Hello, friends…

As I mentioned earlier, I’m writing my haiku this year about various scientific processes, beginning with some (lesser known) weather terminology. I promised a whole list, though, in case any of you wanted to use the same (or similar) prompts for your own poems. So, drum roll please, here goes:

WEATHER
1 – Evaporation
2 – Occlusion
3 – Saturation
4 – Combustion
5 – Oscillation
6 – Divergence
7 – Confluence

THE BODY
8 – Digestion
9 – Circulation
10 – Sensation
11 – Metabolism
12 – Reproduction
13 – Excretion
14 – Respiration

GEOLOGY
15 – Erosion
16 – Eruption
17 – Deposition
18 – Glaciation
19 – Liquefaction
20 – Metamorphism
21 – Sedimentation

THE SCIENTIFIC PROCESS ITSELF
22 – Observation
23 – Classification
24 – Measurement
25 – Inference
26 – Prediction
27 – Experimentation
28 – Interpretation

END OF THE MONTH EXTRAS
29 – Purification
30 – Rotation

That’s it, folks. Do with the list what you may!
#lizsharespoems
#30daysofhaiku
#nationalpoetrymonth

My phone sent me two alerts at the same time today, a Red Flag warning (conditions right for fire) and Trump’s arraignment. Talk about weather!

Combustion
Haiku 4

A blustery day,
wind sparking speculation:
This whole thing might blow

#lizsharespoems
#30daysofhaiku
#nationalpoetrymonth

Saturation 4/3/23
Haiku 3

Tear ducts, strands of hair,
every cell saturated
till (cloud-like) I burst

#lizsharespoems
#30daysofhaiku
#nationalpoetrymonth

Hi friends, I’m getting a little bit of a bumpy start this month because I didn’t have all my prompts figured out in advance and then I was away for the weekend. (Don’t feel bad for me — Mother-daughter Taylor Swift fun!)

Anyway, I’ll say more about haiku this week, to remind everyone about some of the subtleties and nuances of the form. But for now, let me say that my monthly poetry group is working with the theme of transformation this year and, within that, I’m looking more closely at certain scientific processes. (If you look back at the last several entries here, you’ll find a cascade poem I wrote in January on melting, an ekphrastic poem on oxidation in February, and an etheree on decomposition in March!)

So, what’s next? Well, I’m starting with haikus on weather-related processes (evaporation yesterday and occlusion today) and hope to stick with them for a week. Then I’m moving onto body-related processes, and we’ll see after that! I hope to have a full list of prompts in a few days and you’re welcome to use them, too. Otherwise, just stay open and observant and you’ll find plenty of fodder on your own!

Occlusion
April 2, 2023

winds and boundaries shift
cold front overtakes your warmth:
our weather report

#lizsharespoems
#30daysofhaiku
#nationalpoetrymonth

I am away from my desk and my typewriter this weekend, but I’m kicking off national poetry month and 30 days of haiku anyway. Can’t wait to read all of yours! #lizsharespoems #30daysofhaiku #nationalpoetrymonth

The Poetry Sisters’ prompt this month was to write an etheree, a relatively straightforward ten-line poem, with each line growing by a syllable, so that the first line has just one syllable and the tenth line has ten. That’s it! Fun, right? And hugely accessible for poets of all ages and experience.

(As an aside, I really love this form. I once became so enamored of it that I composed an entire, relentless chapter book out of etherees that, shockingly, did not sell. I did share a single etheree as part of the Thanku anthology that published several years ago, and I talked about that in this video I shared with students during early pandemic lock-down days.)

OK, back to our current prompt. Not just an etheree, but an etheree that somehow touches on transformation, the word we’re using as our overarching theme for the year. And, you might remember that I’m drilling down within that theme in order to explore various scientific processes. (So far I’ve looked at melt and oxidize.)

This month, as snow begins to melt all over the country and the squishy ground opens up to spring, I decided to write about decomposition. Which, I’m slightly horrified to say, made me think about true crime. So welcome to the place where mycelium meets My Favorite Murder, or something like that. The mind is a curious thing…

DECOMPOSE/decompose/verb
Liz Garton Scanlon

March
(melting)
putrefies
and disappears
winter’s evidence,
breaking forensic clues
down into strands of secrets,
covert carriers of what’s next.
Never mind everyone’s reaction,
just consume each story along the way.

You’ll find more etherees here:
Sara
Laura
Tanita
Tricia
Mary Lee
Kelly

and Poetry Friday is being hosted by our own Mary Lee at (A)nother Year of Reading.

If you’d like to write along with us next month, we intend to write poems “In the Style of” Pablo Neruda. Do with that what you will!

Consider this your invitation to join me in reading and writing haiku everyday in April for the 15th year in a row! I am still figuring out what my own personal prompts will be this year, but starting Saturday, come hell or high water, a haiku a day…

(I’ll be sharing on the blog at my website, and on instagram, twitter and facebook with these hashtags: #lizsharespoems #30daysofhaiku #nationalpoetrymonth and welcome you to do any version of the same.)

This month’s prompt was to write an ekphrastic poem — a poem based on an image or a piece of art.

I chose to write from an image Tricia offered up, from an exhibit at the Montclair Art Museum called Transformed. Perfect for our year of transformation! Anyway, this particular piece, called Urban Flora, is by Denice Bizot and is the metal from a hood of a truck, transformed!

Somehow, Bizot’s work — and the story behind the work — suggested to me a “this is the house that Jack built”-type of poem, so that’s what I’ve got to offer. I imagine Lucinda Williams playing on the radio….

OXIDIZE/oxidize/verb
Liz Garton Scanlon

This is the road (the red, red road) that Dad drove
This is the truck on the red, red road that Dad drove
This is the truck that lurched and went clunk
And this is the hood of that clunky truck
the hood that Dad popped
on the side of the road
the red, red road
that Dad kicked
with his boot
as he spit
and he swore
on the life of that truck
Oh, this is the road
(the red, red road)
that Dad drove

To read more, visit:
Laura
Tanita
Tricia
Mary Lee
Sara

And you can find the Poetry Friday round-up at Tabatha’s The Opposite of Indifference.

As for next month, we’re writing etherees. This ten-line form begins with a single syllable, and each line expands by one syllable until the tenth line has ten. We’re continuing with our 2023 theme of transformation, but how you interpret that topically is up to you. You have a month to craft your creation and share it on March 31st (hosted by Mary Lee at A(nother) Year of Reading) in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. Join us!

Happy 2023, friends.

It’s a brand new year or, at least, that’s what we always root and hope for, us faithful, foolish start-again optimists. But so many of our most recent years have felt relentless rather than new, so it’s no wonder we (and by we I mean my Poetry Sisters and I) have decided to explore the idea of transformation in 2023.

To start with, we chose Cascade Poems, which transform the first stanza into additional lines throughout the poem. You’ll find a more detailed explanation and examples of the form here but honestly, I think you’ll get the gist.

Meanwhile, I’ve decided that I need a little something extra to help shape my work this year, something concrete or tangible to lean on, some proveable, explainable version of transformation. So, you’ll notice that my poems will all touch on, in some way, a scientific process. This first one, MELT, went somewhere I didn’t expect it to at all — my childhood fevers. This is the magic of a prompt or exercise, I think. The transformation (ha!) of one idea into another. Here goes…

MELT /melt/ verb
Liz Garton Scanlon

make or become liquified
make or become more tender
leave or vanish or disappear

says my fever to the ice
pressed to my temples
make or become liquified

says delirium to all reason
says the record playing spinning
make or become more tender

says each blurry softening
each terrifying letting-go
leave or vanish or disappear

(*all lines in itals taken or amended from various dictionary definitions)

And for more Cascade poems, please visit:
Tanita
Tricia
Laura
Sara
Kelly
Mary Lee

And Poetry Friday is at Bookseed Studio.

We are wrapping up the year, friends, with a simple prompt — the word (idea) (object) (form) “box.”
I chose to write about an empty one, using Denise Kreb’s 4×4 Form (for obvious, boxy reasons).
Here goes…

The Stuff of Dreams
Liz Garton Scanlon

An empty box
is no burden
till you fill it,
till it’s carried.

The weight borne by
an empty box
is handed down — 
inheritance

or treasure or
obligation.
An empty box,
though, can be made

into our own.
Flattened! Transformed!
The stuff of dreams,
this empty box!

To read about the others’ boxes, go here:
Kelly
Tricia
Tanita
Mary Lee
Laura
Sara

And Poetry Friday is at Patricia Franz’s Reverie! (Thanks, Patricia…)