Guy LeCharles Gonzalez (aka glecharles) (aka loudpoet)

Prompt: Write a poem about a memory.

NOT LIKE IT USED TO BE

Every job I’ve ever had,
I always seem to have just
missed the good old days.

STFU and GBTW.

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Prompt: Write a poem about either a specific routine or routines in general.

SEASONAL AFFECTIVE DISORDER

The beginning of a new
season revives the spirit,
like a clown handing a child
a bright new balloon
that will pop five minutes
after he gets it home.

Being a Mets fan
from the Bronx
requires a thick skin
quick wit, and high
threshold for bitter
disappointment.

Being a Jets fan
anywhere, post-1969,
is simply masochistic.

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Prompt: “Two for Tuesday”: Write a “clean” poem or write a “dirty” poem.

URBAN PLAYGROUND

On my block
trees were few and far
between, caged for
their own good,
roots straining against
concrete manacles for
freedom.

Dirt was plentiful, manmade
— soda cans, candy wrappers,
cigarette butts, lottery tickets
— nothing that could nurture
a seedling or spark the
imagination.

An abandoned, brick-strewn lot
was our playground, perfect
for freeze tag, cops & robbers,
manhunt… escape for some,
practice for others.

We played stickball in the street
dodging between parked and
moving cars, playing the bounce
off a windshield or fire escape,
sliding into the manhole cover
that doubled as home plate
in an exuberant cloud of
blissful ignorance.

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Prompt: Write a poem about something missing. It can be about an actual physical object or something you just can’t put your finger on.

NEVER AS SIMPLE AS IT SEEMS

Home used to be defined by
the brief view of Yankee Stadium
from the 4 train as it pulled
into the station.

The House that Jackson, Nettles,
Randolph and Dent built in my
mind was torn down at the turn
of the century by entitlement and
greed, its eventual replacement
financed with promissory notes
of a return to greatness.

An impressively skin-deep replica,
its skeletons are buried in Little League
fields across the Bronx; the seats are
filled with hypocrites, dugouts
and field patrolled by savvy
businessmen.

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Prompt: Write a poem about a landmark. It can be a famous landmark (like Mount Rushmore or the Sphinx) or a little more subdued (like the town water tower or an interesting sign).

SIGNPOSTS

On the northside:
grass clippings,
popsicle sticks,
Sunday newspaper circulars.

On the southside:
crushed soda cans,
crumpled lottery tickets,
church service schedules.

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Prompt: Pick an animal; make that animal the title of your poem; then, write a poem.

CHICKENS

The family pet is a precarious
decision, like adopting someone
you know will die before you
and yours.

We could not agree on a dog
or a cat; the former too much
like a third child, the latter yet
another unpredictable in-law.

Guinea pigs were a consideration,
but since we left the Bronx,
willingly taking in a rodent
didn’t make much sense.

Six more months into this
recession and backyard chickens
would fit right in with canned food
and ammo in the basement.

Eggs in the morning, amusement
throughout the day, and when times
get rough, heartbreak is lessened
by a delicious dinnertime memorial.

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