PROMPTED TO SING THEM BLUES

Another way to write a poem is to start with a PROMPT.  We do this in my poetry group; at the end of the evening, we choose a topic for our next meeting.  While it’s not mandatory to follow it, the prompt acts
as an idea generator.  The variety of ways different people approach the same subject always proves interesting.  Prompts can come from many sources–writing guides or classes, internet sites, etc.  I found the list below on WordPress, on the blog of a friend of a friend.  I greatly admire anyone with the discipline to write a new poem every day for
a month.  I am slowly working through, and my current prompt is #5, Blue.  That reminded me of a short piece I did for Writerrific last year.  Our assignment was to choose a color and personify it (assign human characteristics to something non-human or abstract).  It’s not a poem, so I’m not off the hook on my project, but I thought I’d dust it off and share it.  Listen as Miss Navy coaxes the Blues right outta that horn…

SINGIN’ THE NAVY BLUES

I’m the middle child of the Blues, a deep but underappreciated color whose name nobody remembers.  I hoped things would change when I won a place on the American flag but found victory empty when I was reduced to a number (70075), the backdrop for the fifty “real” stars.  A second chance at fame took a painfully ironic turn when I learned that the “Dress Blue” uniform of the Navy is actually black.  If I really apply myself, I can shrink an ample bedroom to the dimensions of a prison cell, a magnificent parlor trick no one cares to witness.  The smallest box of crayons to even include me is the 64-pack, where there is a high probability I will never leave my assigned seat, let alone rendezvous with the built-in sharpener.  I envy Teal and Cerulean and Cobalt their flashy popularity, making guest appearances on sports cars and swim- suits and Kitchen Aid mixers while I remain eternally in the shadows, a lackluster hue woven into the pleated tartan skirts of Catholic school- girls.  Only the most discerning eye sees me for what I am, an enduring classic with potential to steal the show, my smoky voice matching the saxophone note-for-note as I belt out them Birth Order Blues.

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