A poem-a-day for National Poetry Month

Prompt #11: PostSecret

Today’s prompt brought to you by Shanna Germain and PostSecret:

PostSecret is a place where people create anonymous postcards of their innermost secrets. Which, to me, is kind of a poetry all its own. Today’s prompt is to visit the PostSecret website and search for a secret (or secrets) that speaks to you. Now, create a narrative poem based on that secret.

Alternatively, you can write a postcard poem (with or without the artwork) in which you share a secret of your own.

 

***

Reminders for Participants: You can post your poem below in the comments, offer a link back to your site where the poem is posted, or comment about the experience of writing the poem (without actually posting the poem). If you’re going to comment on other participant’s poems, please remember that this is not a critique space — comments should be kept thoughtful and supportive. Lastly, remember you don’t have to use the prompt to write your poem — they’re here for your inspiration but they’re certainly not a requirement.

Let the Wild Poeming Being!

Advertisements

23 responses

  1. Bill Noble

    I’m cheating, sort of. I just finished my second poem of the day and now I’m headed to bed before a very busy morning. So I’m posting tonight, this last half-hour’s effort describing the extraordinary people in my Alzheimer’s caregiving group, most of them older than me, most of them farther along their journey with the disease, some of them now a year or two past the death of their spouses.

    THE CAREGIVERS

    Four years, every Wednesday:
    the same scant dozen souls,
    tumbling headlong downward
    with spouse, sister, parent,
    the descent universal, inevitable,
    its pain particular and unique.
    Some thrive at the giving of love,
    some come near to perishing
    of it. They are the intimates
    of souls evaporating,
    spirits diminishing without limit.
    I tell you: extraordinary tasks
    are done in the most ordinary ways,
    day after day, alone a little more
    every day. Each time we meet
    I hear their struggle, and I think,
    I could not do what they do,
    these people a few steps ahead of me,
    and each week I return home
    to learn to do another small piece
    of what I have learned is impossible.
    Perhaps I should not tell you:
    we laugh — gross potty humor,
    morbid tales, cynical jokes —
    sometime to the edge of exhaustion
    or tears. Do you understand?
    This room is the single place
    where it is permitted to laugh.
    And then we go back home,
    to learn again to live with death.

    April 10, 2011 at 9:17 pm

    • Hi, Bill.
      I love your poem. It is important that the world hears your poem. I am not close to death, but I have a little boy with special needs, and you poem reminds me of what we Moms of Miracles laugh at when we are alone in a safe spot among ourselves. Nobody knows what it is like unless they live it, and sometimes we just have to laugh or lose ourselves in the tears.
      Bless you, Bill. Thanks for sharing!
      Anjie

      June 16, 2011 at 8:36 am

  2. Another great prompt. I’ve taken the postcard which reads: You are convinced that my driving improves “drastcally” when I wear my glasses. I have 20/20 vision. They’re fake.

    My poem is not a narrative made from that secret but the card certainly was the prompt.

    ‘Ten lessons for superheroes’ at http://wp.me/pbg4K-3H.

    April 11, 2011 at 6:14 am

  3. Pingback: Ten lessons for superheroes « Tony Linde

  4. These are all so awesome. Mine is an odd one, but I had fun with it!

    http://yearofthebooks.wordpress.com/2011/04/11/poem-a-day-11/

    April 11, 2011 at 11:10 am

  5. Limping in here with a confessional poem – argh!

    kimagennis.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-am-terrible-liar.html

    April 11, 2011 at 12:00 pm

  6. Loved the post card
    But really
    Do you wish I was there
    Nagging you to appreciate
    the Mona Lisa

    Forgetting my own memories of Paris
    are triggered by piss
    in abandoned exits?

    April 11, 2011 at 12:28 pm

  7. b_y

    Good source for ideas.
    Mixed your prompt and the one from Napowrimo

    http://briarcat.wordpress.com/2011/04/11/new-document-of-41-lines/

    April 11, 2011 at 1:21 pm

  8. Out of Sight

    Courage hides
    in secret places,
    under rocks and deep
    water, where it is lost,
    until one dives, breath
    held, of necessity,
    find the center space,
    grasp it tightly by
    slick and spiny tail,
    and burst forth into
    the sunlit air.

    April 11, 2011 at 1:40 pm

  9. Another one from AIPF rather than a prompt: http://dorlamoorehouse.com/2011/04/11/napowrimo-day-11-3/

    April 11, 2011 at 2:00 pm

  10. I’m not so sure this is a secret, but it definitely isn’t told to many.

    http://lovesgoodfood.com/jason/posts/Day_11_2011/

    We live on tightropes
    with naught below to catch us
    except each other.

    April 11, 2011 at 4:47 pm

  11. This was more from the general idea of odd secrets than a specific PostSecrets find–and it certainly wouldn’t fit on a postcard!

    http://teresanoelleroberts.blogspot.com/2011/04/sometimes-prompts-take-me-in-strange.html

    April 11, 2011 at 5:19 pm

  12. Pingback: Poem#11 – Delusions « Black Satin

  13. Great prompt, Shanna. Here is my piece for today:
    Delusions

    April 11, 2011 at 6:12 pm

  14. Pingback: National Poetry Month Day #11

  15. “To love in spite of all is the secret of greatness
    And may very well be the greatest secret in this universe”

    Ducked my head
    going through the ancient portal.
    The first face
    lined, thin, calm
    peaceful eyes looked at me
    into me
    a brief smile, so small
    then a silent pointing finger
    go that way.
    the next.
    the next.
    the next.
    each quiet face looking up
    then at me carefully
    then pointing.
    Down halls, around corners
    up stairs, through catacombs.
    So many turns for what seemed
    so small before entering.
    Then the face looked up and smiled
    and pushed a dark wood door.
    It opened into a room,
    open to a cloistered garden.
    Impossible but full of life,
    sitting on the edge of shade and light.
    At the small beckon of my guide
    I entered, alone.
    I felt I meant to bow slightly.
    Perhaps I did. She nodded.
    The ritual repeats.
    I rest on the cool floor
    at her gesture.
    She gazes at the garden
    and speaks.

    Mary Beth Frezon 11 April 2011

    April 11, 2011 at 7:58 pm

  16. “Space Ghost, my hatred for you is delicious!” – Locar

    Portland, Oregon

    Because I am not wildly dis-affectionate, I have the skin of a rum-soaked badger that has spent its life repelling virtual mind caves.

    Inside the tumult I am astronomical. I cannot tell when a thought reaches in and spins the atoms of the hour.

    Sometimes a hesitation will bring the instinct into my spine. The yellow fish falling on the bait floor are slick, beginning to maw each other out of their drifting ooze.

    All the while I have known have-been beings by fog and the whelp crossing the dirge at night.

    April 11, 2011 at 9:29 pm

  17. Took a while to find the right postcard.

    http://feedingthegeek.tumblr.com/post/4548139858/killing-me

    April 11, 2011 at 11:07 pm

  18. Here’s the offering for Day Eleven.

    http://mizadventurez.blogspot.com/2011/04/postsecret-prompt-not-without-poetry.html

    I’m running on fumes, having just finished a course and writing my exam last night.

    April 12, 2011 at 6:31 am

  19. Robin Elizabeth Sampson

    I fell behind and am just getting to this now. I’ll do a catch-up post once I’m done with all the missed poems, but in the meantime:

    Secrets

    She has many. They fill small cards
    that will never be mailed. Cut out
    lines glued to the truth. Ransom.
    Note. Thank You. Note. Dear.

    April 12, 2011 at 11:50 am

  20. Jennifer P-W

    Postcard from the Edge

    Maybe it is easier to die
    than fall in love;
    Having fallen in love with
    the wrong person
    was so much easier
    than loving the one
    chosen to be
    The Right One.
    What is ever right
    about love? Doubts
    can’t be spoken,

    despair is to be hidden.
    Should I exit this conundrum
    like I entered it?
    Going dark, it
    would be so easy,

    but some secrets:
    best unspoken.

    April 12, 2011 at 2:08 pm

  21. Dear Gen

    In the beginning we paused
    We held the possibilities hostage
    Made a blood promise
    Spit on the grave
    And saw that it was good

    We wished for there to be light
    But the secret held water
    We thought we might need later
    If the rescuers failed
    And the light was set aside

    Then we decided that the land
    Did not need to separated from the water
    If we gave the fish toes
    And the rhinoceros’ gills
    But the insects refused to negotiate

    Lastly, we invented ribs and tits

    April 12, 2011 at 5:41 pm