Day 3 Prompt: The American poet Frank O’Hara was an art critic and friend to numerous painters and poets In New York City in the 1950s and 60s. His poems feature a breezy, funny, conversational style. His poem “Why I Am Not a Painter” is pretty characteristic, with actual dialogue and a playfully offhand tone. Following O’Hara, today we challenge you to write a poem that obliquely explains why you are a poet and not some other kind of artist – or, if you think of yourself as more of a musician or painter (or school bus driver or scuba diver or expert on medieval Maltese banking) – explain why you are that and not something else!
I tried once—
stood before a canvas,
brush in hand,
convinced color could say
what words could not.
I swiped blue, a streak of red,
meant to be fire,
but it bled,
like a bruise on a winter morning.
That wasn’t what I meant at all.
A musician? No.
I own a guitar
and strum it from time to time.
I sing off key, so music,
It’s not for me.
But words—
they hum beneath my ribs,
like a secret only I know.
I spill them onto pages,
they do what they will—
a bruise, a fire,
these are words I understand.
Read more poems from National Poetry Month #NaPoWriMo