Today’s prompt comes to us from Lillian Hallberg. She challenges us to write a “book spine” poem. This involves taking a look at your bookshelves, and writing down titles in order (or rearranging the titles) to create a poem. If you want to take things a step further, Lillian suggests gathering a list of titles from your shelves (every third or fifth book, perhaps, if you have a lot) and using the titles, as close to the originals as possible, to create a poem that is seeded throughout with your own lines, interjections, and thoughts. Happy writing!

Thought I was stuck again as I am away from home and my own books. However, I solved the problem by taking a few titles from my Kindle library.

Spinechiller

Secrets of the sea house –
sacred country, sea of ink.
Elizabeth is missing:
island wife out stealing horses.

The shock of the fall
arriving at your own door:
sunset song in another light,
burial rites then life after life.

I have added little to the book titles but I did shuffle the order round to get a kind of story!

And now, for our prompt (optional, as always). This one sounds simple, but it can be pretty difficult. Today, I challenge you to write a poem that includes a line that you’re afraid to write. This might be because it expresses something very personal that makes you uncomfortable – either because of its content (“I always hated grandma”), or because it seems too emotional or ugly or strange (“I love you so much I would eat a cockroach for you”). Or even because it sounds too boring or expected (“You know what? I like cooking noodles and going to bed at 7 p.m.”). But it should be something that you’re genuinely a little scared to say. Happy (or if not happy, brave) writing!

Here’s my response:  it’s all about the last word.

The Visitor

I did not ask you to come
but you moved in –
starved me, hurt me,
made me tired and thin.

I sought help to fight you,
won the battle at risk
to myself, stepped out
hairless into spring.

Now I live not knowing
if you still lurk
in shaded corners
waiting to kill.

In his poem “The Wasteland”, T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life. Happy (or, if not happy, not-too-cruel) writing!

Which month to choose?  I initially jumped to November, because it’s a forgotten month; the year gathers pace towards the end and people are so  busy anticipating Christmas that it gets forgotten.  But it’s not cruel, and you can still enjoy the autumn colours in the first half.  January can be harsh, but it holds the promise of a new year ahead.  In the end I settled on March.  This is why:

Mad March

March you are fickle:
with your brisk name
you push us forward,
one
great
leap
towards the point
of equal day and night,
the lure of warmth,
the end to darkness.
You paint in yellow,
wake us with birdsong,
tease us with T-shirt days
in sheltered gardens;
and then you take us
back
to
winter.
You sting and bite,
bury crocuses in snow,
and whip up bitter winds,
laughing as we reach
for scarves and hats
to watch daffodils dance
in the hail.

I challenge you to write a poem in the form of a fan letter to a celebrity. Now, this could be a celebrity from long ago, and needn’t be an actor or singer (though it could be). You could write to George Washington or Dorothy Dandridge, Marie Curie or The Weekend. Happy writing!

OK, I thought you’d got me here.  I despise the word ‘celebrity’ and anything to do with ‘celebrity culture’ – where anyone who has had a role in a soap or has wailed briefly on ‘The Voice’ is referred to as a ‘star’.  I have never written a fan letter in my life.  But then I had some unexpected fun with it.  This poem is, I think, better for being short.

Hiya Jane, I just wanted to say
your books are like totally awesome.
OMG I never thought Emma would
finish up with that Mr Knightley;
I mean he calls in on like the first page
and sits with her and her dad and that.
I never saw it coming.  Amazeballs.
And OMG Pride and Prejudice was so cool.
Have to say the title didn’t grab me  –
it was like kind of abstract? –
but I started reading and I was like
how are they all going to get a guy?
Another page turner, and some
well fit soldiers too.  Thanks, Jane.  x

Thank you to all who said they liked yesterday’s lune!

Here’s today’s prompt:

I challenge you to write a poem that takes the form of a family portrait. You could write, for example, a stanza for each member of your family. You could also find an actual snapshot of your family and write a poem about it, spending a little bit of time on each person in the picture. You don’t need to observe any particular form or meter. Happy writing!

My response is based on a photograph that came out at family slide shows!

Spotlight

In the days when years are long
we celebrate their silver wedding.

After the melon cocktail.
the turkey, the raspberry gateau
and Liebfraumilch sipped from
sparkling Edinburgh crystal
we stand, the family four –
heels sink into mossy lawn,
our father grey-suited, serious,
our mother laughs in
joyous, flowered crimplene.

For me a dress from Richard Shops
faux denim patchwork pattern,
platform-soled sandals my firm base,
make up by Mary Quant sets off
black page-boy hair by Vidal Sassoon.

And you with the Monkees hairstyle,
red kipper tie, brash checked jacket
and grey trousers flaring to infinity
smile for the camera, hoping
the posing will soon be over.

In later years we linger,
hold this moment of silver light.