Chicken Little

My small group of Stafford Challenge writers meets in the evening on the first Monday of every month, and each of us has a copy of Write the Story (Piccadilly Press) for prompts that take us into the random word zone. Does this book recognize my life, or do the stories I find in it echo my life? It’s uncanny sometimes how I feel like the words are swirling in some sort of mystic veil, landing in the poem so….knowingly.

Today’s poem comes from the book Write The Story (Piccadilly, 2020), where a prompt is given with a scenario and words to be used in the writing.

Story: A Character with OCD in the Worst Possible Situation

words: monastery, chalkboard, elephant, coast, turmeric, poppy, defeat, chessboard, inhumane, search

Unmedicated

that twitching eye tips his hand

indicates defeat

his monastery invaded

by enemies

of Chicken Little

furry belly yellow as turmeric

and just as sour ~ for him,

the sky forever falls,

the elephant in the room

following him on his

chessboard moves of inhumanity

like nails on a chalkboard

as he seeks and blames traitors

coasts the world for incriminating evidence

his complex ripe as a poppy

ready to burst wide open

feathering the fields of Oz

with his next unmedicated tantrum

January 28: Traumatic Tanka

I’m writing today’s poem using a Write the Story prompt to create a Tanka, which is a poem of 5 lines with syllable counts 5/7/5/7/7. I used Matthew 18;22 as inspiration for the final line of the poem.

Prompt: Mash Up Two Classic Fairy Tales into One Story

Words to be Used: fireplace, sword, grove, stoke, underbrush, mourn, seven, friendship, cardboard, giver

Fairy Tale Slain

green grove of friendship

stoke the fireplace with a sword

mourn cardboard ashes

givers lurk in underbrush

no seventy times seven

January 27: In the Middle of a Long, Cold Winter

This company also publishes “Write The Poem” which I will also share in an upcoming blog post

I was browsing through our local used bookstore on a lunch break last week when, on my way out the door, a book caught my eye. Its title, Write the Story, glimmered in gold lettering down the spine, as if to plead: Hey, over here! See my sparkle? Take me home with you!

Already reaching for the doorknob, I changed course and went back to check it out. I expected a how-to on the writing process. Instead, I discovered the hidden treasure of a delightful writing challenge. Each page bore a titled topic with ten pre-determined (seemingly random) words to be used in the writing of a story.

The pages appeared to be blank except for one on which someone had penciled a story to satisfy one singular challenge and apparently moved on with life, abandoning the book and donating it to the bookstore, where it now rested in my hands. Treasure, indeed!

Poems to be written. Winter seeds of poetry, all scattered between the covers of one book. Destined for me, cast off like a stray no one else wanted, knowing all the while that a cultivator of words and writing would be most likely to pick it up, fall in love with it, take it home, and feed it.

I bought it and realized that other members of my small-group Stafford Challenge writers must have a copy. When we commit to writing a poem a day for a year, we all need a little prompting from time to time when the well runs dry or life gets too busy to think deeply like a poet. Once back inside the car, I turned on the heat and warmed up. I ordered three more copies online from the parking lot to send to Glenda Funk, Barb Edler, and Denise Krebs upon their arrival. Then I took a few snapshots to send them in the mean time.

Today’s title: In the Middle of a Long, Cold Winter

Words: opera, redeem, razor, lungs, grace, futuristic, tread, vest, powder, milkshake

In the Middle of a Long, Cold Winter

like that one lingering note

concluding a futuristic opera
treading frozen spring water

winter cleanses our lungs

razor-sharp alveoli icicles fall
sun breaks out in a crescendo
of seasonal transition
melting the white powder
milkshake from the mountainside
grace of its forgiving kiss
beckoning crocus, groundhog-like peepers
stretching up through frozen ground
ready to crawl out of bed
emerge from quilted slumber
shed their corm-sewn bud vests and
sing a new song