No serious bloodshed, just poppies in images and rock’n’roll in words, as spurred on by a fellow poet.
Prompt 23: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that responds, in some way, to another.”
I have read poems on many fascinating subjects this April, such as artichokes, cassettes, heartfelt childhood memories and cat surveillance (to name but a few, I love so many of my fellow poets!), but the greatest stir came yesterday by way of Angela van Son and her Illumination. She has been working really hard this month and I love many of her daily offerings. Yesterday’s was something else. I hope she won’t mind if I repeat it here in full:
Illumination, by Angela van Son When I find myself In troubled times Mother Mary comes to me She speaks words of wisdom Let it bleed
She says that this poem has at least three different meanings, and if you go to her blog and look at the accompanying art, you may find them all, but to me it provides an instant happiness boost since it so unapologetically and some would say criminally combines two of the greatest, The Beatles and The Stones.
So I decided that the world needs more fun in this direction. Here is my cento with nothing but lyrics by either one or the other.
Let It Bleed It is the evening of the day I sit and watch the children play Smiling faces I can see them laugh at me And I hear them say: “Don’t play with me Cause you’re playing with fire” He likes to keep His fire engine clean It’s a clean machine War, children It’s just a shot away I tell you love, sister It’s just a kiss away It’s all you need I see my red door I must have it painted Blackbird singing In the dead of night I should be sleeping like a log My love will laugh with me Before the morning Comes the sun And I say It’s all right You can’t always get What you want But if you try Sometimes you just might find Love is all you need
The Beatles: All You Need Is Love, Blackbird, A Hard Day’s Night, Here Comes the Sun, Penny Lane, You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away
The Rolling Stones: As Tears Go By, Gimme Shelter, Let It Bleed (title only), Paint It Black, Play With Fire, You Can’t Always Get What You Want
Here is the best kind of bleeding: some latest poppy photos from around the corner.
This day in my NaPoWriMo history (2019):
Oh my dog I talk to you. Probably I never talked to anybody as much as I talk to you. You are here and I am here and we have each other to talk to. Sometimes I drive with you in the back and it’s stressful enough to drive around Rome but then I have to park too so I offer it to you, this part. You seem so fresh and eager. You always wish to take my worries away, melt my sorrow, lick my wounds. Especially the ones you caused. I started explaining to you when you were little what would happen next, where we were going, who was coming over, so now you count on it. For your birthday my mother wrote you a poem. Not a poem, a rap, she is a rapper. And you were staring into the speakers as my mom was rapping, alert, without a move, fully confident that it was for you. I tried many things when you were little: showing you five fingers for a five-minute wait, both hands for ten, and both hands twice for twenty, and if I did this last you lied down because clearly the wait would be long. I hid behind a tree for you to find me. I waited for quite a while and then you came strolling by from the other side as if asking: “Coming?” The way you find things I lose. I started to count on that. The last time was a button by the road. Before doing the same walk the next day I showed you the remaining buttons on my coat, looked into your eyes and said: “See? One is missing. Will you find it for me?” And we walked to the station. I looked down left and right, and thought it impossible to find that button again and grew discouraged and stopped looking, but then you stopped to smell a dandelion and what was there next to it if not my button? And I laughed and cheered and hugged you and you showed surprise again: “What did I do?” You do. Keep doing what you do so well. Live. Love. Smell the dandelions.