January’s Poems: Devastation, Gorilla Monsoon, and Groundhog Day

Images generated by DALL-E 2

I’m writing poems based on prompts every Sunday from New Jersey poet Dimitri Reyes. Although I’ve taken some liberties with the prompts, I hope to continue this throughout 2023 and post these poems monthly. I’ve already posted my first and second poems here. Following are the other poems during this five-Sunday month.

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The prompt: Write about something you’ve been devastated about.

POEM 3: Diary of a Sociopath

 

I’m a boy playing minigolf

in rural New Jersey along Route 46.

It’s the site of a strip mall now.

 

My playmates, young Sheryl and Eddie,

were neighbors then.

Their house, a used car lot now.

 

It was Mother’s Day then.

 

Tires screech.

A car horn blares.

A sudden, sickening thud of metal on metal.

A woman screams.

 

I miss my short putt.

 

Minutes pass,

and we witness her death.

The children in her car are silent.

Her dog wails.

 

Sheryl and Eddie are speechless.

I grow restless.

I rearrange my stance over a bright yellow, dimpled ball

and aim for the mouth of a clown.

 

Can I have a do-over, I ask?

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The prompt: Write a poem using these words: mule; monsoon; traveled.

POEM 4: Ode to Gorilla Monsoon

 

We traveled through seven man-made holes

in the mountains of Pennsylvania.

Heading west, Dad squinted behind Saratoga Ray Bans:

The last cold warrior, the Republican JFK.

 

Dad was behind the wheel of our black Chevy Impala,

his hands recklessly at 12 and 6.

He said it gave him more control,

as Hank Williams crackled “I Saw the Light” across WINB AM.

 

Beads of sweat formed on Dad’s clean-shaven cheek,

releasing the incense of Old Spice.

Our car leaked smoke from his Micronite-filtered Kents

rising from a half-inch crack in the driver’s side window.

 

Arriving from New Jersey at dusk,

we parked in front of a modest house atop Mount Pleasant,

and my uncle rushed to place cinder blocks

behind our low-slung wheels.

 

The next morning, amid cornstalks on a hillside,

my cousin and I wrestled, diurnal primates at play.

His hero was Bruno Sammartino,

and I was a poor substitute for Gorilla Monsoon.

 

I am not a fighter.

I ate a mule kick on my cousin’s follow-through,

as Dad watched in the distance.

He flicked his cigarette to his feet and turned his back on me.

 

I was always a sucker for a sucker punch.

I woke this morning

threescore years and precisely 338 miles away,

with a phantom pain in my side.

 

I am the Survivor Series antihero.

And I remember everything.

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The prompt: With Groundhog Day upon us, read this poem by Len Lawson and write your own poem where the speaker repeats the same day over and over again.

 

POEM 5: Groundhog Day in Ramsdale

 

In the month of January,

I wrote a poem every week.

 

Prompted by a poet,

each day I wrote more words for you,

but I have not gotten anywhere yet.

 

In the month of February,

I will wait for your return:

I’m still in love with you.

 

I’m still in love with you.

I’m still in love with you.

I’m still in love with you.

I’m still in love with you.

 

I’m still in love with you.

I’m still in love with you.

I’m still in love with you.

I’m still in love with you.

 

Repeat, editor, till the month is full.

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PS: Here's a visual poem — "Groundhog Day 2023" — with images of the NYC skyline from the Lincoln Tunnel helix on my morning commute via bus during January:

ChatGPT Visits the Philadelphia Museum of Art

Museum of Art courtyard viewed from the Armor Room.

I wanted to post some photos here from a recent visit to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I had suggested the “immersive Monet” exhibit in NYC, but my wife preferred we check out “real-life Matisse.” For background and context, I gave ChatGPT a few prompts and out popped the following words. Not bad!

I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords:

The Philadelphia Museum of Art is a must-see destination for any art lover visiting the city. Located in the heart of Philadelphia, the museum boasts an impressive collection of over 240,000 works spanning 2,000 years of world culture.

It isn't uncommon to see visitors engaging in playful activities on the front steps. One such activity is pretending to be the iconic fictional character "Rocky." Visitors raise their hands above their heads and jump in triumph, mimicking the famous scene from the first film in the series.

Upon entering the museum, visitors are greeted by the grand staircase, which leads to the main galleries on the second floor.

One of the highlights of the museum is the American art collection, which includes works by some of the most famous American artists such as Winslow Homer, John Singer Sargent and Edward Hopper. The museum also has a significant collection of European paintings, including works by Monet, Van Gogh, and Renoir.

Diana atop the grand staircase, decorated for the holidays.

Matisse’s “Large Reclining Nude” (1935) and
“Woman in Blue” (1937), including the skirt
worn by the painting’s model. 

During my visit, I had the opportunity to attend the special exhibition "Matisse in the 1930s" which featured over 80 works by the artist, including paintings, sculptures, and drawings, as well as a selection of his personal objects from his studios in Nice and Paris. This exhibition provided an in-depth look at the artist's techniques and the way he used objects in his studio as inspiration for his work. (Note: This exhibit closed yesterday... and I think ChatGPT is actually describing a previous Matisse exhibit here.)

I also had the opportunity to view the painting "Sunflowers" by Vincent Van Gogh. This famous painting, which is one of the most popular on display at the museum, is renowned for its vibrant colors and dynamic brushstrokes. It was a true highlight of my visit to the museum.

Unfortunately, I also set off two proximity alarms while viewing the paintings, but it was a reminder of how close you are allowed to be with the paintings and how precious they are.

So excited… a little too excited… to see this up close.
I also set off an alarm tripping over Zoe Leonard’s floor sculpture.

Overall, a visit to the Philadelphia Museum of Art is a truly enriching experience. The museum's vast and varied collections, special exhibitions, and educational programs make it a must-see destination for any art lover.

This is where ChatGPT stopped writing, but here are a few more images:

Degas in Philadelphia.

Video exhibit by Visual AIDS.
Lots of nooks and crannies in this museum!

This is an unfinished Cezanne, which I liked very much.
The Matisse exhibit also showed some of his works in progress,
and I liked the rougher, early versions better.

Had to wait until all the people jumping like "Rocky"
stopped posing on these steps 🙂

Poem: 'Mysteries of the Rosary'

This week's poetry prompt was simple:

Go through your phone’s camera roll and pick a random photo. Capture each detail with words and phrases, descriptive words for what you see, what the photo is of, where it’s from, etc. Think of these various details as a collage and put together a new poem.

I have thousands of photos on my phone: 61,023 as of earlier this week, to be exact.

So I downloaded a free app called "Stumble." Developers Ritchie & Mason enticed me with the first line of the app's description: "Take a serendipitous walk through your photo roll."

My life can use some serendipity.

Once installed, I pressed the "Stumble" button, and a photo appeared from a March 7, 2021, visit to The Met Cloisters. My wife and I had stopped to look at what we've previously discovered was the same favorite exhibit which we had both first seen years before we married.

I had seen this extraordinary rosary bead during a high school field trip, then years later accompanied by a friend who was an artist. I later took my young children to see it. Years later I returned alone, before returning again with Nancy last March.

I even tried writing a poem about this once before, but I like this one better:

Mysteries of the Rosary

I am a pilgrim.

Each decade of life,

I return to New York

to behold an intricately carved

boxwood prayer bead

the size of a snowball.

It depicts Christ’s crucifixion.

The museum piece,

hollowed and exposed,

never changes.

My spirit, 

hollowed and exposed,

diminishes in return.

My prayers

have been autonomous circles

of desire and intent.

Nothing more than empty shells.

Behold this dying man.

I see everything now.

Salvation is in the details.

My New Year's resolution: write a prompted poem each week in 2023, encouraged by New Jersey poet Dimitri Reyes.

Poem: 'Lost Cat'

I'm going to try to write a prompted poem each week in 2023, encouraged by New Jersey poet Dimitri Reyes. We'll see how this goes. 🙂 The first prompt? "Write a poem about lost or forgotten things."

The type may be a bit small. Forgive me. It's meant to fit on a single page, so I can tack it to a telephone pole.