6 week writing Challenge

Hello expression monkeys; I am posting this again but with the current date so that it appears at the top.

This writing challenge I have done before but I am adding a little twist:

Theme: recreate a poem from a famous author.

Guidelines: use any part of the piece (style, rhythm, subject) to draw your inspiration.

Each week pick a new poem (for a challenge pick a new author)

Rules: no rules, don’t think and have fun.

Here is mine and please post yours in the comments or just follow along at home!!

Week 1: How to meditate by Jack Kerouac

Lights out

Fall, hands a clasped, into instantaneous ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine, the gland inside of my brain discharging the good glad fluid (holy fluid) as I hap-down and hold all my body parts down to a deadstop trance-healing all my sicknesses-erasing all-

Not even the shred of a I-hope-you or a loony balloon left in it, but the mind blank, serene, thoughtless.  When a thought comes-a-springing from afar with its held-forth figure of image, you spoof it out, you spuffit out, you fake it, and it fades, and thought never comes-and with joy you realize for the first time thinking’s just like not thinking- so I don’t have to think anymore

My answer

Propaganda: Meditation: fidgeting, obsessive thoughts covered in to-do lists cycling thought 5, 6, 1000 times a minute in between lapses of consciousness awoken by the sound of the snore and thud of the head. Bruised butt. Badgering myself into succumbing to the promised surrender and released within the fantasy of nirvana till the buzzer finally rings and a smile appears on my face knowing, that this shit is done and I can embrace the lesser suffering called life and it is good.

Week2: SHE LET GO by SafireRose

She let go

She let go without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgements.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all of the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely without hesitation, or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a book on how to let go. She didn’t search the scriptures. She just let go.

She let go of all the memories that held her back. She let go of all the anxieties that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of all the planning and calculations about how to do it right.

She didn’t promise to let go. She didn’t journal about it. She didn’t write the projected date in her day timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn’t check the weather report, or read her daily horoscope. She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go. She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn’t do a five-step spiritual mind treatment. She didn’t call the prayer line.

She didn’t utter one word. She just let go. No one was around when it happened. No was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go. There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad. It was what it was and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her.

And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.

My adaptation:

She grew up. Not on her birthday.

No cake or presents.

No secret surprise or pat on the back. She grew up.

It wasn’t drinks on New Years or confetti on the dance floor. No resolution to do it, or goal to attain it.

She just grew up.

Nothing special happened, no Prince Charming kiss or dream wedding bliss.

She didn’t become more mature or capture eternal youth. No words of wisdom did she preach or lists of lessons learned.

She just grew up.

There was no grand banquet at the office nor flowers placed on the night stand.

She did not fire the stylist and bedazzle the world with hair proudly of grey.

She just grew up.

She Grew out of believing what everyone told her.

She grew out of the doubt and limitations in her mind.

She grew out of pretending to be perfect and pleasing those who are less than pleasing to her.

She grew up.

No one was around

But it happened

No one noticed

But it happened

She grew up.

Like a cherry blossom budding in the spring, she just grew up.

There was effort.

There was no struggle.

There was much much pain.

Some was bad and some was good.

In the space around what was bugging her. She grew up.

A tear came to her eye and then a smile on her face.

The sweet floral sent flew through the air.

And the stars and sky ignited into infinity.

Week 3 The Road not taken, Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

My adaptation

Two of swords, one a choice of pattern, the other a wish and a prayer.

Both equal in its temptation, yet far from satisfaction in the mind of the soul.

I could not control the ones who see not the wisdom pointing towards the brush.

Lookin down lanes of perfectly blossoming flowers and crickets, I took the purples over the pinks.

Through space and time I took a sigh and looked at the plow which paved this way, never to go back.

This be the one travelled by brave souls and weary hearts wrapped in redemption all along the way.

Not Open to Feedback

I’m not open to feedback

I see it on your face

Nicely tucked away in the folds of that compliment on how my words touched your heart.

A friendly tip from that one time he spoke her poem in front of the class and learned how to project and articulate correctly.

I know how hard you work at being the best expert audience for all things oratory

And with that infectious grin and such a solid handshake, how can I contradict

The ways I tell a story to preamble me presentation and manage to always stumble over the screech of the microphone

How when you saw that famous nomad from the city and an oh so spunky talent from out west

and how you loved the way they leaned into the tale about the kids with spaghetti on their face that made everyone feel that they were sitting at the table

But you have admired all my work and just love how I assemble a particulate of banter and flow a good alliteration, “is that the right word”, or metaphorical patter.

I thank you for the compliment and admire the oranges and yellows in your shirt; a wonderful drishti spot to calm my nerves that you said you “didn’t even notice”

With that said

And what to for among sincere thanks and appreciation to you for attending

However; with a grin

“Not open to feedback”

workin 4 the man

On the grind to squeeze swollen feet into black polished shoes

Workin 4 the man

quittin time when grease splatter spotless and each nook and cranny rubs knuckles raw

little black vest peeled off at evening in a hunch back with bones a aching

overtime required snapping off the heads one by one

workin 4 the man

25 cent raise when no talk back keeps that evaluation stellar, plus twenty minutes to sit down with no deductions.

cash money paid in full on a house for upper crust dreams made possible, being sure to lock up at night.

Two days off a week, one for sleep and the other to get that stain out of the uniform top.

lucky to have it whistle tunes soundtrack in the head to keep that chin up.

Practical absurd you dare not complain about giving pride to just another day

Working 4 the man


good enough with no reference from another human being.

Artist to be free to fly into a box that measures proportions by publications and university credits.

The matte on the picture must be black or white

::colors seem to bold.

Unsophisticated to the nearest package hanging, judged on the library walls.

Good enough

right brain talent setting a new bar. Stainless steel or a light charcoal to fit in at the swap a doo network of higher minds.

Depth of field and perspective

wild:: just right to gather executive to a gala celebration

Plenty of gasp for air and tell it like it is.

Application deadline and righteous nomination for honoring all

that commonplace won’t address properly..and makes for great copy.

Good enough poet with vision

lose lip spreading finger paint into ilford keeping just enough emulsion to please the panel.

Glossy paper submerged to reveal the structure

Like magic in the dark:: gaining enough solitude long before

Display it…like this

With black matte or white cuz

Colors are too bold.


A lady interrupted

Spotted emotions

Heart on the sleeves

Shoulder to cry on

Caring to much about putting on a jacket and getting those teeth brushed.

Boy Interupted

Emotions under the surface

a solid rock of ideas

Arms to wrap in

Working to hard to make sure the heat is on and the bills are paid.

Gender says walk on eggshells for hysterical lady; made furious left in the dark.

Gender says don’t push stubborn boy; made angry put on the spot.

Lady interrupted

Mistrust and dis-respect to be able to handle all the truth.

Boy Interupted

Mistrust and disrespect to be seen as innocent.

Different world sitting in the same conflict.

Lady interrupted must be hysterical while boy has to be stubborn until the field gets leveled

And the blooms come up

Welcoming again the innocence of nothing