Writing Practice Blog

5 Poetry Prompts after Juan Felipe Herrera

1/14/2021

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Herrera photo from Associated Press

Mentor Poem

Academy of American Poets · Juan Felipe Herrera: "Social Distancing"

SOURCE: poets.org Academy of American Poets

Poetry Writing Prompts

Start with any line from Herrera’s poem – and write a new poem from there, or in response.
Write a poem about all the ways you “distance.”
Write a poem about all the ways you “socialize.”

Try writing in a different form.
And remember to stay specific or “local” versus grand and encompassing.

Another Mentor Poem

Five Directions to My House
JUAN FELIPE HERRERA

1. Go back to the grain yellow hills where the broken speak of elegance
2. Walk up to the canvas door, the short bed stretched against the clouds
3. Beneath the earth, an ant writes with the grace of a governor
4. Blow, blow Red Tail Hawk, your hidden sleeve—your desert secrets
5. You are there, almost, without a name, without a body, go now
6. I said five, said five like a guitar says six.

Poetry Writing Prompts

Write a poetic description that is literally directions to “X.” Close your eyes and what you picture on the route becomes the poem.
Write a poetic description that is a path to something abstract or intangible – directions to childhood, directions to sanity, directions to . . .
Or don’t worry about directions, but write a poem with a numbered list or sequence or flow or succession or order or chronology or c o n c a t e n a t i o n .

For Discussion

Almost Livin' Almost Dyin'
JUAN FELIPE HERRERA

for all the dead
& hear my streets
with ragged beats & the beats
are too beat to live so the graves push out with
hands that cannot touch the makers of light & the
sun flames down through the roofs & the roots that slide
to one side & the whistlin' fires of the cops & the cops
in the shops do what they gotta do & your body's
on the fence & your ID's in the air & the shots
get fired & the gas in the face & the tanks
on your blood & the innocence all around & the
spillin' & the grillin' & the grinnin' & the game of Race
no one wanted & the same every day so U fire &
eat the smoke thru your long bones & the short mace
& the day? This last sweet Swisher day that turns to love
& no one knows how it came or what it is or what it says
or what it was or what for or from what gate
is it open is it locked can U pull it back to your life
filled with bitter juice & demon angel eyes even though
you pray & pray mama says you gotta sing she says
you got wings but from what skies from where could
they rise what are the things the no-things called love
how can its power be fixed or grasped so the beats
keep on blowin' keep on flyin' & the moon tracks your bed
where you are alone or maybe dead & the truth
carves you carves you & calls you back still alive
cry cry the candles by the last four trees still soaked
in Michael Brown red and Officer Liu red and
Officer Ramos red and Eric Garner whose
last words were not words they were just breath
askin' for breath they were just burnin’ like me like
we are all still burnin' can you hear me
can you can you feel me swaggin' tall & driving low &
talkin' fine & hollerin' from my corner crime & fryin’
against the wall

almost livin' almost dyin'
almost livin' almost dyin'

SOURCE: poetryfoundation.org

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10 Poetry Prompts: After Sedition and Epiphany

1/7/2021

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Mentor Poem

The Necessity
ALICE B. FOGEL

It isn't true about the lambs.
They are not meek.
They are curious and wild,
full of the passion of spring.
They are lovable,
and they are not silent when hungry.

Tonight the last of the triplet lambs
is piercing the quiet with its need.
Its siblings are stronger
and will not let it eat.

I am its keeper, the farmer, its mother,
I will go down to it in the dark,
in the cold barn,
and hold it in my arms.

But it will not lie still—it is not meek.

I will stand in the open doorway
under the weight of watching trees and moon,
and care for it as one of my own.

But it will not love me—it is not meek.

Drink, little one. Take what I can give you.
Tonight the whole world prowls
the perimeters of your life.

Your anger keeps you alive--
it's your only chance.
So I know what I must do
after I have fed you.

I will shape my mouth to the shape
of the sharpest words,
even those bred in silence.

I will impale with words every ear
pressed upon open air.
I will not be meek.

You remind me of the necessity
of having more hope than fear,
and of sounding out terrible names.

I am to cry out loud
like a hungry lamb, cry loud
enough to waken wolves in the night.

No one can be allowed to sleep.

SOURCE: poetryfoundation.org

Writing Prompts

When did you stop being meek?
What is your “necessity” right now? Explain three of them. Turn it into a poem.
Who do you know is “a hungry lamb?”
What will you “cry out loud” about?
The wolves?
What about “the necessity of having more hope than fear?”
Tell about your animal behaviors. Tell about the behaviors of an animal you know—meek or otherwise.

Try writing using some of Fogel’s style choices in this poem: short and direct sentences, use full words and very few contracted forms, metaphor to tell the larger story

Mentor Poem

Epiphany
JOANIE MACKOWSKI

A momentary rupture to the vision:
the wavering limbs of a birch fashion

the fluttering hem of the deity’s garment,
the cooling cup of coffee the ocean the deity

waltzes across. This is enough—but sometimes
the deity’s heady ta-da coaxes the cherries

in our mental slot machine to line up, and
our brains summon flickering silver like

salmon spawning a river; the jury decides
in our favor, and we’re free to see, for now.

A flaw swells from the facets of a day, increasing
the day’s value; a freakish postage stamp mails

our envelope outside time; hairy, claw-like
magnolia buds bloom from bare branches;

and the deity pops up again like a girl from
a giant cake. O deity: you transfixing transgressor,

translating back and forth on the border
without a passport. Fleeing revolutions

of same-old simultaneous boredom and
boredom, we hoard epiphanies under the bed,

stuff them in jars and bury them in the backyard;
we cram our closet with sunrise; prop up our feet

and drink gallons of wow!; we visit the doctor
because all this is raising the blood’s levels of

c6h3(oh)2chohch2nhch3, the heart caught
in the deity’s hem and haw, the oh unfurling

from our chest like a bee from our cup of coffee,
an autochthonous greeting: there. Who saw it?

SOURCE: poetryfoundation.org

Writing Prompts

Tell me about your most recent epiphanies
Make a list of daily sounds. Turn this discovery – this epiphany – into a poem.
Close our eyes and name every vision that flashes across your inner eyes.

For Discussion

Hear Anahera Gildea read her poem here.

Sedition — a letter to the writer from Meri Mangakāhia
ANAHERA GILDEA

Here’s what I had in mind, kōtiro, this
clipping at words like overgrown maikuku —
return the blankets of domestic life; don’t fold
washing or wear shoes, polish these rerenga kē.

Eh. But this world.
I s’pose neither of us planned to be in politics,
never did do what others told us to —
wahanui though, go on, get

your sedition on girl,
your agitator, your defiant speak
to each other eye to eye —
Māori been jailed for nouns, phrases;

butcher up a clause, get buried
in Pākehā kupu, then dig that
out like the old people. No one approved
of their language either.

Source: poetryfoundation.org

Check out this Poetry Podcast about Gildea's poem. Editors of Poetry Magazine, discuss the poem and the use of native language in a poem that references imprisonment for speaking one's native language.

What to Discuss?

Why words matter
Another view of sedition
Use of native language in a poem about the outlawing of a native language
Political writing
Word choices (survival and protest): clipping, polishing, get your sedition on, butcher up

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5 End of Year Writing Prompts

12/30/2020

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Overview

End of year writing or New Year's Eve prompts can be cliché and nudging in their attempt to capture something grand or summative. I hope the following prompts are less so!

First Mentor Poem

Not This
OLENA KALYTIAK DAVIS

my god all the days we have lived thru
saying

not this
one, not this,
not now,
not yet, this week
doesn’t count, was lost, this month
was shit, what a year, it sucked,
it flew, that decade was for
what? i raised my kids, they
grew i lost two pasts–i am
not made of them and they
are through.

we forget what
we remember:

each of the five
the fevered few

days we used to
fall in love.

Poetry Writing Prompts 1-3:

In a poem, complain about the year 2020, if you like.
Or, write a poem about the silver linings of the Covid year. What new skills did you develop? What did you discover? Until now what did you ‘forget to remember?’
Or, tell me about what you made in 2020.

Second Mentor Poem

A Toast
ILYA KAMINSKY

To your voice, a mysterious virtue,
to the 53 bones of one foot, the four dimensions of breathing,

to pine, redwood, sworn-fern, peppermint,
to hyacinth and bluebell lily,

to the train conductor’s donkey on a rope,
to smells of lemons, a boy pissing splendidly against the trees.

Bless each thing on earth until it sickens,
until each ungovernable heart admits: “I confused myself

and yet I loved—and what I loved
I forgot, what I forgot brought glory to my travels,

to you I traveled as close as I dared, Lord.”

SOURCE: Poets.org

Poetry Writing Prompts 4-5

4. Write a toast (in poem form) to three major things and three minor things.
5. Write a toast to the year: to what confused—what I loved—what I dared—to the keeping and
the going.
Try some of these phrases:
let it be known
thank you
here’s to
to the
cheers to
a toast to
bless ...

Remember: Local and personal is more interesting than all encompassing or erudite, grand summations.

Finally . . .

When Giving Is All We Have
ALBERTO RíOS
One river gives
Its journey to the next.
We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it--

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,
But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,
Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.
Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you
What I had to give—together, we made

Something greater from the difference.

SOURCE: Poets.org

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5 Holiday Poetry Prompts

12/24/2020

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It's Hygge Time

This Danish concept (pronounced hoo-gah) is adopted worldwide, I think especially in climates that presuppose the need for frequent warming and cozying! Louisa Thomsen Brits, the author of The Book of Hygge: The Danish Art of Contentment, Comfort, and Connection, calls it “a practical way of creating sanctuary in the middle of very real life.” This New Yorker article claims winter as the most Hygge time of year: "Hygge can be found in a bakery and in the dry heat of a sauna in winter, surrounded by your naked neighbors. It’s wholesome and nourishing, like porridge; Danish doctors recommend tea and hygge as a cure for the common cold. It’s possible to hygge alone, wrapped in a flannel blanket with a cup of tea, but the true expression of hygge is joining with loved ones in a relaxed and intimate atmosphere. "

And THAT'S how today's first poetry writing prompts originated. Check out the mentor poem before writing to the prompts.

Illustration by Amsterdam artist, Sanny van Loon for an article in MARGRIET magazine (NL) about the Danish concept 'Hygge.' See more of van Loon's work at www.sannyvanloon.com

Gif by Marc Rosenthal

First Mentor Poem

Neighbours: The Night The Lights Went Out
ANGI HOLDEN

She took a small canvas bag
from the cupboard under the sink,
filled it with an assortment of nightlights –
vanilla, blueberry, winter spice –
added a couple of dumpy glass holders,
a box of matches, a bar of chocolate.
The house on the corner was in darkness,
the knock on the door answered
with a tentative ‘Who’s there?’
Years later, they laughed about the tea,
the water boiled in a pan on the gas ring;
the shortbread eaten straight from a tin
intended as a Christmas gift;
the chocolate eaten square by square;
the shimmering candle flames
shining light into the darkest corners.

SOURCE: Poets' Corner

Poetry Writing Prompts 1 and 2

How do you hygge? Write a poem, outlining the steps.
Or, write a poem that vividly captures a specific hygge moment.

Second Mentor Poem

The Death of Santa Claus
CHARLES HARPER WEBB

He's had the chest pains for weeks,
but doctors don't make house
calls to the North Pole,

he's let his Blue Cross lapse,
blood tests make him faint,
hospital gown always flap

open, waiting rooms upset
his stomach, and it's only
indigestion anyway, he thinks,

until, feeding the reindeer,
he feels as if a monster fist
has grabbed his heart and won't

stop squeezing. He can't
breathe, and the beautiful white
world he loves goes black,

and he drops on his jelly belly
in the snow and Mrs. Claus
tears out of the toy factory

wailing, and the elves wring
their little hands, and Rudolph's
nose blinks like a sad ambulance

light, and in a tract house
in Houston, Texas, I'm 8,
telling my mom that stupid

kids at school say Santa's a big
fake, and she sits with me
on our purple-flowered couch,

and takes my hand, tears
in her throat, the terrible
news rising in her eyes.

SOURCE: Library of Congress

Poetry Writing Prompts 3, 4, and 5

Vividly relay the moment when you learned the truth about Santa Claus. (Remember, you can fictionalize.)

Two point of view prompts I particularly like (ala Read Poetry):

Write a poem from the p.o.v. of the Salvation Army bellringer
Write a poem from the p.o.v. of someone on duty Christmas eve or day

Finally . . .

How many Hygge points?

Some Hygge Healing

Albert King

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Free Association Poetry Prompts

12/17/2020

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An artist working under the name "segawa thirty-seven" puts a modern spin on iconic Japanese woodblock prints. Here the wind sweeps away papers in "Ijiri in Sugura Province" by Katsushika Hokusai (1830-5)

Read more about the gif artwork at Gif Magazine.

This week, we switched up the format! It keeps writing practice fresh and the mind nimble. Instead of starting with mentor poems, we practiced writing with free association prompts, then looked at poems that could have been written after such a prompt.

First Writing Prompt

This writing exercise was first posed by poet Kenyatta Rogers in a virtual summer institute through the Poetry Foundation in Chicago this year. I liked the idea so much, wanted to try it here in PoetryBones.

In this challenge, Rogers suggests taking a page of text (newspaper, textbook, magazine) and drawing a large "X" from top left corner down to the bottom right corner, and from top right down to bottom left corner.

Write down any of the words that the pencil lines cross through. Write a poem, using all of those words. Or write a poem using only 10 of the words.

A variation I added was to use several words from one quadrant to be in conversation with words from its opposing quadrant -- and see what happens. With this same thought, use the words that rest just ON one of the lines (not underneath it) in dialogue with the words on the other line. Try all sorts of free associations with the "Make an X" poem!

Second Writing Prompt

This one comes courtesy of the Art Institute of Chicago's TAP program.

Step One: At The Collections page of the Art Institute of Chicago, type JAR, BOWL, or BASKET in the search bar. From the image bank, choose your own “gratitude jar.” A gratitude jar is a mindfulness practice that has you writing something you're thankful for, or a positive experience from the day on a slip of paper and dropping it in the jar, and at some point you might read from the jar. FOR NOW, the goal is to choose a vessel to hold such slips of paper!

Step Two: Write a poem about the jar. Or write a poem about three positive experiences you had today. Or somehow include both in your poem! Write for 10 min. Ready? Begin.

Mentor Poems

A Wicker Basket
ROBERT CREELEY

Comes the time when it’s later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter--

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor’s,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes--

So that’s you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know--

Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz--

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we’re gone.
She turns me on--

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it--

Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket.

The Jar
A.F. MORITZ

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...the boost your writing practice needs

5 Poetry Prompts after Juan Felipe Herrera

Mentor Poem

Poetry Writing Prompts

Another Mentor Poem

Poetry Writing Prompts

For Discussion

10 Poetry Prompts: After Sedition and Epiphany

Mentor Poem

Writing Prompts

Mentor Poem

Writing Prompts

For Discussion

5 End of Year Writing Prompts

Overview

First Mentor Poem

Poetry Writing Prompts 1-3:

Second Mentor Poem

Poetry Writing Prompts 4-5

Finally . . .

5 Holiday Poetry Prompts

It's Hygge Time

First Mentor Poem

Poetry Writing Prompts 1 and 2

Second Mentor Poem

Poetry Writing Prompts 3, 4, and 5

Finally . . .

Free Association Poetry Prompts

First Writing Prompt

Second Writing Prompt

Mentor Poems

Author

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