Happy Saturday Covers! I hope you've all survived January and have had a good start to 2022!
So let's get into this week's prompt. I was in a workshop last night and we discussed the poem Sorrow Is Not My Name by Ross Gay. A lot of people knew this poem. However, I hadn't read it before. But it was such a joy to explore this poem with people who were already familiar with it.
I invite you to give it a read along with To The Young Who Want to Die by Gwendolyn Brooks which inspired Gay's poem.
In Gay's poem, he explores beauty in the world but in an unexpected way. For example, he describes the vulture who looked at him. Personally, I don't find vultures to be very attractive birds but it was the moment of connecting with the bird that was beautiful. He discusses how there are millions of sweet things occuring in the world at this very moment which I think is a beautiful line. I'm also curious about the POV int his poem. For maybe two thirds of the poem, Gay is addressing another person, 'You'. However, towards the end, the poem turns kind of introspective and he is talking about his niece and his neighbour, exploring the beauty in his own unique life.
So, think about what beauty is in your life. Right from general experiences that anyone could see right down to situations with your family/neighbours.
I can't wait to see what you come up with!
Poetry prompt 1/29/22 - Inspired by Ross Gay & Gwendolyn Brooks
Awakened
Roused, from stillness
My aging bones awake in protest to the cold air that seeps through a poorly closed window.
Looming, it waits for naked, warm feet to emerge from down-filled blankets.
I have told him all year; the window needs repairing
Unintentionally left unattended, I am sure.
Slightly bitter, I turn and shift and sink deeper.
Sounds of the night find their way into our room.
Restless I become as minutes push me closer to daylight.
A car engine interrupts the evening.
Heavily it revs and rumbles to life.
The old window vibrates within its pane.
His eyes open.
Snow crunches underfoot, doors slam, music blurts out, laughter and voices murmur in the wind. A tone-deaf man softly sings misplayed lyrics. Poetry is not his name.
Annoyed, we lie in silence.
I succumb to curiosity. Bravely I step away from my soft fortress.
Bare feet cross the cold, wooden floor.
At the window, I peer out into the night.
My neighbor's house is aglow, drunk with festivities.
I turn and hurry back to the comfort of my bed and him.
They are having fun, I say.
Our mood softens.
We lie in wait. We wait, and we wait for silence to return.
Young, good people they are, we laugh with their revelry.
Through the darkness, we smile. We recall our youth, wild nights, gatherings, and friendships.
He promises to fix the window in the days ahead.
No matter, wait until Spring, I say, as we peacefully drift back to sleep
within the warmth of our room.