01 April 2009

April 1 - Poem A Day Challenge - Origin

Having taken momentary leave of my senses, (I blame the recent snows) I decided to participate in Robert Lee Brewer's (no relation) April Poem A Day Challenge over at Poetic Asides.

He's offering up poetry prompts each day, which can be a help. 30 days, 30 poems. Given my anal-retentive need to edit every poem many times, this could be interesting. Can I relinquish control long enough to actually write and post a poem every day in April? We'll see. I managed to get one finished for Day 1 – between reading the prompt, thinking on it, and posting it to comments, it took me four hours. And that was with about an hour of fiddling with the poem, rearranging line breaks, pondering word choices… and being able to post from work. For some reason, Poetic Asides is not on the blocked list. (Must not sound threatening, or fun) I'll take advantage while I can.

I thought I'd also try and document a bit of what went into the creation of the poem, both for my self and for those who always ask, "Where do you get your (weird) ideas?" Being a process junkie, I can sympathize.

Today's Prompt – "For today's prompt, I want you to write an origin poem. It can be the origin of a word, person, plant, idea, etc. Have fun with it.(Note: Through this challenge, please feel free to use the prompt as a springboard to being creative. There is no right or wrong way to interpret the prompts--so take them in any direction you want.)"

I happened to have been reading mythology and creation myths of late, Gilgamesh, the Bible, Slavic and Hindu as well as pondering my own stormy relationship with higher deities. I love the language in Genesis, especially the first line. "In the beginning…" Ranks right up there with "Once Upon A Time" for me as a story starter.

Poem A Day Challenge

April 1, 2009

Genesis, Too

In the Beginning, you called us

your children, offered land,

life, beliefs, a son. Now

you don't communicate

much at all. You used to dial

direct –




And it was good.

Angel, prophet, or saint,

we were all related, one happy,

life-sized family.

Suddenly, everything changed.

Conversation was a dying art.

Layers of bureaucracy grew

between us. Your people

would contact my people—




It wasn't good.

No offense, but I miss

the personal connection.

Intermediaries don't sprawl

on their backs in the grass, search

for redemption in the clouds. Look,

I don't want to be a burden

or complain without cause,

and the state of telecommunications

being what it is today, I have to say it.

Talk to me.


No comments: