Each day the folks at NaPoWriMo are offering a prompt, and I'll start there and see what happens. I'm using my daily drafts to work on a middle grade book with the working title of TREEOGRAPHY, so there will be a lot of tree drafts this month.
APR 22 Jaswinder Bolina’s poem "Mood Ring" imagines the speaker as both himself and an interior being (who happens to take the form of a small donkey). It’s quite silly . . . and not silly at the same time. A sort of “serious fun.” Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem in which the speaker is in dialogue with him or herself.
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Barefoot; Boots
Inside me lives a doorway. No, not a frame of doorway–an arch of entrance. A green gateway, a clean dirt pathway that curves instantly just out of sight between the trees. It calls to me all the time, a dusty whisper singing “Come in,” sometimes “Come on,” sometimes “Come over,” even “Get over yourself,” which makes no sense to me. How can you climb over yourself? Does the path mean my shadow, maybe? I know that riddle. Maybe I should climb over my shadow and come in. Come on, leave what I can see before me and duck into this hole like an thin invitation at the edge of my vision? When I step through the doorway, the entrance, the gateway, I know then that I am large and adventurous, full of intrepid ideas for meeting the stitch of any wrinkled river, the blister of any bouldered rise of forest.
draft ©HM 2o26
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