Prompt 21: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that … uses lines that have a repetitive set-up.”
First, a tweet that hits too close to home.
Next, the badge in the photo above, under bestia, says: “Nobody can live alone.” I know that many of you are living alone, but we have each other for company. The sunset photo is from my father’s calendar for April and it says “Goodnight, Piran”.
And finally, the poem.
Eye want I won’t go gently or ungently into any kind of night or day I won’t go out on a limb I won’t go out on a whim I won’t go out on the town I won’t go out on a date I won’t go out of my way I won’t go out of my mind I won’t go out I won’t go I wont I won 👁👁
This day in my NaPoWriMo history (2020): A “translation” of a poem in an unknown language. Mine was in Albanian.
The understanding is mine Do not wade in the shallow water, my mother told me, you might fall or a crab might pinch you. Do not go in the shallow woods, that is where the devil lurks, warned the priest. Do not read by the shallow light, my father advised, you will ruin your eyes. Do not wish for a shallow grave, aunts and uncles agreed, there is no escape from the dark hole. Do not surround yourself with shallow people, said grandpa and grandma, whom I obeyed the most. Do not speak shallow words, life taught me – they always return and demand to be buried deeper.
This day in my NaPoWriMo history (2019):
Event Horizon It has begun. Everyone’s biggest fear is coming true. A writer is losing words. A construction worker fears the abyss. A mother is watching as her child nears the edge. A dog owner is whistling in vain. An extrovert doesn’t know what to say. A proofreader is unable to spot errors. An internet addict is losing connection. A singer is losing voice. A model is losing looks. A painter is losing sight. A photographer is losing legs. An actress is gaining years. A ballet dancer is gaining weight. People are losing jobs to robots. Walruses have no space. Polar bears have no ice. Butterflies are under attack by fungi. Trees are lifting their roots to walk. The last mammal is being farmed by spiders.