Ready to charge ahead with me through week 2 of NaPoWriMo? The best poetry, and in my opinion the best writing of any kind, includes unusual details that hijack your attention, that are so evocative they lurch into motion rusty gears in your brain that you didn’t even know were there. Time to mine your brain for this poetry gold. Here’s your daily (optional) poetry prompt.
Strange Details. Write a poem about one or more weird facts that you know. Are there little stories or bits of trivia that you found so interesting you often repeat them to others? If none come to mind, spend five minutes searching the Internet. Think about the mysteries of science, little known historical facts, some apocryphal story or urban legend. One of my favorite podcasts for juicy bits like this is Radiolab. You will often find them debunking, disproving, or verifying something weird and wonderful with real human implications. See if you can use the fact(s) you’ve chosen as a jumping off point for a broader observation you would like to make about yourself, others, or the world. Thank you to Kelli Russel Agodon for this fun prompt and others for National Poetry Month.
Here’s what I did with this prompt:
Color Theory
there was once
(alas, no longer)
a color called watchet blue
precisely that of an autumn sky
Elizabethan law forbade any
but the nobility from wearing it
and so they lined their cloaks
with watchet-blue silk
deprived others even
of the sight of it
as if keeping the wearing of it
to themselves was not enough
they relished in the slippery
satin knowledge of it
against their bodies
each spring a purveyor
of the fine oil colors
favored by master painters
whisks bits and flecks
of dried paint from
its air-filtration system
reconstitutes them
in a shade called torrit gray
a unique vintage
though always tending
to the overpowering kiss
of pthalo green
to look at a painting
done all in torrit gray
is to hear the full spectrum
of colors raise their voices
your head filling with the cries
of a thousand color memories
a white communion dress
a green beetle
sunlight through a glass of wine
and aren’t we all hiding
the silky blue linings
of ourselves beneath cloaks
all passing without seeing
the rainbows in
gray-green drops of paint