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| http://www.quotesncaptions.com/anne-frank-quotes-2/ The Diary of a Young Girl (better known as The Diary of Anne Frank) was published on the 25th of June 1947. |
Midweek Motif ~ Diary Stories
Your Challenge is to create a poem from an entry in a journal, yours or someone else's. You might also want to reflect on the writer or on the journal. Or write a poem as if it is a journal entry.
Poetic Inspiration:
You are greater than the
Bible
And the Conference of the
Birds
And the Upanishads
All put together
You are more severe
Than the Scriptures
And Hammurabi’s Code
More dangerous than
Luther’s paper
Nailed to the Cathedral door
You are sweeter
Than the Song of Songs
Mightier by far
Than the Epic of Gilgamesh
And braver
Than the Sagas of Iceland
I bow my head in gratitude
To the ones who give their
lives
To keep the secret
The daily secret
Under lock and key
Dear Diary
I mean no disrespect
But you are more sublime
Than any Sacred Text
Sometimes just a list
Of my events
Is holier than the Bill of
Rights
And more intense”
(copied from goodreads Quotes)
an old knuckle baller, he still wears the
cap he wore in high school,
yellow&brown, embroidered LH, faded&nipped in time's toll---it
contrasts his grey temples, face full of whiskers, red rimmed eyes,
still wide, cheeks sagged, creased, work the salt off a peanut, teeth,
tongue shuck the shell & spit it in an ever increasing pile, like
bones at a chicken feast
one hand works the cover of a browned baseball, fingers flipping
around the leather&laces, through the repertoire of pitches he once
threw, the other works a pencil along a score card. he keeps
every hit, strike, ball, foul---every statistic of importance, a scratch,
scratch, scratch of lead, impression on paper, the game reflecting
in his cornea---spits another shell, works the ball, scratch, scratch
sisyphus
man on first, one out, pop, scratch, scratch, double play & it's
over, he folds the card in half, then quarters so it fits neat in
his back pocket, shuffles up the concrete steps between bleachers
to wherever he goes & whatever he does until tomorrow when
he'll be there, in his usual spot, spitting shells, hand running through
the memory of pitches & marking his card,
with one thing that makes sense
leaving me
to sit,
notebook in hand,
scratching away,
just the same
yellow&brown, embroidered LH, faded&nipped in time's toll---it
contrasts his grey temples, face full of whiskers, red rimmed eyes,
still wide, cheeks sagged, creased, work the salt off a peanut, teeth,
tongue shuck the shell & spit it in an ever increasing pile, like
bones at a chicken feast
one hand works the cover of a browned baseball, fingers flipping
around the leather&laces, through the repertoire of pitches he once
threw, the other works a pencil along a score card. he keeps
every hit, strike, ball, foul---every statistic of importance, a scratch,
scratch, scratch of lead, impression on paper, the game reflecting
in his cornea---spits another shell, works the ball, scratch, scratch
sisyphus
man on first, one out, pop, scratch, scratch, double play & it's
over, he folds the card in half, then quarters so it fits neat in
his back pocket, shuffles up the concrete steps between bleachers
to wherever he goes & whatever he does until tomorrow when
he'll be there, in his usual spot, spitting shells, hand running through
the memory of pitches & marking his card,
with one thing that makes sense
leaving me
to sit,
notebook in hand,
scratching away,
just the same
(Used with permission)
Please:
1. Post your diary story poem on your site, and then link it here.
2. Share only original and new work written for this challenge.
3. Leave a comment here.
4. Honor our community by visiting and commenting on others' poems.
(Next Week's Midweek Motif will be Half Year and World UFO DAY)
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