For today’s prompt, write a haphazard poem. The poem itself could be haphazardly put together, I suppose. But it could also be about a haphazard situation. Or whatever haphazard thing you can bend the poem into.

DSC_0726.JPGHaphazard raises so many ideas with me, I can hardly think today of anything but poetry. Though I made a nice buttered chicken curry without burning down the house. My first though was to write haphazardly, but experience has told me to feed the Muse first, get the poetic muscles moving first. So I thought of my writing routine and how haphazard it is, how haphazard it should be, to some degree. Controlled, intentional haphazardness. I wrote of a writing day.

A Day In The Life – how to write a poem

Feed her with some poetry
Feed her with some prose
Read a Munro short story
Or a poem about crows

Take a walk through a park
Ponder puddles and leaves
Imagine how the gravestones stark
Become servants on their knees

Find yourself a coffee shop
Have a drink or two
Write a poem about your pop
Write a song of a cow saying moo

Don’t forget to chat with friends
Find the troubles of the day
Keep an ear for open trends
Listen to what strangers say

Walk again through the streets
Let ideas bounce off windows
Find yourself something to eat
Share it with imaginary bimbos

After napping, eating, bathing
Sit down at your station
Get to work on engraving
Computer files with your creation

gty_the_american_way_ll_120320_wblogI wanted the next poem to feel haphazard and nonsensical, but of course it needs to make sense in my head. I took a nap after my curry lunch. I was full and sleepy, but I scribbled some lines as I lie there. The opening term, The Sobriquet men, haunted my dreams. I repeated it too many times for comfort. Who knows, maybe it will become a novel some day.  The poem, I think — I don’t know if I will ever be sure about this mess — is not about specific individuals, though the Trumps, Cruzes, and Boehners did come to mind as did the so called 1%, but more about an idea. I think it is about the so-called American Dream (which I have written about), the we’re number one attitude that prevails in the country oblivious of the threats such isolationism creates. I am now hearing Washington called Rome too often. I use the literary device paradox, in a sort of abstract way. Paradox is the meeting of two extremes that cannot meet and is, I suppose, by definition haphazard form. Enjoy, if you can.

Humanity Waits

The sobriquet men despise the nameless
unable to live in the wide open spaces, surrounded by walls
Only the truly crazy would leave the fake sanity

If all dots were connected, per Remington
your monikers wouldn’t matter, he said
the meek will inherit the earth but he never promised gold wrapping paper
or he’d make wine for the previous owners’ funerals

Your rights will never be liberated and your liberty never freed
Call shenanigans all you want, but words have never unlocked shackles

You’ll pounce on cats who pounce on rats who pounce on Big Macs
and in the end we’ll lose track of you too, for with too many names
Just as you want, to hide
An island will be discovered and the stranded brought home

Humanity waits