Original Poems III

Type 1.) Terzanelle

The Tree

A tree, a huge weeping willow,
spreading it's wings across the yard,
it's leaves lie as a pillow.

Many a generation that scarred,
yet it stays strong,
spreading it's wings across the yard.

The Blue Jays nest, singing their song,
taking bits and pieces to make their home,
yet it stays strong.

The Ravens arrive at gloam,
with the light waning,
taking bits and pieces to make their home.

A child straining,
to reach the top,
with the light waning.

Continuing nonstop,
a tree, a huge weeping willow,
to reach the top,
it's leaves lie as a pillow.

Type 2.) Springboard Poem

The Time is Right

The time is right for a change.
For something to give,
to break open,
as a fledgling pecking
the shell falling away.

The time is right for a fresh start.
In a place of different
and contemporary.
With people, unlike those
you've known, yet
still so similar.

The time is right for a new beginning,
away from the past
that seems to follow you
around, everywhere, no matter how
you try to run from it.
Creeping in, hiding in the shadows.

The time is right for a change.


Type 3.) Stream of Consciousness

Song

Listening to music
Music makes up the soul
Soul-lifting are those places of dissonance
Dissonance can make a song so much better
Better musicians are more in tune
Tune is another word for song
Song is to what I am listening

Original Poems II

Type 1.)  Pantoum

Christmas Eve

The candle on the countertop flickers,
The smell of baking dough rises,
The darkness outside is broken by red and green lights,
The star at the top of the tree twinkles.

The smell of baking dough rises,
Wrapping paper crinkles at the touch,
The star at the top of the tree twinkles,
Children's  voices break the silence.

Wrapping paper crinkles at the touch,
A fire burns in the next room,
Children's voices break the silence,
Empty stockings stare out at the decorated room.

The candle on the countertop flickers,
A fire burns in the next room,
Empty stockings stare out at the decorated room,
The darkness outside is broken by red and green lights.

Type 2.)  Where I'm From

Where I'm From

I am from plates,
from Purell and tissues.
I am from the dipping backyard.
(Wet, gooey, getting stuck
between your toes.)
I am from
the poinsettias, the weeping willow.

I am from cookies and brown eyes,
from Alexander,
and John Vincent,
and Susan.
I am from the artistic
and the sarcastic.
From try your hardest
and okay child.
I am from a one legged
rooster and 365 stories
for children.

I am from Albany and County Cork,
chex-mix and chicken.
From the man whose life
my great grandfather saved,
the scaffolding, and the
leg lost by my uncle.
I am from the bags of pictures
on the shelf
in the hall closet,
pouring across the kitchen table,
each time they're brought out.
Bringing back
the good old days.

Type 3.)  Recipe For Me

Into the Mixing Bowl

First, begin with the basics,
messy curls and bad vision.
Throw in some awkward silences
and determination to succeed.
Mix in the Irish and English and
African and Native American,
the German, the Polish, and
just about anything you have on hand.
Don't forget a drop (or two,
or three!) of music loving
and avid reader.
Stir, stir, stir until you can see
the lumps of indecision
and shyness.
Bake until light brown.

Original Poems I

Type 1.) Acrostic

Library

Listen to the silence. Creeping
Into the air as you exit the
Bustling hallway, entering a
Refuge of sorts that
Appeals to the studious and well-
Read.  All things considered,
You'll love it here

Type 2.) Ladder

Old Ladder

Tall,
rungs sturdy
with chipping paint
and exposed wood that
causes splinters who don't let
go, no matter how
hard you try.
Against the
house.

Type 3.) Road Sign Poetry

Caution

Caution to you
children
stepping foot out into the streets.

Caution to you
young ones
playing where the lawns end,
where the green meets gray.

Caution to you
for if you
venture out into the unknown,
the scary abyss of the world we know...
you might just like it.

Vocabulary On My Mind

There once was a man named Mr. Greeb, who believed that he was very altruistic and disliked those who were disputatious.  Unfortunately he was a teacher and often encountered students like this.  His students knew that their teacher disliked these people, but thought that he was vapid and so were purposely disputatious, as well as insolent, recalcitrant, and pugnacious.  Mr. Greeb also disliked anything colloquial, succinct or otherwise concise, so he made his students write everything out in complete detail and accepted nothing except complete sentences.  His students also found, after having Mr. Greeb for no less than a week, that Mr. Greeb was garrulous, not to mention his bad habit of deprecating his students quite harshly.  None of Mr. Greeb's students had ever lauded or extolled him when talking to their friends or parents.  The students felt like they were a petty and trivial part of Mr. Greeb's life, and they were correct.  Mr. Greeb had a very big secret.

Mr. Greeb was actually an extreme coupon-er.  All of Mr. Greeb's family and friends (he had few of both) knew how much he cared about his couponing and rarely described him as anything other than parsimonious, frugal and thrifty.  He was also somewhat of a pariah.  He lived in a very small house in a remote location, while still being somewhat in proximity to the grocery store where he coupon-ed.  Mr. Greeb loved his tooth paste and no one really understood why. Over the years that Greeb had coupon-ed, the aggregate amount of toothpastes that he had purchased was over 20,000.  Mr. Greeb loved his toothpaste so much it was almost as if he adulated toothpaste. What an absurd man Mr. Greeb was!

What I Need to Know about WRITING AND WRITERS to Become a Better Writer

Alec and I decided that we wanted to just broaden our current question; Why do people read poetry? into something more along the lines of Why do people read?  Understanding what makes some people want to read more than others can be helpful when writing, especially if you are trying to write for a specific audience.  Using the topic Why do people read? would give us more room to explore the types of writing that people read, how often they read, what they enjoy reading and even how the amount of reading that they do affects their writing.  We can ask about what it is that people's favorite authors do that make them love the books written by them.  We can see the aspects of writing that make people stop reading books in the middle, or never pick them up in the first place.  Since there seems to be a huge lack of people, especially teenagers who don't read poetry on a regular basis, or unless they have to for class, answering the question Why do people read poetry? would be much harder than finding out why they don't by answering the question Why do people read?


Speaker 1/17= I was absent

Rund Four=Robyn Ringler

In the essay, Letter to Al Pacino, I liked how Ringler actually wrote her essay as a letter to Al Pacino,giving the essay a more personal feel.  She expressing how, even though it was super exciting to meet him, there were multiple other things that were just as memorable that happen in everyday life, like someone dying, or seeing an amazing play.  I liked how Ringler summed up her letter; "Life and death are real. Love is real. New York City is real. And you are real."  These sentences pull together the whole point of the letter in just a few words.  In the essay, Letting Go, Ringler shares her experience about dealing with cancer.  She keeps a personal tone throughout, trying to convey how she took a strong liking to Gloria, comparing their lives (which were similar, at least in age).  You can feel how much she cared for Gloria and Gloria cared for her; "Despite sedation and pain medication, her eyes cried out as she sat forward, reaching for me with both arms. grasping the outstretched hands, I stroked her back and eased ice chips into her mouth."  In the last essay I read, Dissection, Ringler talks about how she had a scary bout with a swollen artery  in her brain that could have potentially caused major problems for her; "...I was in danger of having a stroke...My head overflowed with images of the worst-case scenario-paralysis, blindness, my family living on without me."  After reading the essays and the biography, it seems as though Ringler has had a very eventful life.  Reading the biography makes the essays feel a little more personal from a readers point of view.




1/12 Speaker=****

Round Three= Stephen Leslie

Haibuns are a very confusing type of writing. The definition that is given on the link is vague and round about providing no clear meaning of what a Haibun actually is or what it entails.  However, after much dissection of the definition and looking at actual Haibuns, the format, at least, becomes clear.  A paragraph or two, maybe three no longer than a few sentences and at least one Haiku included within.  The hard part is what they're about.  Of the four examples three are about the death of something or someone and the fourth is about a GPS.  Sometimes the Haiku seems to be separate from the rest, like in Joe; "...but I never fought in./ Cold black granite walls/The Vietnam Memorial/ I touch Joe's name".  As opposed to Elevator Music; "She passed quietly a few hours later/ departing here/ arriving there/ elevator music".

My Haibun:

The empty spot at the kitchen table calls for slight concern at the number of recognizable cars sitting in the driveway.

 A hollowness filling the room, a funeral home now. Sorrow, regret, sympathy and empathy hanging like the black cloth covering everyone that walks in.  Confusion from the young children, not even out of elementary school, too young to remember the last time this happened. Politeness is lost on them as they still try to grasp the concept of death.  An open casket brings the tears, yet still, the hope that maybe it's just a game that adults play.  A room so full of people, yet everyone is alone.  The church bells ring, the black flags placed where everyone on the road can see, making a time that's so personal, so public.  Up the hill to the flat expanse of green and stone.  Flowers litter the ground and a new plot has been dug up just for today.  A preface for what is to come.

The breeze comes slow
and it is time to let go
of the balloons

1/10 Speaker=*****

Round Two= Deb Smith

From the article titled Tales of the Beach based on Smith's trip with her son to Nerja, Spain on the Costa del Sol.  Throughout the article Smith compares the "exotic" vacations that she went on as a child to a New England beach to the "exotic" adventure that she was on with her son in Spain.  Smith infuses the culture of the country into the article by using some spanish words when she's talking about food; "In the Alcazin, I discovered horchata, an almond-milk drink and bought velvet-smooth melocontones (peaches) from the market."  Smith also gives vivid descriptions of the scenery from the bus; "...the steep ochre-hued Sierra Nevada Mountains gave way to the whitewashed costal villages above an azure Mediterranean.  It was only 20-some miles to the next continent." Also, she describes the typical beach of Europe; "Like many European beaches it's pebbles instead of sand; the ocean undertow quickly fills your sandals with dime-sized stones and buries your feet in gravel...we jumped down onto pebbly Burriana Beach, where restaurants and shops wedged cheek-to-jowl with one another."

The audio essay  that I listened to was Revenge of the Tooth Fairy.  In Deb Smith's voice you can hear what she puts emphasis on; "This is vital."  You also can hear in her voice the emotions that you can only hear when some one is actually talking to you, as opposed to a written essay, where you can guess what the author is trying to convey, but you can never be certain, unless you talk to the author about that piece of work.  Near the beginning of the essay, Deb talks about how the story of the Tooth Fairy, how she collects teeth to make a piano.  In the next line she says; "Likely story." and you can hear in her voice that she doesn't believe it. If you weren't listening to her talk, some one could take her literally and be confused for the rest f the article, where it is absolutely clear that she doesn't like anything to do with dentistry, even the Tooth Fairy.

Do you ever use any other types of writing?
What is your editing process and how long does it normally take?
1/6 Speaker = ***

Round One= Therese Broderick

Therese Broderick is retired writer with an MFA degree.  Broderick has much experience as a writer; "...as an open mic participant, workshop leader, volunteer for the Hudson Valley Writers Guild, and/or critique group member. My poems, etc., have appeared in assorted journals, webzines, anthologies, radio broadcasts, chapbooks, podcasts, and art galleries." (http://theresebroderick.wordpress.com/about/).  Broderick has a very interesting and apparent tone of voice through out the poems of hers that I read and are almost all based upon or inspired by personal accounts that she has had.  One poem, entitled On the Wall of Children's Drawings, is actually meant to show her tone of voice as she says in the note; "I intend for this poem to be, primarily, a system of sound: the sound of my speaking voice when it's first loyalty is to the sounds of words."(http://theresebroderick.wordpress.com/2011/09/04/month-520-on-the-wall-of-childrens-drawings/)  The poem was inspired by her trip to China where she encountered a wall of children's drawings.  Another of her poems, Come November, was inspired by a car trip that she took and explains how, as she ages she is becoming less concerned with her absolute need to know the exact details of everything.  A line in the poem states; "Once I kept careful decimal counts; gram, acre, league, nautical mile. But now it's enough for my squinting eye to guess..."(http://theresebroderick.wordpress.com/2011/11/16/month-526-come-november/)  Of the poems by Broderick that I read, there was one that tripped me up a little.  It is called, We Keep to the Trail and the poem itself is a tad confusing considering it jumps from one topic to a seemingly completely unrelated other topic; "...and six ducklings who shift phase instantly: straight tight pairs behind her gliding helmet of feathers tense go the treads of all our wheels and basins buses yellow with children ride the highway above."(http://theresebroderick.wordpress.com/2011/07/20/month-517-we-keep-to-the-trail/)  In the note afterward, Broderick tells that the poem is actually a revision of a poem she had written earlier called The Followers(http://theresebroderick.wordpress.com/page/2/?s=5%3A13).  After also reading that poem, which is basically a different, yet similar way of looking at the ducklings in We Keep to the Trail the beginning of the poem makes some sense, yet how ducklings following their mother and children on a yellow school bus somehow make a connection I have no idea.

1. In the poem, We Keep to the Trail, how did you relate the ducklings to the children on the bus?
2. Do you often use prompts to get started like you did in your poem about the tin doll house, or do you only use them before attending a conference/ workshop/ semenar?