Lint in Your Pocket: A Big Tent Poetry Poem

I was tired last night and fell asleep almost as soon as American Idol faded from my television screen. I had meant to write a brilliant response to the Big Tent Poetry prompt and.... the zzzz's hit me before my fingers hit the keyboard AND this morning, after participating for a bit in Passion Activator Friday - I had an interesting idea which I am played out throughout the day Friday.

Here is the prompt, directly from the website:

 

This week, contemplate your canon (not your navel).  Come up with 10 potential titles for your newest/5th/yet-to-be-written manuscript.  Then, from those 10 titles, choose one and write the poem for that title.  Yup.  A little reverse psychology.  Write the title, then write the title poem.

I decided since I missed my opportunity to be one of the first people to post this week, I would instead be unusual. Perhaps better stated, exceptionally unusual.

So here is the plan:

I will write this poem throughout the day. A stanza here, a stanza there. Whenever you arrive to comment is precisely the right moment. If you want to come back later to see the end result, YAY! and if not, YAY! I love the fact you are here to be a part of my Zany-Wow-It's-Friday-Poetry-Writing-Sprint.

* Added at 11:36 am Pacific time.

** Added at 2:26 pm

*** Added at 5:05 PM Friday

****Added at 12:45 am Friday/Saturday

So - without any more unnecessary verbage:

Lint in Your Pocket

Torn, old school ticket stub
Sting from a surprise slap
Your best friend laid on your cheek
The tiniest hole, space not even
for your pinky's tip
Or even for your Three-Year-old
nieces pinky tip
Smile flirts with your mouth
Singing a memory awake

**my own foreign hands fluter
nearly disembodied telling the
tale my frozen mouth can't
speak as the goateed man
doesn't dismember the
message with his turquoise eyes,
deftly defying shouted translation
"You've been driving without
your glases again, haven't you?"
driblets of rain freckle the windshield

** Hysterically funny,  she deadpanned
“Dance, white boy, dance!” no disease
she sees – just generations of seeking
and not exactly finding the precise right
what. So. Instead. She. Sharpens.
Her pencil, green with the words,
“Mid Town Motor Court ~ swim
in our sparkling pool” circa 1961
long before her mother or father
graced the world with angry bickering

***Abandoned cat looks for home
Claws outstretched, she tries to tattoo
the comforter covering the long-just-over
childhood legs outstretched like the
emptiness on her internal calendar
or external address book: no inside
jokes or shared stories of the-time-when-I
She doesn't find a reason to slip
out to check her email instead she
sits and watches and welcomes
the grey striped cat under your
quilt. On top of your green and
blue flannels. Wet nose,
Nose, sniffing out the Lint
in Your pocket

===

 

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Comments

[Kelly]

Ooh - fun idea. And I like what you've got so far. Keep going! I will definitely check back...

[pamela]

Julie, I love the last line
"singing a memory awake"
Interesting writing exercise.
Oh and that title is priceless.

[Brandee]

I'm enjoying this, Julie...I will keep checking in!

[thingy]

What a fun idea!

Thanks for stopping by my blog.

I'll be back. : )

[Laurie Kolp]

Very interesting progression, and such a fun exercise, Julie. I especially like the first stanza!

[Tumblewords]

I like the way you used this prompt - your style is so free and easy.

[Cathy]

Well that's interesting way to come up with a poem . Love the last stanza.