Adventure, the unknown
Art, the life of the artist becomes the work of; perhaps this day can be my work of
Artist, I am a performance
Back, you are always just on the point of turning; do you need to turn?
Beautiful, isn’t this?
Bench, sometimes you may need to sit on a
Ceremony, anything and everything can be a
Coins, spending steps like
Counting, stop all this endless
Down, do you need to sit?
Expressive, there is another way of moving that is wilder and more
Far, from the car park to the beach is too; the sea is too
Feet, today I am wearing my
Have, how many steps do you?
Human, this journey is beautiful because it is
It, I find myself deep in the middle of
Life, it takes me out of; it takes me deeper into
London, in Cornwall I dream of a simple walk through the streets of
Magic, the sand and the sea work a kind of
More, get out
Now, do you need to turn back?
Otherwise, taking me into realms I would not have gone
Performance art, this walk is a work of
Pocket, these few pennies in my
Precious, these few steps become; the walk becomes
Progress, on the one hand I’m making; on the other hand there seems to be no
Purse, look at the contents of my
Rain, while I was singing to the sea I didn’t notice the
Rocks, if you look carefully you might catch a glimpse of me basking on the sunlit
Sand, walking barefoot in the soft, soft
Sea, the artist goes to the; in London I dreamed of walking by the; singing old songs of the
St Ives, today we are going to
Standing, let me watch my own
Steps, I am buying life with my; other people are rich with their; how are your?
Sunlight, my feet bathe in pools of
Toes, sand between my
Walk, I could make a work of art called the; it’s so good to; It’s so damn good to just
* * *
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt: Have you ever flipped to the index of a book and found it super interesting? Well, I have (yes, I live an exciting life!) For example, the other day I pulled from my shelf a copy of on old book that excerpts parts of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s journals. I took a look at the index, and found the following entry under “Man”:
fails to attain perfection, 46; can take advantage of any quality within him, 46; his plot of ground, 46; his use, 52, 56; not to be trusted with too much power, 55; should not be too conscientious, 58; occult relationship between animals and, 75; God in, 79, 86; not looked upon as an animal, 80; gains courage by going much alone, 81; the finished, 89; and woman, distinctive marks of, 109; reliance in the moral constitution of, 124; the infinitude of the private, 151; and men, 217; should compare advantageously with a river, 258.
That’s a poem, right there!
Today, I challenge you to write your own index poem. You could start with found language from an actual index, or you could invent an index, somewhat in the style of this poem by Thomas Brendler. Happy writing!