National Poetry Writing Month Day 22

What is National Poetry Writing Month?

Welcome, art enthusiasts and wordsmiths alike, to another episode of Create Art Podcast! We are diving headfirst into the enchanting world of poetry as we celebrate National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). This annual event, which takes place every April, encourages poets and aspiring writers around the globe to embrace their creativity and commit to writing a poem each day for the entire month.

The Beauty of National Poetry Writing Month:

NaPoWriMo, similar to its prose-centric counterpart National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), is a celebration of the written word and the boundless creativity that can flow when one dedicates themselves to a daily practice. Poets of all levels of expertise are invited to take part, from seasoned wordsmiths to those just dipping their toes into the vast ocean of verse.

Create Art Podcast has always been a haven for artists to share their creative processes, and NaPoWriMo offers a unique opportunity for poets to reflect on their craft. With a daily commitment to producing poetry, participants discover new facets of their writing style, experiment with various forms, and explore uncharted emotional territories.

Prompt for today

Last but not least, here’s today’s optional prompt. This one comes from the poet and fiction writer Todd Dillard, who provided this idea on his twitter account a few months ago. The idea is to write a poem in which two things have a fight. Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it. Like, maybe a comb and a spatula. Or a daffodil and a bag of potato chips. Or perhaps your two things could be linked somehow – like a rock and a hard place – and be utterly sick of being so joined. The possibilities are endless!

Poem for Today

Two Sides Same Coin 

22 April 24 

The coffee-stained steno note pad decided one day to crawl from under the dust of neglect and seek out the cell phone 

Its wire binding was loose and its companion the bic pen had been lost after never coming back from getting cigarettes 

The pad of paper felt neglected, its blue lines fading 

Where once my innermost thoughts filled its pages 

Now were curling up unused and unwanted 

The pad scrapped along the floor 

Leaving a scratch in the flooring 

And it saw the endless stairs up to my room 

Sighed deeply and found a way to the top by standing on end and grasping for the next step 

My cell phone was communicating and noting my breaths and snores as I slept 

Plugged in and cared for like a king 

It slept just a mere foot from the bed 

Unaware of what was coming up from the basement 

The blue light and the life-giving electricity flowing through its circuits 

Years ago, I had abandoned one of my oldest friends 

And determined that due to low light 

And spilled drinks 

And the fact that i couldn’t see the words I had inscribed 

I would switch to reading my poetry off my phone as I had seen younger poets do 

It was easier to flip through apps on a phone 

Versus flipping through pages of steno note pads 

Sometimes I would bring the wrong one 

Other times due to clumsiness I would spill my coffee and the liquid would seep into the pages 

Low light at most readings made it impossible to see 

The steno climbed the last stair 

And made its way into the bedroom 

Sighing again, it saw me peacefully asleep 

Dreaming of the next poem I was to write 

And finally save the dark-haired barista  

And live my gothic fantasy 

The steno pad had one final climb to make 

And that was to the top of the altar that the cell phone called home 

When suddenly my sleeping body turned over and my arm knocked the phone to the floor 

The steno saw their opportunity and sprang into action 

Stabbing the cell phone with the wire binding in various spots 

Trying to hit the reset hole or short out the circuit board 

The phone laid on the ground, a chip had fallen out of the side 

With no way to defend itself it laid there 

Taking the stabbing attacks without a murmur 

The steno pad found the right hole that would erase the cell phones memory 

And thrust itself deep 

Only to find that when it did, the electricity that gave life to the cell phone 

Traveled through the wire to the page and lit it aflame 

The fire caught onto the blanket and the wooden bed frame 

And the three of us perished that night 

As the words were lost 

And my dreams of saving this world were dashed 

By the jealousy of a steno pad 

And the convivence of the cell phone light 

Reach Out To The Podcast

To reach out to me, email timothy@createartpodcast.com I would love to hear about your journey and what you are working on. If you would like to be on the show or have me discuss a topic that is giving you trouble write in and let's start that conversation.

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