And here’s the second place prize, courtesy of Margo Froehlich of Brooke & Birdie Interior Design:

I haven’t written a poem or even thought about writing a poem since May 3^rd. I knew I needed to take a break after the poem-a-day challenge in April, but I didn’t plan on stopping this long. The curious thing is that I don’t feel guilty about it. I’m not beating myself over the head with the notion that I should be writing. There’s no pang in my stomach when I bring a purse too small to hold my poet’s notebook. My scientist-friends tell me that this period of non-writing is simply a time for storing up potential energy that will soon be converted into kinetic energy.

A similar pause in my poetry happened in February after writing over 40 poems for the “One Love” event. Like then, I have been biding my time by reading while waiting for the muse to make time for me in her busy schedule. This month, I’ve read:

1) The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald – Gatsby tells the story of the balance between wealth and excess and hope and self-deception and how we can go overboard on either side. I wanted to re-read the book before the movie came out, and at 180 pages, it only took 4 days.

2) The New Black by Evie Shockley – I saw Evie Shockley at AWP moderating a panel “Post Black? Culture, Craft, and Race in Verse,” which examined race in poetry. I had heard of Evie Shockley, but never read her work until now.

3) The Selected Essays of Denise Levertov – I picked up this book from UNC Davis by mistake. I thought it was her selected poems collection. But it had been a long time since I immersed myself in poetic craft book and the book has one of my favorite essays, “On the Function of the Line,” so I decided to hold onto it for a little bit longer. Plus I’ll use it to prepare for the upcoming podcast on Black Mountain Poets.

4) The Really Short Poems of A.R. Ammons – This book by a North Carolina poet is the June selection for the Living Poetry book club. I could probably finish it in a one-hour sitting, but lately, I’ve been filling those hours with naps instead. There’s always the bus!

Last month was the 4th year I celebrated National Poetry Month by participating in the April Poem-a-Day (PAD) Challenge. I wish I could say writing 30 poems for 30 days gets easier with time, but it is marathon writing experience. There’s a point in the month where I hit the wall and I have to push through. Fortunately, I’ve got a crowd of supporters whose words of encouragement keep me going until the end–which brings me to the first lesson from this year’s challenge:

1) Let MORE people know you’re doing the Challenge: Back in November, I made a public promise to share the April PAD poems on this blog and I’m so glad I fulfilled that promise. Posting the poems here introduced me to a lot of other poets and lovers of poetry who left comments or started following my blog. And I started to follow a few new blogs myself.

2) Work can be your muse: As a double-life poet, I didn’t have time to start writing once the prompt went up on the Poetic Asides blog; I had to get through an 8-hour work day first. Fortunately my “work husband” and other colleagues were more than happy to help me figure out what to do with the prompt, particularly the <blank> prompts that came out on Thursdays. My colleagues filled in the blank for the poems on day 4 (Hold that Hot Potato) and on day 11 (In Case of a Wild Hair), and work was clearly the subject of Day 15 infested poem, “During the Legislative Session” (my boss’ favorite).

3) Play with form: Sunday prompts in April were the time to use a specific poetic form. I was introduced to the sevenling, the senryu, and the shadorma, and wrote my first real sonnet (iambic pentameter and everything)! I also wrote in two of my favorite forms–the villanelle and the pantoum–and tried a bop. Writing in form makes me focus on the essence of the poem, which helps me tighten the language and imagery.

4) Be prepared to write anywhere: I usually have my journal, but I don’t  carry it with me all the time. Bringing a mini-notebook helps, so does the pad of scratch paper at the office and the iPhone Notes app. Inspiration will come at any time–even at milongas!

5) You will lose sleep: I promised myself I wouldn’t go to sleep before I sent out a poem, which meant some nights I didn’t get to bed until after 2 AM (remember those milongas?). Only once did I fall asleep while composing a poem, but I woke up at 1 AM to finish it. As much as I love sleep, sacrificing a few hours was worth it. Besides, May is a great month to catch up on sleep!

 If you have any lessons learned from the PAD challenge, let me know by leaving a comment.

Prompt (Two for Tuesday): Write a finished/never finished poem

Unfinished

I am an open parenthesis,
holding space for your run-on
stories and secrets as silent
as the e in hope.

I fall for your non sequiturs
time after time, hold my breath
with every comma, ride
the endless wave of ampersands.

Don’t leave me dangling
on the participle of our future.
End this complex sentence full stop
or with an exclamation of your love.

~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013

And Yet, You Can’t Turn Away

You watch him move in slow
circles on the floor, watch the face
of the woman in his arms open wide
to his embrace. She’s no match
for him, you think, with her clunky
shoes and choppy steps, but she gives
herself freely. He will take it all
until the music stops. He turns and walks
your way—eyes inviting, arms promising
comfort. You slide into his elbow fold, inhaling
the scent of midnight visits and tangled sheets
and hollow words and ringless phones—holding on
to each moment as if this dance has no end.

~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013

Voilà

the small boy
pounces on the mat
and voilà
he has made
a wondrous discovery—
automatic doors

~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013

Prompt: Write a mechanical poem

Mechanical Masterpiece

“Practically unsinkable,”
they said. Nearly perfect
as human brains could make
her—that delicate balance
between strength and beauty:
the gilded opulence of chandeliers
encased in a majestic mix of iron
and steel, girded by three million
rivets lodged in her hull. Red rockets
streamed through the sky as she slid
into the river, steamed down to the Irish Sea
with her massive engines rumbling
until the Atlantic opened up and let her in.
In a word, Titanic, destined to be the machine
that was no match for the moonless ocean—
calm and saltwater cold—and the maze
of ice mountains, floating free. We remember
the remnants of her wreckage: broken cargo
hauls, large iron wrenches, hundreds of intact
au gratin plates, watertight portholes
like hollow shells, five vials of perfume,
the melody of “Sugar Moon”, a lump of coal,
the warning bell.

~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013

Cast

Copper
brown
bubbling
molten
poured
into the shape
of women
who stew
in silent pain
others mistake
as strength.
I’ve been cast
for the role of
matriarch
muse
mysterious
mermaid
siren
seductress
temptress
tomboy
femme fatale
ball buster
diva—
martyrs
all the same.
How do I break
the mold?

~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013

Everyone is a Little Crazy

Take for instance, the tiny old Black man
dancing in the subway station.
He’s too dapper to be desperate—
dressed in a pinstripe suit and vest—
his plastic gold pocket watch
jingles from the chain
as he step hops step hops
between beams. He tips his fedora
to the little ones who point
and giggle as their mother
shushes and shoos them down
the platform. We catch each other’s
raised eyebrows, shake our hanging
heads in unison at the plight
of this poor old soul who shuffles
every night at 42nd Street to invisible music.
We rather just go home, wind our way
through the city’s bowels, push past
the after-five throng, sprint and miss
the bus, the short green light
on Eastern Parkway, the last chance
to pick up tomorrow’s dry cleaning.
We think it’s better to plop on the couch
or crawl into bed, stuff our emptiness
with Oreos and lose our minds
in the glare of the screen. We think it’s better
to wake up every day, turn down
our white, white collars, smooth
wrinkles out of worn pants, and pretend
like we’re not walking around with no clothes.

~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013