ON WRITING 30 and RISK (COLLABORATIVE POEMS SERIES #20)

CELEBRATING POETRY MONTH THIS APRIL WAS CERTAINLY REWARDING. WE WILL DO IT AGAIN COME APRIL (NOT AFTER ALL THE CRUELLEST MONTH).

ON WRITING 30


Was this the end of the grappling then?
Tremulous nubbins on trembling branches
do not make for fair jousting grounds,
neither does the lashing wind make it.

But what if it was not the frolic of a day?
What if it was a mating romp atop the poplar?
Then woe to the one left behind on the tree.
The fall of the other was a risk well-met.

The fall at thirty feet is not unlike writing 30,
to a story troubling for a beginning and end.
Whence came the fall? At story’s sorry start?
Or was it the fitting end to one not yet begun?

—Albert B. Casuga
04-29-11


A Collaborative Poem Response (after On Writing 30)


RISK


Nubbin of green, tremulous branch
of a tulip poplar– how fast the careen
from thought to dream.

~ Luisa A. Igloria
04 29 2011

Poetic Prompt: Two squirrels grappling or grooming on a thin tulip poplar branch, among nubbins of new leaves. One slips and falls 30 feet to the ground.---Dave Bonta, Morning Porch 04-29-11



With these poems, we conclude our marking Poetry Month with the writing of poems almost on a daily basis.

This would not have been possible without the curating, prompting, and hosting (in his websites) of these poems and poetry writing by Pennsylvania poet Dave Bonta who has generously offered his literary blog, Via Negativa and Morning Porch for the creation of collaborative poetry.

This project was participated in by poets Luisa A. Igloria, Dave Bonta, Dale Flavier, and other poets whose work have been archived in Bonta's Via Negativa. http://www.vianegativa.us/

I am grateful for the opportunity of working with Mr. Bonta and Ms. Igloria who were steadfast in their devotion to the writing of poetry prompts and poems that could easily be considered as nothing but phenomenally patient if not surprisingly creative.

From this month-long activity, I admit I gained much more than I have invested. I know that I can still collect my wits to write when I sit down to write, wherever I find myself agonizing over an image here, a figure of language or thought there. Above all, I have rediscovered what prompts me to write. And so, write I will. I hope to my dying day. (At 68 yesterday, April 29, every day henceforward should be a bonus.)

For now, stay posted. I promise to keep the pace up. I will not disappoint a grandchild who has read my literary blog, and thinks of Gramps as simply awesome.

Luisa A. Igloria, Norfolk, Virginia

Dave Bonta, Pennsylvania

Albert B. Casuga, Ontario, Canada