Okay, here's the deal: you sit down and write 10 three-line poems. You have three minutes to write each one. The title for each one is something your eye falls upon. The title is not to be repeated in the poem. Find the title and write it, then without thinking, just write three lines. Give yourself permission for them to suck. Pause. Do the next one. (This exercise, along with the previous one, was taken from Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg, which is an AWESOME book!!!!!)
I have been so overhwelmed
and cannot ask for your help;
I got furious about the ice cream bars.
The giraffes and gorillas were the best
I remember, that day at the zoo
where you screamed and we threatened to go home again.
I could kill the TV I swear
Turn its skeleton into an oversized planter box
Turn its guts into an art project
My rubber belt was just 10 dollars
But I almost paid 30 for the buckle alone
And I think we could use a good board game sometimes.
You boys and your boy clubs
And us ladies got ours, they sing me that song
"Indie's mom's got it goin' on"
It is almost eleven and the baby's asleep
And I'm wondering when you'll get here
And if there'll be time for a cigarette.
Our living room is cut in half
It must be terrible feng shui
I always feel so stuck in here.
We went camping again and we left you behind
And it wouldn't have been good for you
But we felt terrible anyway.
Every night I am fucking tired
You sleep on the satisfaction of a hard day's work
I'm so pissed I could spit sometimes
I have over twenty volumes of my story
And I cannot bring myself to read
All the gory details of my own humiliation.