Prompt #2 submissions are due by 6/30/12.
We had a few issues with the first submissions. Please review the submission guidelines dearest cahoodaliers before hitting your send button. We don’t want to have to email you back that you’ve been declined over some silly technicality nonsense.
Quick note – Prompt #1 submissions will be taken until June 9th, 2012. If It’s before that date, please also check out this prompt and send us your best self portrait.
Prompt #2 is all about the abstract. We could tell you what this means, but why don’t you tell us, in the form of a poem?
Okay, we’re not that mean. Here are some brilliant examples, and then you’re on your own:
it seems sometimes as if you were only breathing
and everything happened around you
because when you disappeared in the wings nothing was there
but the motion of some extraordinary happening I hadn’t understood
the superb arc of a question, of a decision about death
because you are beautiful you are hunted
and with the courage of a vase
you refuse to become a deer or a tree
and the world holds its breath
to see if you are there, and safe
Frank O’Hara – Ode to Tanaquil LeClercq
i have three eyes for you
and not one of them
i’m going down to you
like a plane
yet i am lifted
as stories in
when all the water
The Atlantic – Georgia
At one time your touches were clothing enough.
Within these trees now I am different.
Now I wear the woods.
I lower a headdress of bent sticks and secure it.
I strap to myself a breastplate of clawed, roped bark.
I fit the broad leaves of sugar maples
to my hands, like mittens of blood.
Now when I say ‘come,’
and you enter the woods,
hunting some creature like the woman I was,
I surround you.
Louise Erdrich – The Woods
When the motorboat man asked me to love him
I whispered precipice
the word for the no-more-boyfriend feeling
because precipice contains ice (practically twice)
because I wanted teetering—
What? he said
His ears from the engines—so hard of hearing—his hands always
Darcie Dennigan – High and Bright and Fine and Ice
The beach seems used up this morning.
It’s like that after an overripeSaturday: mesh trash cans full with half eaten watermelon,
beer cans, gum wrappers &coffee cups.
I like it like this: the morning after
used &adored. Like a bed after lOve:
scraps of what was
important, pieces of
& it lets itself be played with:
Joan Cusack Handler – The Only God