After hearing poems by Sean Patrick Mulroy and Sue Savoy disparaging the fine name of our equestrian friends, I would like to hear some poems that, ahem, this is Simone's joke "buck the trend". Poems about perfectly civilized horses.  (Image from Bird Ryan at Deviant Art)

Via Daphne Gottleib

Find a public figure, writer, or musician you'd like to interview. Come up with a reasonable amount of questions (ten to twenty if you're ambitious). Now find interviews with the person, or consult their writing/lyrics and use them, probably out of context, to answer your questions.

A mash-up ingredient prompt!

April Penn read a poem from a Tips From The Bar prompt, and one of the lines "An Obsession With Naming Things" caught my attention.

So this week's prompt should be for a poem titled "An Obsession With Naming Things" that includes rain and architecture (each was a focus by much missed Cantab poet, Andrew Campana). As usual, we implore you to either not be at all cliche, or to make sure the cliche rises like a phoenix and shakes the dust from your wings before you fly, poet fly away home.

Imagine you come from a long line of shape shifters. What type of animals does your family transform into. Is it uniform? Are you all werestegosauruses? Or do each of you morph into different animals?

This prompt based on a  poem by Nathan Comstock

I woke up today at a friend's house, tired, hot, and no less cranky than I was when I fell asleep. I headed to work to finish last night's project, then put the spare work keys in the register, and headed to the house with my key to the interior door, hoping the exterior door would be open.

Just before I left the store, my phone rang, and I heard my landlord telling someone something about leaving a door open. I assumed it was a butt dial, and that he was talking to my downstairs neighbor.

Not the case, as I physically ran into my landlord, we talked for a few minutes, and discovered his phone call had nothing to do with me.

After our brief talk, I went to the Harvard bus stop to catch the 77 bus, and traveled home. It turns out, the key I THOUGHT was the interior to my house key was the interior work key, I'd put the wrong key in my pocket, and a wrong key in the register. So I turned back, and waited 45 minutes for the 77 bus, I used my monthly pass, but there was very angry woman with a big rolling laundry carriage headed toward me, so I backed off the bus to let her off. On my way back in, the driver said "You forgot to scan your card."

"I didn't." I said. "I scanned it, and then backed out of the bus to let that lady out. I'll scan it again but it's not going to work." I showed him.

"I can't let you on."

Sorry, Wednesday, this was not going to go down this way. "I'm already on. I'm not trying to be a jerk but I'm not going to wait for the next bus because I was being nice to the swearing lady with laundry carriage."

He sighed, and I went and found a seat. I got to work, switched out the keys, and headed back to the bus stop where I caught the SAME 77 bus with the same driver. This time, my card scanned properly, and he sighed loudly as I sat down.

Back at the house, I discovered that, lo, even this key was not the interior house key but was, in fact, the exterior house key, and the exterior door had already been unlocked for me.

I called my landlord who came over with a variety of keys that may or may not unlock my door, and a crowbar, which, unfortunately, would not be helpful given that my door is deadbolted.

We called the property manager, to see if she could stop by the house, so that we could get in through the back (which is deadbolted, chained, slidered. etc.) and maybe use the crowbar on another door, but she was not around.

I went down to the store to get something to drink while my landlord went to go get ladders.

Ladders.

A half hour later, I climbed on to the roof of the second floor porch, and then put up another ladder to get to my porch, and then went in through the window.

My cats, who still had plenty of food and water left from yesterday, were nonplussed. Although one of them shit on my bed because I didn't come home to cuddle with him. 

I went into my room, grabbed my keys, gave the spare set to the landlord, and fell into a deep, brief coma.

I tell you this, not just to vent, but because tonight's Tip From The Bar is "How To Break Into Your Own House": You no longer have access to a place, a concept, an emotion, or a person that's important to you. How do you get back in without breaking the law/the person's trust/yourself.