Archive for the ‘Poetry Challenge’ Category

Poetry Challenge 8

March 5, 2009

Out of  Order

OK, so I can’t count!

Here’s one from my composition classroom, suggested to me as a journal exercise by D.A. Bartlett–my long-time mentor.

Write about a process backward. Either start with the end result or write about undoing something. This could be a cake or an action you wish you could take back. Or play time backward. Or, like these poetry challenges, just write things out of order–add randomess.

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Glow and I seem to be on similar wavelengths–missing things.  She challenged me to add a poem.  I think I was influenced by hers! 

My response:

 

Spring reverses itself.
seeds arrive in the mail,
snow slides from the roof,
a large hill of it
blocks the door. We carve
steps in its slope
to get over it. The dog
can’t stop barking
at the sounds snow
makes. Icicles form,
glisten,

then the sky darkens
earlier than yesterday.
We go sliding
back to winter, snow
sifting all over hoods,
our shoulders, the cleared
driveway.

In the morning you leave
sharp tracks in the snow.

By now, they are gone.

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And Glow’s

 

Despair was later, now anxiety
spun me through the woods
as I searched for the white cat.
The house was half empty, half full.
My things only, hers gone.
Her new lover’s truck
needing a valve job, I noted,
chugged down the drive
nearly backing into the fence.
The goats bleated watching
the antique bureau nearly dropped.
Just go, I said.
It’s true, she said.
You lied, I said.
She means nothing, she said.
You cheated on me, I said.
A strawberry blotch,
mouth-sized,
spread across her neck.
A blush gone awry.

The white cat lay dead in the moonlight
A copperhead slithered silently
after, and, I assume, before.
Maybe a slight rustle of leaves
a twitch of grass
was all that warned me
and the cat
of disaster.

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From Alaskapsych (not sure which challenge this is for):

Heraclitis et al

I stepped in the same river twice,
and twice again.
Time and tide waited for me,
dreaming,
I was awake

Poetry Challenge 9

March 2, 2009

Found Poetry

Find a bit of language–overheard conversation, labels on an object, street signs, etc–and use it in a poem. Break the words apart from their usual sense. Surprise yourself with what’s contained in them. For example, in the Effie Kokrine class while we were listing phrases from a freewriting exercise on the board, one student said, “Energy drinks rock,” and I heard it as noun-verb-noun instead of adjective-noun-verb, so that in my mind, the energy was drinking the rock. A good start for a poem.

What do you find? What do you hear? What else does it bring to mind?

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Here’s a response from Glow:

ruby crescent fingerlings
fat small doggie paws
swamp mama’s greatest
persimmon fur pie

the verse repeats
the new celtic fiddle restrings
the cats peek out from under
blood gushes, snow flitters

I play at night before bed
dream characters sing all night
I wake up with music
skimming through my head

Poetry Challenge 7

February 16, 2009

Sun and Moon.  In the Effie Kokrine class, Climate Change and Creative Expression, we talked about where the sun and moon are in the sky right now.  In Alaska, in winter, the sunrise is always to the south, though, in summer, it can travel nearly a full circuit of the sky northeast to northwest. 

So, write a poem that lets the reader know something about where you live, using images of the sun and/or moon.  Stay objective–how does the sun reflect off the snow, for example, or what do the pock marks on the moon remind you of.   Let the poem take you somewhere else if it wants to.

 

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Rseponse from Glow

 here,
October to December,
spruce hang dark
birches cast no shadow
moose merge invisible
Arctic blue lurks
even at midday.

here,
early January
clamors its arrival
a sliver of sun
a mere morsel
creeps for seconds only
across the kitchen wall.

—————————————–

My response:

At the kitchen table
sun slants across
my keyboard, warms
my fingers, a subtle energy
on joints so fluid now,
so stiff when I walk
outside, gloves off, to hold
curled fingers to the nose
of the horse whose breath
on my hands keeps cold
from penetrating to bone.

Bone, that tree that muscle
blooms from like the leaves
that carry sunlight to root
and back to bud; that anchor
that holds the horse to ground,
strung with ligament, tendon,
the oval cap of knee; that pedestal
that holds the tank of the body
gurgling with hay and the cage
of ribs that buoys the rider’s
body; that push against the ground,
that leap ahead, mimicking flight.

It starts with sun
on grass, green light
through a blade of brome,
the quick flash and gleam
in summer breezes, the busy
capturing of warmth and light
into stalks and leaves
joyously tall before the mower
passes, then sun-dried, turned,
baled, stacked, opened, spread
chewed by horses
feeding belly and bone,
preparing for flight.

Poetry Challenge 6

February 9, 2009

Dreams

Take an image from a dream. Write concrete details of the image-the sound of the dog’s bark, the color of the shirt he wore, the taste of ice cream. Use the five senses. Don’t explain the dream.

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Here’s a response by Glow:

Goddess Herself
rose above the belly of the land
arms outstretched
hands big like gourds
last year’s cornstalks
sheathing her flanks
silver frizzled her hair
the air buzzed with August
the flatness of the land
curved up at the edges
the woods ringing around the open fields.

The Moon is Bowled,
She said.
The Moon is Bold,
I understood.
And so the land was named.

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Here’s one of mine:

Insomnia

The pillow has heard it all: the litany
of undone things. The horses stamp
the barn at night; each thump of hoof
against board accuses. Not nearly enough hay,
they tell me, and where’s all the green stuff?
Snow fills their paddock to their knees.
And what about my words to you?
Should I have said “íf” instead of “when;” what then?
The darkness spreads full and warm. Blankets
tangle. The cat pats my cheek with her untrimmed
paw. Should I change the litter box now?
Call a long-lost friend?

The horses set out across the land,
looking for the barn they deserve, red paint
and all. A stream flows year round, its
banks curve, green plush, to the clear
water. There are other horses,
none with shaggy coats or dirt-packed
hooves. The cat wants to be in the dream. She
perches her wiry self on the black mare’s
back and weaves, tail spiraling for balance
as they gallop off. You rise, say, “I’m
going with them.” “Fine,” I say.

My eyes blink; blink propagates blink.
I sweep the blankets across my shoulders
like some Versace robe, a gown of sleep.

Poetry Challenge 5

January 30, 2009

This comes from a Creative Movement exercise today at the Effie Kokrine Science and Creative Expression class with Ruth Merriman from North Star Ballet. 

Negative space:

In art, this involves drawing what’s around the object, rather than the object itself; in dance, it’s using the shape of the space made by the movement or gesture of the body; in a poem, it’s writing about everything but the thing you’re focusing on–the objects, background, shadow, sounds, smells, textures, rather than the thing itself.  For examples see Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons.

So, choose an object.  Write about what’s all around the object or what it displaces.   Don’t mention the object.

Feb 3–

Here’s the poem I wrote today while working with the kids (we selected objects from a bag; mine was a horse bit):

Light glints on metal:
a bridge, a curve,
a circle of cold.
No leather attaches
but the soft gums
in the mare’s mouth
remember it even now.

The air chills
to its chill, light
bends to it;
a horse’s neck arches
and turns. Weight
and firm touch,
a bitter taste:
pennies, nickels
turned in the mouth,
a hard pebble
through which we
speak, then
trot on.

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Glow sent this:

 

Once,
making love under a ceiling fan,
my Beloved asked,
“what is that sound?”
A rattle, a misplaced hum,
a rasping breath,
an uneven gasp.
On the bed in the corner,
orange as a persimmon,
lay purring contentment.
Not a loose bearing after all.

Poetry Challenge 4

January 27, 2009

Opposites.  Think of opposite pairs: Snow/rain; owls/voles; moonlight/sunlight; blue/orange–pick your own set.  Write aobut what they have in common using everyday objects or observations.  Post your poem here!

Here’s a response from Glow at Beyond Ester:

old dog
grinning through teeth worn to the gums
by thousands of frisbees
grizzled muzzle shines silver
groans as she rises with glee
to walk with her beloved Ones

young dog
snarking at the cats and our coat tails
shiny sharp shark teeth
muzzle smooth as dark chocolate
lunges at the door beyond happiness
to prance among her beloved Ones

———

This is a bit like cheating, but here’s a poem I wrote in summer in response to this prompt:

Plants Retake the Sidewalk

Chamomile,

leaves bunched and feathery

as carrot leaves, the tight

knob of yellow center

the sweet bitter taste

that soothes the tongue,

edges up through the crack

of sidewalk, dusty,

a bit the worse for wear,

dodging flipflops,

sandals. Each plant boosts

small suns, reaching

towards the brilliant

sky. Defy

hard edges, find moisture

in dryness, head out-

dream through what seems

no dream. This hard

world. Some

sweetness.

Poetry challenge 3

January 8, 2009

 

Three words from headlines. Chose words you wouldn’t usually use. Write about something else–or news of the world you live in.

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A response from Glow:

Words from today’s headlines: grim, grapples, and guilty

I admit my guilt.
Grappling with the cold
its grimness
I felt its hands tighten around my throat
this time, this time, this time I would die.
An old nightmare: the cold, the dark, the despair.
I am guilty, oh yes.
Furtively, I scan the real estate ads
seeking a warm, bright, cheery flat
a cozy, sunny, summer room.
A river never locked in ice
its sparkles cartwheeling among the trees.

Poetry Challenge 2

January 7, 2009

Inspired  by a story on NPR today.  A verb and a noun.  Not neccesarily in this order.  What else comes to mind?

Falling violin

violin_a

Here’s my draft:

 

Forty-Four Below

The air lies still
in the valleys, heavy,
thick with frozen fog:
our driving, our heat, our
breath all condensed-
even walking sinks us
deeper into the darkness,
but, today in half light
one willow leaf, hanging
like a comma where branches
diagram the morning,
vibrates, a slight movement
of air, the faint high note
–a violin-where one branch
rubs another.

“Mostly clear. Dense fog
in valleys” the weather
report projects. “Light
wind” three days away,
“Warming to freezing.”

We have fallen into discord
like a dropped violin.

Now the wind chime
moves, one note sounds.
Across the valley silhouettes
of mountains blur into cloud.

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Post your poem as a comment and I’ll respond.

Poetry challenge 1

January 6, 2009

Here’s the first poetry challenge.   Start with this word in all its aspects.  Write about what’s in front of you and let it show up somewhere and underlie your thought.  Or just start here and see where it goes.  I’ll post my poem later in the day.

Ginger

GINGER

 

And here’s my poem in draft form:

Cold sharp as ginger,
eyes tear up, the blood braces
under wool and down, the slow
chafing of skin, the burning
dry air.

Morning,
above the mountains,
a band of ginger light,
yellow lingering before blue
the hesitation of day, slow
anticipation of sun.

We have forgotten
the generosity of warmth,
how light draws us
to our better selves.
We huddle in, hoard warmth,
firewood, chocolate.

The band of light widens.
The day lengthens minute
by minute. We wait
for change,
for cold to lift,
for-so far to go-
spring.