A poem-a-day for National Poetry Month

Prompt #13: Adjective-less

Today’s photo and written prompt provided by by Kirsty Logan:

Write a poem about this photo without using any adjectives.

 

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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!

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23 responses

  1. b_y

    Too, too hard. I can’t say much of anything without modifying somehow.

    April 12, 2011 at 10:42 pm

  2. Oh, I worry I’ve left a stray adjective somewhere in here. I also think I preferred the version with at least a handful of the buggers left in. But, an interesting exercise! And what a wonderful photo.

    Trophy

    My spoils surround me. I have created
    a trove, ranged the necklet beside the raven

    ‘Where did you find this?’ His
    Paws close over the hilt of the blow-pipe
    I wrenched from the claw of a fighter
    left in the mud. I lift his hand

    Remind him: ‘No prize won,
    son, if you didn’t risk everything you had
    getting it. Now stand, yes, hold.
    Don’t flinch.’

    I ready myself to shoot.

    April 13, 2011 at 3:03 am

  3. Eeps. This was tough but wonderful. Like trying to make my way through a maze with adjectives being the trap doors.

    http://yearofthebooks.wordpress.com/2011/04/13/poem-a-day-13/

    April 13, 2011 at 7:14 am

  4. Bill Noble

    PRITHEE SAVE US FROM THY BOSOM

    The Marin IJ, April 12, 2011

    You’ve heard this story before. Your breasts
    have heard this story before. Our county offices,
    our local artists’ yearly exhibit. One employee,
    among our quarter million souls, could not bear

    to be assaulted every day by the twin breasts
    of a woman painted in happy, slapdash strokes,
    not nude as the newspaper described her —
    she’s wearing a three-or-four-stroke bikini

    bottom — and so the County Administrator
    or the Director of Human Resources (I forget
    which of that pair of artfully named worthies)
    felt the county should not, could not condone
    a “hostile workplace environment.” The painting

    was condemned, nipples banished to the artist’s
    garage. So, friends, I beg you, in the interest
    of the public weal: suppress your breasts’ hostility,
    the assault of all-too-forward nipples. Support
    a cleavage of the private from the common good.

    April 13, 2011 at 7:34 am

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  6. And now for something completely different…

    Was feeling ill all day today so decided to try an easy approach to today’s prompt: it proved anything but. For the weirdest poem you’re ever likely to encounter, see http://wp.me/pbg4K-3Y.

    April 13, 2011 at 8:01 am

    • Just noticed it is riddled with adjectives. Not got the energy to remove them so will admit to only following half the prompt!

      April 13, 2011 at 8:08 am

  7. Maya Angelou
    is not.

    April 13, 2011 at 8:21 am

  8. Fab photo! A good brain exercise, this.

    The Horned God

    Cernunnos’ son did stand
    and stare
    toward future hunts,
    and on the chair,
    looking back,
    stood the Crow,
    guarding the door
    where clouds flow,
    the path the hunt will ride
    in flight,
    a thousand more
    will die tonight,
    the book is closed
    upon the table,
    the boy will carry on
    the fable.

    April 13, 2011 at 10:52 am

    • Ooops! “future” modifies “hunts”–very tricky.

      April 13, 2011 at 12:58 pm

  9. Buck

    It was the doctor who screamed
    Rather than the nurse
    Though the story changed over time
    To make the doctor appear the hero

    Someone called the newspaper
    The name Devil Boy was born
    Just hours after Charlie and his horns
    An offer to drown him was declined

    His father insisted they let the things grow
    And nicknamed him Buck
    To protect him against talk of hell
    But when Mr. Barnum came calling
    The temptations piled up one upon another

    April 13, 2011 at 11:06 am

  10. Robin Elizabeth Sampson

    I just can’t help but wonder why. Anyhow – here’s my poem.

    Boy With Antlers

    here, wear these antlers
    stand here, hold this chair
    don’t mind the crow
    put your book on the table
    next to the ink pot
    yes, those are supposed to be clouds
    drapery hides the wall
    stand on the rug made to look like grass
    now hold that pose

    April 13, 2011 at 11:30 am

  11. Jennifer P-W.

    I do love well-placed unique adjectives, so this prompt was quite intriguing. I did use a noun improperly as a verb–I admit to really liking that word misusage! Here is my two-minute take:

    Shadows and Sepia

    Stretched
    on the antlers of a question:
    Haunt the night on foot
    or scoop sky with the
    Raven of Destiny?
    Candles extinguish,
    chairs crumble,
    books must conclude…
    But this, his childhood
    persists, revels,
    and ghosts itself
    in shadows and sepia.

    J. Pratt-Walter

    April 13, 2011 at 11:37 am

  12. dorlamoorehouse

    Blah. Not a good poetry day. Pushing to finish a fiction piece that has taken way too long. Also, I didn’t use the prompt. But I never use the prompt. 😛 http://dorlamoorehouse.com/2011/04/13/napowrimo-day-13-3/

    April 13, 2011 at 2:36 pm

  13. Esther Novak

    Dignity of Wings

    Antler head,
    you touch the chair
    that holds the raven still.
    Her head stands taller
    than your stretch will ever reach.

    April 13, 2011 at 6:03 pm

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  15. My strange offering for today:
    http://jacquezyon.wordpress.com/2011/04/14/poem-13-enigma/

    April 13, 2011 at 6:14 pm

  16. Pingback: National Poetry Month Day #13

  17. Wakes

    The day was long
    This day of dancing.
    At dawn the sound
    was soft in the mist.
    The folks walked behind
    witness and celebrant.
    The musicians walked along,
    gathering from place to place.
    The dancers, men of town,
    mystery had from fathers.
    They bore aloft the antlers
    kept by the church,
    the horns of animals
    not known here.
    The maid, the hunter, the hobby.
    In a year I shall bear the triangle as once did my father,
    so I went along
    this year with my raven
    as though we were the fool.
    After the dance
    and the crawl,
    after the compline
    the men took me and the others
    and put on us
    marks of our positions.
    I was proud to pose with my raven
    before the photo
    of my triangle.

    http://www.artsroundup.com/wp/?p=2934

    April 13, 2011 at 6:55 pm

  18. Kam

    my
    what
    antlers
    and
    birds
    may chair avec Soulemanic clouds
    I
    want
    my
    parrot.
    Nuff said

    April 13, 2011 at 7:42 pm

  19. This sucker jammed me up for 48 solid hours. I think I have won, but I’m not sure how I feel about my victory. I’d love feedback, truly.

    http://feedingthegeek.tumblr.com/post/4628402041/no-reason-with-rhyme

    April 14, 2011 at 11:15 pm

  20. Slowly catching up…and of course if someone finds an adjective, please let me know so I can eradicate it.

    http://thegermoftheidea.blogspot.com/2011/04/bird.html

    April 15, 2011 at 4:25 am