The Ugly River
What happens when you stop trying to write beautiful things
The Poem
Write a poem about a river. Use any or all of these words: •cascade •stones •flow •trickle •tenson •wander
Chao Phraya
You don’t boast a beautiful cascade, instead you take pride in your muck.
You trickle down into spooky little fingers,
resembling Buddha’s hands, or creepy little alleys.
You don’t have beautiful stones, and you aren’t
really Instagrammable because you’re polluted AF.
Still, there is a lot of charm in your tension and
a lot of good in it too;
in the way you get thousands from place-to-place
saving them time. You flow,
pushing boats, and seagulls, and
all the big fish that wander in, making
it easy to forget the river dwellers,
floating and blending into
oblivion.
© 2026 Carla Monroy
Part of the 100 Day Poetry Project
The Anti-Poet
Are poetry prompts that give you words easier to work with? In theory, I think they are meant to give your brain a jolt. A little something to encourage you to write-off-the-cuff. I wanted to see what it was like to act as an anti-writer.
Instead of writing about a beautiful and serene river that makes you want to photograph it, I thought it would be more interesting to examine a really ugly one. One that still carries charm in its chaos.
Toward the end of the poem, I may have been trying to formulate a statement about the people around this river. All the while trying to remind myself that everything I write isn’t always going to be good but also trying to push myself to strive for being consistent over perfect.
What I’ve Been Up to Lately
I’ve been reluctant to write. To share myself. Now that I’ve published my book and people know how to find me, it has resulted in a bit of stage fright.
Regardless of the fear, about a month ago, I gave myself a writing assignment. To write 200 – 400 words everyday about anything, with one intention, to always answer the question, “what is my point.” Part of the assignment is to publish 3 of the pieces I write each week. I must admit that I haven’t quite done that part yet.
Still, I’ve been feeling so creative and motivated, except for the thing that is keeping me from being fully open.
Creativity Shows Up in Different Ways
I’ve been wanting to record stuff, take photos, and write poetry. I’ve been having minimal contact with friends and family, mostly because of distance but also a little by choice. This has resulted in creating room.
I have space and serenity to figure things out. Live life and play house in a beautiful and inspirational place where other people vacation. I want to read my old journals and things I’ve written to find the things I am meant to share with the world.
Get lost down city alleyways to find tables to sit at, to get lost in thought, and over caffeinated enough to brave the heat a little longer to find another hidden gem.
To breathe (albeit the polluted air). To walk. Take in the concrete. That’s really what it is. It’s kind of like my journals. Getting lost down the alleyways of my pages and finding gems. Passages that become poems and anecdotes and stories.
Idea Killer
I’m a literary serial killer in a sense because I keep some thought babies alive while completely ignoring others to point of malnourishment, until they perish. Never giving them the chance to fully embody their proper life.
Is it morbid of me to think of my ideas in that way? Is that not the pleasure in writing and imagination?
What avenues can you take things down? How can you intensify something, and use it to tell a story that may not really be true?
That is the fun in creating, you get to feel what it would be like to be God. Maybe that's the assignment now. Not to write masterpieces. Not to write beautiful rivers. Just to keep following whatever catches my attention, even when it leads somewhere strange.
Because somewhere between the muck, the false starts, and the abandoned drafts are the ideas that deserve to live.
If this resonated with you, I'd love for you to stick around.
I'm challenging myself to write more consistently—not because everything deserves to be published, but because I want to see what happens when I stop waiting for perfection. Subscribe if you'd like to follow along.
