Tagged: My Poetry
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.
Seventeenth Century Poetry
Seventeenth Century Poetry: The Schools of Donne and Johnson edited by Hugh Kenner, 5/5
I thought reading this book would be a chore, but it turned out to be a rare delight. The hardest part about reading it was not having anyone around to share the poems with, especially George Herbert’s (he was my favorite). Just enough editorial markings and biographical information are included to make this accessible while still challenging. I was surprised to find that a few of the poems are so racy/innuendo-filled that they make the Song of Solomon look like a book of the Bible.
Nail Polish
Nail polish chipping,
Flaking all over.
What a waste of time that was.
Bronte: poems
Bronte: Poems, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets, 3/5
Bronte’s poetry aesthetic is perfectly demonstrated by these lines: “And as I gazed on the cheerless sky / Sad thoughts rose in my mind” (245). There were a few that I absolutely loved, such as “What Use is it to Slumber Here?” and “No Coward Soul is Mine” and “Lines,” but the majority gave me a sense of unease, as if I was reading someone’s diary behind their back. Lots of these poems did not seem of publishable quality, and indeed, I do not believe Bronte meant for most of them to be published.
The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes
The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, edited by Arnold Rampersad, 3/5
I know of no other poet who offers as much variety as Langston Hughes. His style ranges from elegantly traditional to vernacular, he writes about everything from music to politics, and the quality of his work spans from art to propagandist crap. In this large book, there were a handful of poems that I loved, many, many more that I appreciated, and dozens that seemed clumsy, preachy, sensationalistic, Communistic and agenda-driven. Hughes used his poetry very practically to fight against racism and other issues of the day (1920s-1960s), but there is a line at which art becomes propaganda which I think he frequently crossed. While I respect him for using his considerable talents in the causes of equality and justice, that doesn’t mean that I enjoy reading poetry that is tied up in politics and emotionally manipulative propaganda.
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.
