Symphony Score for My Ex-Boyfriend: Day 5

I

This will be the first movement

Take the stage with a humble bow

Look at the concertmaster with blue eyes she can trust

Gently tap your baton to the ictus

You'll want to keep the pulse steady like a clock

Keep the melody sweet and proud

II

This one will heat up

You might have to take off your tailcoat

Lift your hands higher, higher

Until the choir sounds like heaven

Think Handel's "Messiah"

And butterflies in your tummy

You must depart from the podium

In favor of the percussion section

Come backstage

Ring my body like a bell

III

This will be the most romantic of waltzes

The audience will begin to yawn

There is nothing you can do about it

Aunt Nancy will whisper in the front row

"This guy's no Bernstein"

But the crowd will be patient

During this unstylish dance

IV

Now this is the movement

where you will fall apart

As the cellos ignore your frantically waving hands

A double bass will lose its endpin

And the splintering wood will come crashing to the stage

The melody here will be your scream

As you obliterate the choir

As you toss the baton

Aiming for a clarinetist's eye

Yes this is when the crowd might begin to stand up

And say "let's go to the movies."

Prompt: "Finally, today’s (optional) prompt is inspired by musical notation, and particularly those little italicized –and often Italian – instructions you’ll find over the staves in sheet music, like con allegro or andante. First, pick a notation from the first column below. Then, pick a musical genre from the second column. Finally, pick at least one word from the third column. Now write a poem that takes inspiration from your musical genre and notation, and uses the word or words you picked from the third column." Chart found here: https://www.napowrimo.net/day-five-12/

Portrait of a Family: Day 4

My mom loved to hang Chagall prints
Wherever she couldn't find the studs
My dad would laugh because
The stud is right here, baby!

But he didn't want the modernism
Deep swirls of gouaches that command intelligent commentary
What my dad loved were the offhand sketches
Graphite doodles on the back of cereal boxes

I would beg him for drawings like he was a children's clown
And I wanted a balloon dog
I want the Penguin from Batman, Daddy

And he would make it appear

Immaculately conceived in sharpie

I didn't commission his magnum opus, though
It was his most complex work: Four sharpies of different colors
One for each of us:
My mom, her curls scribbled in red
Him, a tall line in blue
My sister, like a little bobblehead in gray
And me, a swaddled baby in green

When my dad got bitter and lonely
And all he did was watch the dystopian news and go to the store

When my mom got surgeries and surgeries

And a lonely anger rooted itself deep in her

When my sister moved out
And took her warm peace-making with her

When I misplaced blame again and again
And got thorny and cruel

That nuclear family sat on the mantle

Four smiles preserved in a tasteful silver frame

Reminding us that our quartet used to play in harmony

Prompt: "In her poem, “Living with a Painting,” Denise Levertov describes just that. And well, that’s a pretty universal experience, isn’t it? It’s the rare human structure – be it a bedroom, kitchen, dentist’s office, or classroom – that doesn’t have art on its walls, even if it’s only the photos on a calendar. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem about living with a piece of art."

Yarn Barf: Day 3

I am not a musician I am a poet

See it has something to do with the kinds of folks
I'd grab a drink with

I asked a flautist about perfection

He said something about perfect pitch and expert technique

The bar is made of barbed wire and the maestro said jump

He tunes to A440 and says how high?

I asked a writer about perfection

And he took my hand

To say something about forgiving

and the way dandelion wine warms your belly

He said I will see you again and if not

I will see you in the sunrise

And I guess what I am trying to say

Is I want to take someone's hand

With human and forgiving words

I want to unravel the black yarn in their gut

With my imperfect fingers

And grip them in a way that makes them

want to confess

Prompt: "The American poet Frank O’Hara was an art critic and friend to numerous painters and poets In New York City in the 1950s and 60s. His poems feature a breezy, funny, conversational style. His poem “Why I Am Not a Painter” is pretty characteristic, with actual dialogue and a playfully offhand tone. Following O’Hara, today we challenge you to write a poem that obliquely explains why you are a poet and not some other kind of artist – or, if you think of yourself as more of a musician or painter (or school bus driver or scuba diver or expert on medieval Maltese banking) – explain why you are that and not something else!"

Brotherstuff: Day 2

To Brody

We met back in August, back when

My sundial said "now" twelve times

And I was stubborn like a disease

Our eye contact was entire

as a blood transfusion

And I found a new truth:

There are no only children.

I have never been patient or prophetic

Until I met a boy from Santa Fe

Whose marrow, I'm convinced

Is the same as mine

Nordic colors and watercolor eyes

Antigens I recognize

No spit swab no genealogy

We are composed of the same brotherstuff

Prompt: "Anne Carson is a Canadian poet and essayist known for her contemporary translations of Sappho and other ancient Greek writers. For example, consider this version of Sappho’s Fragment 58, to which Carson has added a modern song-title, enhancing the strange, time-defying quality of the translation. And just as many songs do, the poem directly addresses a person or group – in this case, the Muses. Taking Carson’s translation as an example, we challenge you to write a poem that directly addresses someone, and that includes a made-up word, an odd/unusual simile, a statement of “fact,” and something that seems out of place in time (like a Sonny & Cher song in a poem about a Greek myth)."

Exquisite Corpse: Day 1

A chicken’s head

Pornstar tits
A mermaid’s tail
Clown shoes

The folded printer paper in elementary art
Is the way I now contort myself
Back and forth for strange body parts

At the bedroom showing of our diptych
We paint a disjointed picture
Foreign parts collide
Disembodied hands
Alien legs
Your twisted heart
My heavy head

Arts and crafts in the bed of a stranger
Let’s make these broken bodies
Into something exquisite

Prompt: "As with pretty much any discipline, music and art have their own vocabulary. Today, we challenge you to take inspiration from this glossary of musical terms, or this glossary of art terminology, and write a poem that uses a new-to-you word. For (imaginary) extra credit, work in a phrase from, or a reference to, the Florentine Codex."