Hyperponderating

(Verb) Thinking of too many things at once.
"Advice for the Revolution"By Erin Carlson Today I skipped the prompt and did a blackout poem inspired by these lovely poems here.

"Advice for the Revolution"

By Erin Carlson 

Today I skipped the prompt and did a blackout poem inspired by these lovely poems here.

This Is Just to Say

I kept talking

not bothering to plug my mouth

and dance around the awkward

like you wanted me to

You squirmed

and I kept talking

and for once

I wasn’t uncomfortable

Forgive me,

it was delightful

to be so very very

honest

Erin Carlson 

Today’s prompt came from my lovely sister. We wrote False Apology poems. She was inspired by the book “Forgive Me, I Meant To Do It” by Gail Carson Levine which is a series of false apology poems from fairy tales.  False apology poems are styled after William Carlos Williams’ “This is Just to Say” which you can read here.

Bad Day Breakfast

Start with a granola base,

the vanilla raspberry kind,

because it is the best.

(Not too sweet,

plus a little kick

in the freeze dried fruit)

Pour it in a small bowl.

(Brightly colored is best,

especially on rainy days,

when the sun can’t be found.)

Mix in the extras:

(As inspired by missing roommates)

chopped pecans,

(for a taste of holiday)

slivered almonds,

(because they remind you of oatmeal

and long lasting breakfast cheer)

Crasins,

(to vary the texture.)

and,

if it’s a lonely day,

a handful of chocolate chips

(to honor of sisters with good ideas) .

To finish you must choose with care:

yogurt makes for slower eating

(so the memories last longer),

and milk makes everything float

(except the chocolate chips,

which sink to the bottom

so you eat them all last).

Your finished bowl of nostalgia

will hold you over ‘till noon.*

Enjoy!  

*It is recommended to supplement

your noontime meal with cheese.

It will help your body retain

the happiness nutrients

absorbed during breakfast.   

Erin Carlson 

Todays prompt was from my sister, who is my NaPoWriMo writing buddy. She recommended that I write a recipe poem, a poem form she made up that mixes cooking instructions with metaphors and reflection.  

Storm Songs

The star canvas was covered,

shrouded by rain storehouses

ready to release their bounty.

I did not mourn too deeply

for my hidden sky glitter,

comforted by sounds of

cloud bounty splattering

against the concrete paths.

I had endured too many moon cycles

of crystallized rain blowing

and icy cloud’s breath flowing

to not rejoice at dreaming

to the murmurs of cloud bounty. 

Erin Carlson 

The prompt was to write a poem using kennings. Kennings were metaphorical phrases developed in Nordic sagas. At their simplest, they generally consist of two nouns joined together, which imaginatively describe or name a third thing. The phrase “whale road,” for example, could be used instead of “sea” or “ocean,” and “sky candle” could be used for “sun.”

Hope

O Hope!

You reside in my chest

expanding in time with my heartbeat

and drawing the world in through my mouth

down into my blood.  

It is so easy to forget about you

until my blood fills with sickness,

and your corridors get so clogged

my breathing stumbles over itself

and I finally notice how much I miss you.

But oh how alive I feel

when you expand to full capacity,

no longer hindered by the doldrums of sickness.

Deep breaths making me dance faster

my heart beat truer

and my mind see clearer,

all reminding me that I am alive.

And life is good. 

Erin Carlson 

The prompt was to pick a tangible noun (like “door” or “beer”) and an intangible noun (like “sorrow” or “memories”) Using the sentences you found by Googling the tangible noun you were to write a poem by replacing the original noun with its intangible partner. 

I chose instead to write a poem about my tangible noun, lungs, and then replace it with my intangible noun at the end. It was a bit more fun that way. 

Glow Stars

I sleep amidst stars tonight,

the small plastic patches

splattered across the wall,

glowing to guide in sweet dreams.

My glow stars are a special kind of magic,

that takes simple sturdy walls

and turns them into the infinity of space, 

shifting the room from a cage 

to  the warm hug of a star filled sky. 

Deep Roots

I ain’t got no answer for

how to grow a woman from the ground,

but I know she needs deep roots.

Bring on the rain,

so her roots are fed,

and her branches learn

to dance in the wind

but not break.

Plant her feet in the mud,

and let her extend out,

roots spreading wide

until she is hand in hand with her neighbors,

their roots stay tangled in the ground.

Then, as the storms come,

they can sway together in the wind.

Erin Carlson 

Another poem inspired by a set of song titles. Because I was inspired by my sister :) 

The Chronological Responses of Giovanni Schnarkles to Being Dumped for His Younger Brother at The Only Bowling Alley for One Hundred Miles.  

  1. The hazards of love 3 (Revenge!)
  2. This is not a test of familial love.
  3. What is better than revenge?
  4. I could run away.
  5. The city! 

Today’s prompt was to put itunes on shuffle and then use the titles of the first 5 songs to write a poem. This is mine. It is also fir Lindsey. 

Lost Photographs

I’ll stumble into them
as walk ‘round corners

and look up from the pavement.

Quirks of lines and light

so perfectly framed my mind flashes to

aperture settings, shutter speeds,

and how to MacGyver a tripod

before I remember I have no camera.

I’m left standing there at a loss,

not ready to leave the moment,

but having no way to capture it

other then standing very still

and pleading with my brain

to remember all the details

of how the light hits just so

to make the colors shine

and the lines pop

and my heart skip a beat.

- Erin Carlson

Tutus and Boots

Mom looked out the window

and said the neighbor girls were

running around the blacktop

in tutus and boots.

I rushed to the window to see them,

because tutus and boots

tutus and boots!

Could it get any better?

But the girls had moved

leaving the parking lot behind

to visit the river.

I thought of them all afternoon.

Did the tutus have sparkles?

Were they purple? Rumpled? Short?

Were they rain boots or cowboy boots?

I won’t ever know.

But I like to imagine them,

running ‘cross the blacktop

in sparkly rainbow tutus.

One with yellow rain boots

tall enough almost reach her knees,

and the other in red cowgirls boots,

toes slightly scuffed from dancing. 

By Erin Carlson