Winter

Finally, here’s our prompt for the day – as always, optional. A few days ago, we looked at Frank O’Hara’s poem in which he explained why he was not a painter. Jane Yeh’s “Why I Am Not a Sculpture” has a similar sense of playfulness, as she both compares herself to a sculpture and uses a series of rather silly and elaborate similes, along with references to dubious historical “facts.” Today, we challenge you to write a similar kind of self-portrait poem, in which you explain why you are not a particular piece of art (a symphony, a figurine, a ballet, a sonnet), use at least one outlandish comparison, and a strange (and maybe not actually real) fact.

Why I am not a song cycle about a Winter's Journey

I refuse to leave
In the dead of night
I prefer to stay
and argue and discuss
And try to make it right

I haven't cried
Since my early years
I know nothing of
snowy footprints
or frozen tears

The will-o'-the-wisp
will not lead me astray
It brings me home
To Ireland
Where I stay

I do not ask
If I should lie
amongst sleepers
I am already asleep
And the morning is nigh