Category: Poetry
Exercise #17 (page 273)
This exercise was to write a parody of a favourite poet and also a cento (poem made from fragments of other poems).
Parody of Ogden Nash
When I say I hate you, I don’t mean
just a bit.
I hate you like I hate reading a really
sad obit.
That listlessly lists all the loved ones
left behind the recently died
And makes you wonder why said newly
departed wasn’t saintified.
You should know that my feelings for you
are much stronger.
If you think this couldn’t be true
because surely nothing could be
more distasteful than reading re
random dead people, you couldn’t
be wronger.
The inspiration for this angsty
abhorrence might surprise you,
fatale most femme –
I hate reading obituaries because it
always annoys me to find that you’re
not the star of them.
Cento of Emily Brontë
The starry night shall tidings bring
That Time is treasuring up for me
Not a sign of further grieving
(Such thoughts were tyrants over me!)
Glad comforter! will I not brave,
That from which it sprung – Eternity.
Three thousand miles beyond the wave
We’ll rest us long and quietly.
Compiled from the following poems: “The starry night shall tidings bring,” “A.G.A. to A.S.,” “A death-scene,” “Faith and despondancy,” “Anticipation,” “Death,” “Written in Aspin Castle,” and “Start not upon the Minster wall.”
Exercise #18 (page 280)
This exercise was to write a haikus for each season, each including a kigo word (roughly, a reference to season, weather or atmosphere).
People seem to think
Spring is so fresh, bright and new.
All I see is mud.
That time of year when
Leisure outweighs the sweaty
Heat: it’s called summer.
The leaves flutter down,
Gracefully helpless in their
Seasonal descent.
Each home never so
Cozy as when the winter
Swirls coldly without.
Exercise #19 (pages 291-292)
This exercise was to write Petrarchan (abba-abba-cdccdc) and Shakespearean (abab-cdcd-efef-gg) Sonnets on Electoral Apathy.
Petrarchan Sonnet
The folks who love election day are few
They’ve little time to waste on candidates
And even less for all the running mates.
They’ve stuff to see and better things to do.
The TV shows that trap their eyes like glue
Are not the lengthy policy debates.
They’d rather whine and moan about “ingrates,”
Than research on and vote for someone new.
And yet, I am too hard (perhaps) on all
Who do not hear the ballot’s siren song,
Who view each promise made as just a tall
Tale – their hopes have lesser length to fall.
They care less when the leaders’ plans go wrong;
The dirty lies don’t fill their souls with gall.
Shakespearean Sonnet
They’d rather watch reality TV
And mindlessly invoke the party line,
Than learn about each candidate’s policies.
Their “research” is to read the roadside signs.
The responsibility they hold is great –
A right for which historic heroes died.
And yet, they’d rather leave to others their fate
Than give a hand and our great nation guide.
It pains me to admit I’m not above
This accusation, I too am apathetic
Too cynical to trust the promises of
The candidates, my choices are aesthetic.
And yet, perhaps, we’re wise to hate the game
Since every politician lies the same.
Exercise #20 (page 305)
This exercise was to write two pattern poems, one in the shape of a cross and another in the shape of a capital I. Also, an acrostic verse spelling out your name.
This
icon
rich
with
deep symbolic meaning
is the plain wooden
board
upon
which
I pin
my sin.
Really, Fry? It seems ridiculous
Of you to make me go to such a fuss.
Surely penning poems about my name
As such is just a narcissistic game,
Leaving others to suspect I find
In it more fun than yet has come to mind.
Not wishing folks to think me vain and dumb,
Denouncing it, I find the end has come.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
make me gracious dark and tall
life
long
mind
strong
eyes
bright
thoughts
right
make me charming rich and wise
And both my biceps a larger size.
Nail Polish
Nail polish chipping,
Flaking all over.
What a waste of time that was.
Mine
Somewhere
You tilt backwards in your chair,
Head thrown back, unaware
Of your peril, and laughing.
Somewhere
You turn pages, sip sweet tea
And prove ability
To replace sleep with reading.
Somewhere
As Beethoven’s Seventh plays,
In beauty and pain’s maze,
Your old soul is transforming.
Somewhere
On a mountain top you stand,
So tall, crowned with life and
Sceptered with all life’s meaning.
Somewhere
You jealously guard your space
But still scan each new face,
Half-hopefully and searching.
Or perhaps it’s only me
.
Notion
Little girl, leans back, hair flowing,
Gaining momentum, feet don’t touch the ground –
The swing carries her up and down.
Eyes closed, the world sways,
Tree leaf shadows flicker on her face.
Warm summer days.
Time, the persistent pendulum works
Legs grow long, feet drag on the ground.
Work to go forward, work to go back
A little motion sick perhaps.
Eyes wide open, the world jolts past,
Clutching the chains doesn’t prevent
Long week days, and short ends.
Dusty shoes, with many passes
Wear ruts in the ground.
Perhaps a place to land or
Perhaps to hover gently,
A paper’s width between life and childhood.
eerie
The trees were raining today.
Bethany carefully told how thick fog
condenses. drips off branches
in warm weather.
Science does not
change the fact
that
the trees were raining today.
Wet tree-shadows on the sidewalk
made me stare.
Trees in this world do not rain.
They do not snow or hail,
being quite spectacular without
these effects.
Which is why I was surprised
that
the trees were raining today.
