Cleaning Party: A poem and a prompt for Day 398

After writing and posting nearly 400 poems in as many days, I’m not afraid to admit to the occasional lack of inspiration—or energy. When that happens, I fall back on an ever-evolving collection of favorite prompts/games/tools. 

Today, for instance, I took a trip to a random word generator, where I collected 28 words (24 the first time, plus an additional four later on). Sometimes I only use six or eight words; it just depends on my mood. I cut and paste the words into a document, and after shuffling, sorting, and adding a word here and there, inspiration (usually) strikes. 

I came up with the following poem this afternoon... I left it quite “raw” to illustrate the process. Ordinarily, I’d build a longer, or more polished, piece on this intriguing (to me) skeleton.

Cleaning Party

arms uncovered to 

their elbows

swanky visitors performed 

lively wingstrokes 

with their hands, revealing 

fabulous details, 

like vintage grates, that render 

the current, homely place 

almost likeable

outdoors, in the winter 

garden, fallacious discussion 

absorbed the bitter jobless, 

sprawled like 

recent memories amongst 

the faded begonias 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Original image: The Preservation Station 

Strange Country (Day 385)

Wide 

strange country 

under pale empty skies   

the women, walking, stand 

straight (no stoop-shouldered, 

martyred shuffling, no slouchers 

or complainers) walking, wonder 

why and whether they will ever 

learn when their parents die,

if they will ever know their 

nieces and nephews 

names.  

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Note: I chose not to include a photo with today’s poem, in the interest of inclusivity. Everywhere, throughout time, women have gotten a bum deal. We need to stand together. 

IV. He is... (Day 376)

IV

finished  celebrating 

his grandest achievement  

pinnacle of power  that trophy 

he stole from defeat’s slavering 

jaws  but it brings no joy to 

this man  only discontent 

stress-related illness  and  

a life in all ways diminished 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image created from an original photo 

from the US Dept. of Defense

In Darkness, He (Day 170)

Often, 

in darkness, he 

sends his dogs 

to dig, to jail, 

or to crop, and 

until they return,

muzzles coated 

with mud and worse, 

he threads 

his needle 

with the guts 

of freedom.   

Headed uphill, 

he believes he is

given to empathy. 

He nods to 

the left  

a motion he wants 

to make, but he insists, 

they

may not skip

the vows 

of trust and loyalty.

In darkness, now, he

aims 

his twisted dream 

at certain angels 

of our better nature,

and tightens

his finger.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Original Image: Benjamin Applebaum