You are a moon poet
standing on a hole
of dark stillness
forgetting how to write.
Slowly your emptiness
rises
to the heavens
in blocks of
freezing sea.
You are a drought poet
above a new
vibrant rain
starting dry, shriveled
poems. As you begin,
your poems quickly
come home
and stop outside
country roads
between grassy fields.
You are a shore poet
ridden by a
beach bum after
you forget to write.
Your poems walk home
and hate,
drowning with birds
in red shimmering
sand.
You are an outside poet
without floors
forgetting to write.
Your poems rise
from prairie grasses
and whisper secrets
to you.
You are an Earth poet
ridden by
trees, and stones, and people.
Your poems come
home
warm and glowing
discovered
in the present moment
right before your eyes.
Brenda Warren 2013
Here is the prompt for the final day of NaPoWriMo: “Find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite. For example, you might turn “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” to “I won’t contrast you with a winter’s night.” Your first draft of this kind of opposite poem will likely need a little polishing, but this is a fun way to respond to a poem you like, while also learning how that poem’s rhetorical strategies really work. (It’s sort of like taking a radio apart and putting it back together, but for poetry). Happy writing!”
The piece I chose was written by a sixth grade student on the Utah Navajo Reservation. It is called “My Poems.” I found it in the book Rising Voices.
undercaws 
I enjoyed the whole poem, but I favor the forth stanza – these lines
… poems rise
from prairie grasses
and whisper secrets…
I think there are multiple hidden truths in every word…some we may never find until they choose to find us…
Cheers!
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Thanks Jules, for stopping to read. I agree with you about words and truth. Everything is complex. It becomes more simple when I remember to breathe, and watch sister wind work her magic over prairie grasses. Oh, the wind and wide open spaces of Montana’s central prairies tug at me always.
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What a interesting journey of a poet and his/her muses. Great write.
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very beautiful, brenda, i love this poem, it speaks to me and the way i try to capture the land and seasons in my work
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I enjoyed this poem, Brenda. There is indeed so many things to write poetry about….moon, shore, outside, earth, etc. I read your process notes, so I think I understand the technique. However, I am still wondering who the ‘you’ is supposed to be in this poem. The reader or a specific person..
visiting from your link at dverse….
http://inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com/2013/04/spring-at-last.html
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I used you as the opposite of “I.” It’s an opposite poem…nothing need be read into it. Thanks for stopping, Mary. It’s nice to see you here. I hope NaPo treated you well.
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Dear Brenda. I am new here – I played with your “You are a drought poet”-poem – very fun and interesting that was. Going to do it a lot – such a great block-loosener!
I am flow writer
Below an old
Dull rain
Ending juicy,vibrant
stories. As I end,
my texts slowly
leave home
and run
on high roads
among fumes of
traffic
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This is fantastic! Thank you for playing along…what fun. Come back and see me any time. I’m on my way to your place now.
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Brenda, here is the rest of your poem written in its opposites – except for the last 4 lines:)
I am a sun writer
leaping on a mount
Of light noise
Remembering how to
Be still
Quick as a lightening, my fullness
Sinks
To earth
In foam clouds of
Thawing ice
I am flow writer
Below an old
Dull rain
Ending juicy,vibrant
stories. As I end,
my texts slowly
leave home
and run
on high roads
among fumes of
traffic
I am a water writer
Adored by a seagull
Each time I
Remember to write
My texts run from home
And love
Rising with fishes
In green thundering
Moss
I am an outside writer
With newly waxed floors
Remembering to dance
My texts descend
From heavenly mansions
And yell what we all know
To myself
You are an Earth poet
ridden by
trees, and stones, and people.
Your poems come
home
warm and glowing
discovered
in the present moment
right before your eyes.
Yes, I AM a Heaven Writer
Graced by new sprouts and waterpuddles and tiny crawlies
My texts leave home
warm and glowing
discovered
in the present moment
right before your eyes.
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Thank you for taking me on that little jaunt! I like this poem a lot. Well done for reaching the end of the NaPoWriMo challenge, it has been fun 🙂
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Thank you , Ishaiya. I agree…April was good.
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Oh how I wish i were the Earth poet! The others have too tough a time of it!
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🙂
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this is very good, Brenda!
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Brenda, this is good. I like to think of all the poet personas perusing these ventures. It has been fun and exhausting and I’ve been barely able to keep up the pace of reading and commenting. I so enjoy your company, Brenda. Here’s to writing, my friend.
Pamela
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This is such beauty and truth. I know I struggle to write and they jump out all over the place, I like how you’ve broken it down though… beach poet made me smile. Well done! Congrats on completing NaPoWriMo!
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This reads beautifully, Brenda. Happy end of Napowrimo. You deserve a …gold star. Oh, and I decided my old blog is *getting old* and I want a new one. So I’m transitioning, and will be back. Thank god is labour day!
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Thanks Irene. I can’t wait to see your new blog!
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i love this! these lines jumped out and slapped me…Your poems walk home
and hate,…ha…and then the contrast as the poems came home again in the end…
by the end of Napo you are lucky to think of a poem…lol…i did it a few years ago…
its tough…
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This is a stunning poem, Brenda! I love the idea of moon poet, drought, shore, outside, and finally earth poet. It’s a spectacular concept, written with so much depth and perception.
And here we are, at the finish line, another NaPo behind us! I have enjoyed your writing and your comments this past month. Writing to the amazing prompts put out there by Barb and others, in the company of writers like you, has been a remarkable and rewarding experience.
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A beautiful way to end this month, my friend. All of the verses, except the final one, remind of what the Native Americans called February: the month of the Hunger Moon. I try to remember that when I ‘think’ I can’t or won’t be able to write anything. March always follows and we begin to get whiffs of spring. So glad we connected this month and I am quite eager to try this exercise. Would think it would be full of surprises. It was a bit like holding hands, seeing you so often these past weeks. Thanks so much for being here,
Elizabeth
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