choreographer.
- Why do we prefer familiar music? The neuroscience behind the riot at the premier of the Rite of Spring.
- Forgive others, and please, forgive yourself.
- A mathematician who turned to watercolor.
- Look at this artist’s wonderful journal paintings.
It’s the last day of April, the last day of National Poetry Writing Month, and the final prompt is to write a poem in the form of a series of directions describing how a person should get to a particular place.
come back to me I know you’re angry but please put your anger aside and remember what we’ve had together and can still have would it help to know that I’m very sorry I was wrong I shouldn’t have done it shouldn’t have said it wouldn’t have except I was hurt I wish I could erase the pain I caused you but when I thought you stopped loving me I wanted to hurt you too I was mistaken but what was I to think you became so distant you didn’t talk to me barely looked at me I didn’t know what was bothering you why didn’t you tell me I wouldn’t have though less of you I would have shared your struggles less of a burden when carried by two but you didn’t give me a chance so I told you to get out that I didn’t love you any more and you left without a word I had to hear from someone else that you lost your job like so many others during this terrible time we could have made it through would have made it through together still can so please forgive me call me come home fly home drive home hitchhike home run home walk home or call me I’ll come get you just come let me love you again
My grand total for April 2021 is twenty-seven poems. That’s what I like about challenges–they motivate me. That’s not to say that all the poems are great–they’re not. I do like the one above. It might be my favorite of the month. Another one I especially like is The Wedding Cake Knife. My most “liked” poems this month were the one I wrote about my daughter Erin, and Watching the children play in every season, which surprised me, because I considered that a throwaway poem; it felt so uninspired to me. You never know what will touch another human being. Let that be a lesson to me.
Interesting. Informative. Funny. Lovely. Artistic. Strange. It’s all here:
- Time lapsed photography of plants growing. (I promise, no grass.)
- Ready to quilt your quilt? Check out these tips.
- This is very different from the college ensembles I was part of while a music student. But different is good.
- I love this poem written for NaPoWriMo2021. It’s a parody of the song “Hey, Jude,” about mansplaining.
- Beautiful watercolor portraits.
- Millions of marvelous mandalas.
- Sketching in the Sierras.
- Amazing art made of sticks and stones and embroidery floss.
- Analyzing a medieval tapestry.
- Umm, I don’t know how to categorize this. Odd stuff??
- The iron church.
- Take a course from Cambridge University—for free.
Today’s prompt is to imagine a window looking into a place or onto a particular scene. What do you see? What’s going on?
the view through the bars, I see a lot full of dusty rusty cars belonging to the corrections officers at the end of their shifts they get to drive away only to come back again tomorrow (they’re prisoners too) the gate slowly moves aside for them they travel to the end of the driveway and stop, then turn left or right they disappear from my sight nothing else to see nothing on the other side of the road just the desert stretching for miles only two ways to get out of here serve your time or in a body bag even if you could escape ain't nothing to hide behind nothing but dirt
Today’s official prompt is to write a poem that poses a series of questions. I came up with a few questions and got stuck. So I checked out Writer’s Digest’s prompt, which is to look over the poems we’ve written so far this month and choose something to rework (remix). The poem I chose to rework also has a lot of questions in it, so I picked some out and added them to what I had already, and I got unstuck. 🙂 Funny how inspiration works.
Remixing questions Where do I go from here? Why do fat chance and slim chance mean the same thing? How can I circumnavigate the obstacles that separate me from my goal? How come you look more beautiful every day? Will the trash cans ever be emptied? Will this pandemic ever be over? How many more days until Christmas? Will you marry me? How many more payments until the mortgage is paid off? Will the circle be unbroken? Who wrote the book of love? Who let the dogs out? What day is it? Who ate the last piece of cake? Does this dress make my butt look fat? How about those Yankees? How is insisting on your rights (not to wear a mask, not to take a vaccine) loving your neighbor? Is this how humanity ends?
While watching this video on the site:
. . . I was hit by how much I miss having small children in my life. My own five children range in age from 31 to 42. I have no grandchildren. My second teaching career, teaching elementary general music to grades kindergarten through sixth grade, helped fill that void, but I retired seven years ago. I know there are lots of ways I could voluntarily have children in my life again, but it’s just not possible right now.
Kidlessness my arms ache to cradle a dozing infant my eyes wish to marvel at the perfection of a tiny fingernail my fingers itch to caress the fuzzy cap of hair soft and smooth as mink my ears long to hear hearty peals of childish laughter to share the joy of a surprise peekaboo my lips desire to kiss the booboos and make them all better to whisper the words that will heal bruised feelings when I hear a mother claim she’s bored at home with the kids all day I want to shout you don’t know how blessed you are don’t waste a single moment you have together how precious they are how coveted to see the world anew from the perspective of a child to wonder at a pebble or a leaf or a feather to see the spark of understanding take hold and grow to witness increasing competence every day to share life with the one I love more than myself there’s nothing better
Today’s prompt is to write a parody of a poem. I chose to spoof this one:
Dreams as Idea Source As a friend to the writer commend me the Dream. You will find it can even portend. It will tease and seduce you and feed you ice cream Or lead you into a dead end. A writer who dwells on the best-seller list (the happiest place you can be!) Says a Dream is the best idea source that exists. Then, surely, the Dream is the key. So tell all the writers to sleep with a pad And a pencil right next to your bed And capture your Nightmare— or whatever you had. (Or write down your Dreamscape instead.)
Today’s prompt is to write an occasional poem, that is, a poem for an occasion.
To My First Grandchild I don’t know if I’ll still be alive when you’re born or even if you will be born don’t blame your parents I told them not to have you before they married I told them having children was a great responsibility I told them not to have you until they really wanted you I told them not to have you just because I wanted you for years I’ve listened to other grandparents talk about the joy of grandbabies and wondered if I would ever experience that joy I have the pleasure of my own five children (and the sorrow of the three who withered in my womb) but I long to smell your sweet baby breath to wonder anew at your tiny perfection to watch you grow, to discover how much you are like your parents and how unlike them you are if I’m gone before you get here know I am watching from heaven loving you and blessing you
Find a factual article about an animal. Make sure it repeats the name of the animal a lot. Now, go back through the text and replace the name of the animal with something else. You should wind up with some very funny and even touching combinations, which you can then rearrange and edit into a poem.
I chose an article about elephants. I replaced the word “elephants” with . . .
The Secrets of my Childhood the secrets of my childhood grow tusks that plow furrows into the soil of my existence into which I sow the despair of my longing led by a matriarch, the secrets of my childhood are organized into complex social structures that do not allow pathetic creatures like me to escape the secrets of my childhood tend to live in isolation and I am forced to dwell in the jungles of regret hidden from the outside world the secrets of my childhood need extensive land areas to survive I forage in the undergrowth for sustenance there will never be enough