The Creativity Well

Anywhere Can Be a Training Ground

April 06, 2023 — Poem a Day: a poem about the smell

Tactical Fitness

Freshly wet wood is in the air. Not musky or moldy. The dampened earth of the forest — a forest filled with hidden ninjas running and leaping just as dawn peeks through shuttered pines. Tempered steel so cold it hurts with each inhale crunches a steady beat — chomp — crisp — chomp — crisp — as eyes weep for fallen friends and lungs sting from astringent whiffs of spring onions keening for their kindred. Back-of-hand wipes shed salt away whilst steel longs to work. Thud! Crinkle — rustle — rice thin paper falls away. Potent waves of crushed garlic saturate the room. Sizzle — pop — as real butter hits heat. Crackle! Scoop and scrape the sacrificed greenery. Blasts of heat and aromas instantly fill the air. Shake and sprinkle salt and pepper into the mixture. Swirl and toss.

Lay a slab of dried prime beef on top of the assortment. Dash one, two, three fermented little fish. Oh, how the fragrances assault the olfactory nerves. Inhaling deeply as if life itself was depending upon the parfum.

Mouth waters. Throat constricts. Forced swallow. Breath hitches. Eyes half close in anticipation.

Bone white China-painted blue design displays the magical creation plated. The alluring ambrosia tickles and teases every sense. Every nerve. Blazing mini katana wielded like a samurai of days long gone, slices through the enemy. Eyes completely close as a soft moan escapes — orgasmic bliss.

The victor eats the spoils of war.

The Challenge

April 1, 2023, started the 16th annual April Poem-A-Day Challenge on Writer’s Digest and ran until May 1, 2023. Each day during April, Robert Lee Brewer posted a poetic form, explanation, and his attempt on the Writer’s Digest website..

My Process

Woke up to the annoying internal alarm clock left over from my teaching days, I roll hopped out of bed, wheeled to my so-called workstation, and I logged on to the Net. I went to the site, turned the page into a PDF, downloaded, saved, and logged out. Took a moment to open the prompt and read. Then re-read.

Each poem has a different gestation period.

After some growth and stretching, the labor pains came — giving birth to a brand-new creation: a first draft. A work freshly born. Not edited. No perfect word choice. Raw from the creativity well.

I invite and encourage you to engage with the words.

What strikes a chord in your soul? What might make a great spin-off poem topic?

Until next time, Bonnie L. Boucek