A Poem a Day, Week 51, Dec 17 to 23, 2022
Welcome to Sifting the Rubble's weekly blog and podcast of my poem-a-day challenge for 2022. I am your host, and poet, Emily Gibson. The poems for the 51st week of the year, Dec 17 to 23, came from experiences of the week and prompts from a poetry class and Move Me Poetry on twitter.I want to explain, for those new to this podcast, that these are 1 or 2 day poems, which have not gone through the grist of revision. That comes later, something I truly look forward to, as I sift the collection for poems I want to finalize. For now, they are new, not quite steady on their feet, but each speaks of something, so I share them, uncensored. It is part of my healing challenge to write a poem every day this year.
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And now, for this week's poems!
Poem #351, A Univocalic Lipogram Exercise
by Emily Gibson, Dec 17, 2022
If child I insists in silly pills
I first simmer swish swirl
mimic drinks with fizz.
In time, I giggle, I wiggle, I jiggle.
Right! I spring wings
I fling stilts with strings
instill night in tight split sticks
print livid thin kits
with tin pins. It implies
might if livid prisms fight whilst
thick chicks bit pits in
icing tins-- brick pints if crisp--
till icicles within
did wilt.
About "A Univocalic Lipogram Exercise": A lipogram excludes certain letters from use in a piece of writing. A univocalic lipogram limits the piece to only one vowel! This is an assignment from a poetry class to write a univocalic lipogram poem. I chose "I" and found that a couple of "E" vowels crept in, most of them unvoiced. I discovered how difficult a univocalic lipogram can be. The energy and staccato rhythm that comes from using just one vowel makes me want to explore this form more in the future.
Poem #352, Someone Else’s Last Words
by Emily Gibson, Dec 18, 2022
Above mountains the cloud-bears tread
like ants as they file heavy up a hill
to find at the top the air sits so still
you could hear yourself as if dead
and what your pre-born heart did say.
In the lavender meringue sky today
snug mountains tucked rivers away
but left hang glide clouds out to stay
in case hide needed a true rhyme.
At a most early hour for a late time
the evening sun drop did come.
Up the wind did lift, where from?
I heard those cloud-bears giggle clever
as they leapt before sun’s wind could die
to rise and loft on lenticular wings forever
which only the solstice moon proves is a lie.
About "Someone Else's Last Words": A poetry assignment to write a new poem using an existing poem's set of rhymes. I saw these lenticular clouds hovering near the Cascade mountains this evening, looking like a bevy of hang gliders, so it had to be my poem for today. This poem’s rhymes are borrowed from Robert Frost’s “In a Disused Graveyard.” You can read Frost’s poem here: In a Disused Graveyard by Robert Frost | Poetry Foundation
Poem #353, ALOFT (An Alliteracrostyshape Poem)
by Emily Gibson, Dec 19, 2022
An alabaster arabesque
Like languid liquid
Overhead oviparous outlier
Floats freedom fantasy
Temporary transit transfixed.
Poem #354, A Test of Life's Emergency Broadcast System
by Emily Gibson, Dec 20, 2022
This is a test.
At birth, each baby
set into sensory slumber
to dabble in dangerous dreams
act in service to wants
elevate ego achievement
become master of your universe.
The flyers shout from beyond:
“Pay no attention at all
to the meaning or reason
behind the star-studded curtain.”
Thus, the test begins!
Who will wake up, see the distorted
wars wrought by body and ego?
Who among us learns enough
to call a truce and step back,
notice how society steeps us to sleep
like teabags enslaved to the status quo:
fit in, know the style,
love like this, strive or follow,
buy new shoes, now be thin
always, the goal is to win.
On the other side I suspect
a grand horse race, bets placed
on who will become free to see
the matter that matters.
It’s an experiential test
without a target score
or percentage to pass.
It’s an all or nothing test
with unlimited chances
to wake up.
Poem #355, The 12 Days of Christmas Infused into
The Christmas Song (aka Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)
by Emily Gibson, Dec 21, 2022
French Hens roasting on an open pyre
Bored cows jumping o’re your toes
Farmyard yodels being called by a squire
And ladies dream of fancy clothes
Everybody knows a partridge and a pear combo
Starts the twelve-day gifting blight
Calling birds making quite a loud row
Make sleep hard to find e’ry night
Until they make nests in the hay
So pretty maids have room to milk with sun’s new day
And all those swans are gonna swim on by
To see if geese who lay golden rings can fly
And so my true love did offer me praise
With drums and pipers meant to woo
Although I often said many times many ways
I’d rather have fondue
But still he sent lords leaping o’re my maize
To catch turtles and doves with shoes
Although I often said many times many ways
I’d rather have the flu
About "The 12 Days of Christmas Infused into
The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire) ": The challenge was to take an old holiday favorite, and give it a new twist. I took two and merged them, which was a great deal of fun! I kept true to the rhyme scheme of The Christmas Song, and tried to include all 12 gifts from the 12 Days of Christmas. The real challenge is to sing it!
Poem #356, An Introvert Artist’s Month of Winter Solstice
by Emily Gibson, Dec 22, 2022
In her little house in the woods
she lightened the mood every night
with bread baked fresh drenched in butter
to dip in welfare kaputza.
Surrounded by creaking redwoods
to block that sound’s possible fright
spun tunes unearthed from the clutter--
her vinyl record bonanza.
Engrossed in her quilted piece goods
she filled the dark with colored lights
from year-round Christmas flutter
strands like spider web organza.
In that house she liked to putter
holiday extravaganza.
About "An Introvert Artist’s Month of Winter Solstice": I wrote this poem in the form "Rimas Dissolutas". This form requires 2 or more stanzas of the same length. All lines have same syllables. The first lines of all stanzas rhyme, the second lines all rhyme, etc. The poem can end with a couplet, which rhymes to the last 2 lines of the stanzas. It is for my mom, who filled our house with music,
food, and crafts throughout the dark days of winter.
Poem #357, Underneath, We See Our Same Bones
by Emily Gibson, Dec 23, 2022
If I could peel your wallpaper
what would be underneath?
The lies you told bold
that wriggle and niggle in sleep.
Hidden wishes, like fishes
that hide in cracks of coral.
Tremors of young-you’s fears
that to this day truncate play.
Hopes, bold as new popes
breathe energy out like bellows.
Loneliness like a wilting lily
that wishes for a nose to notice.
If I could peel your wallpaper
I’d recognize me in you
without distraction.
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