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
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