new posts in all blogs
Viewing: Blog Posts Tagged with: Original Poetry, Most Recent at Top [Help]
Results 1 - 25 of 91
How to use this Page
You are viewing the most recent posts tagged with the words: Original Poetry in the JacketFlap blog reader. What is a tag? Think of a tag as a keyword or category label. Tags can both help you find posts on JacketFlap.com as well as provide an easy way for you to "remember" and classify posts for later recall. Try adding a tag yourself by clicking "Add a tag" below a post's header. Scroll down through the list of Recent Posts in the left column and click on a post title that sounds interesting. You can view all posts from a specific blog by clicking the Blog name in the right column, or you can click a 'More Posts from this Blog' link in any individual post.
And so, another year of writing poetry with my fabulous sisters comes to an end. This year we alternated poetic forms with ekphrastic poems. This time around Andi shared photos taken at the
Glencairn Museum Cloister. This is the photo I chose.
I've never written a love poem before, as I'm not really the romantic type, but I am sentimental. Here's where this image took me.
22 Years and Counting ...You sit in the ram
I’ll sit in the ewe
together in quiet
we’ll relish the view
The peace of the valley
buried in snow
the twinkling lights
of the houses below
Up here on the hill
with the now setting sun
we sit in our chairs
as the day is undone
Communing together
we don’t say a word
but we don’t need to speak
for our hearts to be heard
With fingertips touching
we speak with our eyes
the fact that you love me
is still a surprise
You are my comfort
my home and my song
in the map of my heart
it's with you I belong
You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Bridget Magee at
wee words for wee ones. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Terza rima is a tumbling, interlocking rhyme scheme that was invented by the thirteenth-century Italian poet Dante for the creation of his long poem, The Divine Comedy.
Terza rima (an Italian phrase meaning "third rhyme") consists of a series of three-line stanzas (tercets) with the rhyme scheme aba bcb cdc ded and so on. It can go on as long as the poet wishes. At the end of the poem an extra line is often added to complete the structure: yzy z.
You can read more on this form at
Poets.org.
So, with a form to guide us, we decided to write about something uplifting or hopeful. I'm not sure I managed to meet the theme head on this time, but rather think I've struck a close tangent. It's been hard to feel hope during this protracted election cycle, but I'm trying mightily to stay positive.
Here's the first draft which I wrote last night. Yes, at this point in the semester I'm working on everything at the last minute (much like my students, I imagine). It shows, but I'm glad to be here with my sisters once again.
Untitled Terza Rima(With apologies to Langston Hughes)
Our world feels broken, bruised beyond repair
the noise, the news, the chaos worse each day
but hope must be our choice and not despair
As clouds around us swell in black and gray
one look reminds us things could be much worse
so we must persevere, must not delay
to treasure all we have, this earth diverse
to fill the hearts we meet with love and trust
to turn this global meltdown in reverse
to show more kindness, fight for what is just
to raise up those who've long been trod upon
to douse hate's sparks before we all combust
Acknowledge this will be a marathon
that change requires strength that’s undeterred
that only faith and hope will move us on
to realize at last our dreams deferred
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.
You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below. Sending hugs to Andi who's not sharing a poem today, but always with us in spirit.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by one of my poetry sisters,
Laura Purdie Salas. Happy poetry Friday friends!
P.S. - I'm celebrating a BIG blogiversary on Sunday, so I hope you'll stop by to join me for some virtual cake and a few fond memories.
This month the poetry gang wrote poems to images selected by Kelly. The piece is by René de Saint-Marceaux and is titled
Arlequin. Kelly took the photos at the Musée des Beaux Arts in Lyon, France.
I've been experimenting the last few weeks with t
he Magic 9, a relatively new 9-line poetic form. Here's what the Poets Garret wrote about its invention.Typing too fast is often the cause of spelling mistakes and one day Abracadabra was typed as abacadaba and right away a poetry form appeared.
So the Magic 9 is a 9-line poem with a rhyme scheme of: a/b/a/c/a/d/a/b/a.
This piece creeped me out just a bit. In my brainstorming and early drafts I wrote about Zorro, the Phantom of the Opera, Batman, and a few other masked men. This is what I ended up with.
As You Wish
Masked men have always frightened me
the Dread Pirate Roberts the only exception
I can get behind a little piracy
a nom de guerre and a ship named Revenge
swashbuckling his way into infamy
all for the want of a woman
dreams of Buttercup kept him at sea
leading a life of deception
until love brought him home, set him free
You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below. Andi's been under the weather, so she's not sharing a poem today. Here's hoping she's feeling much better now. She's with us in spirit and we'll happily welcome her back for our next poetry challenge.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today
at Violet Nesdoly's place. Happy poetry Friday friends!
This month the Poetry Seven crew wrote in the form of the clogyrnach (clog-IR-nach). The clogyrnach is a Welsh poetic meter that falls under the poetic form of awdl (odes). They are composed of any number of 6-line stanzas. Each stanza has 32 syllables. The first couplet is 8 syllables with an end rhyme of aa, the second couplet is 5 syllables with an end rhyme of bb, and the final couplet is is 3 syllables with an end rhyme of ba.
I had several false starts as I noodled around with this one. I'll admit I'm not a fan of this form, and I generally love form. Ultimately, it was the earthquake in Italy that I kept coming back to as a topic.
Terremoto in Amatrice
Under the olive tree we stand
among the ruins of this land
cradling hearts numb
as aftershocks come
our hearts drum
out of hand
We mourn those lost in rubble heaps
toppled homes wet by tears we weep
medieval town
broken and cast down
tarnished crown
pain so deep
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by
Penny Parker Klostermann. Happy poetry Friday friends!
This month the poetry gang wrote poems to images selected by Sara. I was thrilled with her choice, having read about this particular exhibit in the New York Times way back in November. (See the article Smithsonian's Renwick Gallery Reopens With a New Focus.) Here are a couple of photos.
You can find additional photos on
Jennifer Angus' site. You can also read about the
ethics of working with insects. And here's one more bit ...
After spending a lot of time looking at the artwork, I couldn't get Charlotte Perkins Gilman's short story,
The Yellow Wallpaper, out of my mind. In fact, I was so stuck on it that I've included excerpts in this poem. So, with apologies to Jennifer Angus, because I do love her wall, here is my poem.
In The Midnight Garden“I never saw a worse paper in my life.
One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin.”
It’s a wonder
this pink wall
curious and unrestrained
with its friendly swarms
whirling rosettes
starry-eyed skulls
Listen closely
you may just hear
the low hum of
their wings
the hiss of
their breathing
Stare long enough
and they’ll take on
a life of their own
crawling towards you
and taking flight
“I’m getting really fond of the room in spite of the wallpaper. Perhaps because of the wallpaper.”
It’s not psychosis that
makes me love this wall
It’s getting nose to nose
with Earth’s most repugnant
and abundant creatures
awakening a new reverence
for nature’s least loved
in all their resplendence
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Tara at
A Teaching Life. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Sigh ... I really procrastinated this month and now I'm not so happy with my poem. I guess that's alright. My energy has been focused on summer school, so writing has been coming in fits and starts.
The poem I chose to write in the style of, as did a few of my poetry sisters, is entitled Turtle.
Turtle
by Kay Ryan
Who would be a turtle who could help it?
A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet,
she can ill afford the chances she must take
in rowing toward the grasses that she eats.
Read and listen to the poem in its entirety.
I had a hard time settling on a subject. I started a poem on the heron, inspired by a morning walk and watching our local heron wade through the mud near some sunning turtles. It didn't go very far. I also tried mongoose, cockroach, and bat. I suppose this was hard for me because I'm fascinated by these animals and don't see too many drawbacks to their design. I finally settled on the naked mole rat. The poem is entirely too didactic, but I enjoyed working on the internal rhyme in the piece. In fact, I ran it through The Wall Street Journal analyzer. (Props to Laura Purdie Salas for sharing this!) Their algorithm breaks words into component sounds and then groups similar-sounding syllables into rhyme families, which are color-coded. You can learn how they did it at How WSJ Used an Algorithm to Analyze ‘Hamilton’ the Musical. Here's what a portion of my poem looks like.
So, without further ado, here's my first draft, along with a picture of the animal that inspired it. I'm not sure I'll be revisiting this exact one, but I like Ryan's poem as a mentor text and will definitely try to tackle another subject.
Image licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License.
Naked Mole RatWho would be a naked mole rat who could help it?
A wrinkled mess with random whiskers
and excess hair between her toes, she does not know
that beauty escapes her. She’s a prime
example that form follows function. Living
a lifetime underground, it’s no wonder
she is built for digging, skilled in
wielding her prominent teeth and snout
to excavate her route. Fate determined
by birth, she labors for her queen.
Keeping chambers clean, finding food,
minding pups, life is busy enough.
Neither mole nor rat, she’s tough
to define, closer relation to the porcupine.
Despite the strangeness she’s
undeterred, unaware of how absurd
her subterranean life is.
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below. Andi's not sharing a poem today, but she's always with us in spirit.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Tabatha Yeatts at
The Opposite of Indifference. Happy poetry Friday friends!
This month the poetry gang wrote poems to photos taken by Tanita of Mary Pownall's sculpture The Harpy Calaeno.
Artwork: The Harpy Calaeno, 1902, by Mary Pownall, Kelvingrove Art Gallery
I wrote this first poem after learning that a dear friend was diagnosed with cancer. The news was not good, and after multiple opinions, the consensus is that are no treatment options. So, the poem doesn't say much about cancer that hasn't already been said, but writing it made me feel a bit better.
The word drops …
cancer
there is no steeling yourself
against it
the tumor
an oozing black tar
staining your insides
a writhing knot of snakes
expanding ever outward
Cancer, you bitch
you harpy
clawing your way
through a mortal temple
slowly stealing life
but not soul
In this case
inoperable
untreatable
Despite the news
spirit indomitable
For my second poem I wanted to actually write about the sculpture. Inspired by the poems written by my sisters in the form of pantoum and villanelle, I chose a form as well. In gearing up for next week's poetry stretch I decided to experiment with the Luc Bat, a Vietnamese form with a repeating rhyme scheme and lines of six and eight syllables.
No prize this beast with wings,
the roar of her voice sings, not sweet
but raw, a clawing beat.
Cover your ears, retreat … no run
before your end’s begun
before you are undone by scales,
beating wings, mournful wails,
those claws as sharp as nails. Beware!
Once fixed in her cold stare,
you will not have a prayer save one.
Recall she's marble spun,
this myth that made men run, now stone
and beauty, fearsome thing.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Jone of
Check It Out. Happy poetry Friday friends!
This month the Poetry Seven crew wrote in the form of the tritina. The tritina is composed of 3 tercets and a final line (envoi) that stands alone. Similar to a sestina, though shorter, it uses a set of 3 alternating end words instead of six. The form is: ABC / CAB / BCA / A, B, and C (final line/envoi).
The words we chose from were selected by Tanita. They were:
sweet, cold, stone, hope, mouth, thread
I think repeating words are hard, so this took some thought. However, it was the final line using all three words at once that proved to be the real challenge. I wrote two poems for this form. The first is a bit melancholy, but that always happens to me at this time of the year. My father’s birthday was yesterday (the 5th). He would have been 90 this year. And tomorrow (the 7th) is the 7th anniversary of his death, so he’s been much on my mind as of late. Therefore, the first poem is for/about him. The second is much lighter.
Without further ado, my tritinas.
Tritina #1
My father pulled the hook from the mouth
of the bass. I touched its cold
scales, the thrill of catching it sweet.
Memories of my father are sweet,
though sometimes I imagine him, mouth
agape, my mother at his side touching his cold
hands. At the end, the world went cold.
There was nothing sweet
in death. My heart and mouth
slammed shut. Now I fish alone--no dad, no largemouth--just cold, sweet stillness.
Tritina #2
Speed Dating Introduction ... A 30-Second Tritina
I relish the smoothness of a stone
worn by water, the sweet
smell of freshly mown grass, the cold
slide of ice cream down my throat. I long for winter cold,
summer sun, the skipping of a stone
across the lake, that first buttery taste of sweet
corn. I believe in the sweet
hereafter, going cold
turkey, that some things are set in stone.
I’m stone cold sober, so lay some sweet lines on me.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.
You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Sylvia Vardell at
Poetry for Children. Happy poetry Friday friends!
This month the poetry gang wrote poems to images selected by Laura. She shared two images from the frescos that adorn the ceiling of the Founder's Hall at University of St. Thomas. You can learn more about the frescos and the artist, Mark Balma, at Frescos of St. Thomas. Entitled The Seven Virtues, Laura shared the frescos representing Temperence and Hope. I chose Hope.
This poem was all over the place from the start. I wrote it on Easter Sunday, so I was feeling quite reflective. In the end, I couldn't get politics out of my mind. Apparently, I'm not feeling very hopeful about what I'm seeing and hearing, as this is what came out. I've made a few revisions since that first draft, the biggest change was moving the narrator from "we" to "I." I'm not sure it's better, but it's a start.
What hope?Life is a
hanging curveball
I may lack confidence
but there is no
designated hitter
I must touch each base
finish each inning
in my own time
always hoping
against hope
But hope is hard
to hold these days
When men shout angrily
that the “other” must go
and citizens fall in line
behind the vitriol
it is nearly impossible
to keep the faith
but I will persevere
and believe in …
the newborn child
old souls
a tender shoot
giant redwoods
dawning day
the setting sun
truth
I know that like
a migrating bird
I will return home
one day
And it will be good
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
Tanita DavisKelly FinemanSara Lewis HolmesLaura Purdie SalasLiz Garton Scanlon
Andi SibleyI do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Amy at
The Poem Farm. I also hope you'll stop by to check out my
project for National Poetry Month, which began today. Happy poetry Friday friends!
We had a whole month (albeit a shorter one) to write sedoka. For some reason I couldn't get going on this one, and really struggled to find a topic to write about. I didn't read the poems my sisters wrote, because I was afraid that would make writing my own poems harder. I finally found my voice and subject late Wednesday night into early Thursday morning, as I watched Scott Kelly return to US soil.
I've been avidly following his year. I've read the tweets, watched the videos, and marveled at a life lived in space. It's been bittersweet for me, as at every turn I was reminded of my father, who would have loved following and sharing this. I know he would have watched Kelly's departure from the space station and return to Earth as eagerly as I did.
So, my poems for this month's writing challenge are all about space. Before I share them, here's a bit of information about the form.
*****
The sedoka is a Japanese poetic form that is an unrhymed poem made up of a pair of katuata. A katuata is a three-line poem with the syllable count of 5 / 7 / 7. Generally a sedoka addresses the same subject from different perspectives.
*****
From Armstrong to Kelly
July sixty-nine
we watched Armstrong walk the moon
on a black and white TV
Astronaut in space
tweets views while orbiting Earth
one year inside a spacecraft
(Note - I was nearly 4 when Armstrong walked on the moon. The moon landing was the first space event I remember watching with my family.)
Kelly's Year
Well beyond our reach
orbiting above he watched
sixteen sunrises a day
Here below we kept
time, one sunrise and sunset
each day, hurtling through space
You can check out some of Scott Kelly's photos at National Geographic, or on his Twitter feed @StationCDRKelly.
Untitled
Challenger was gone
before our eyes ... exploded
shattering the dreams we held
From space a tiny
blip, mini-supernova
saw stars added to the sky
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2016. All rights reserved.
You can read the sedoka written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
Tanita Davis
Kelly Fineman
Sara Lewis Holmes
Laura Purdie Salas
Liz Garton Scanlon
Andi Sibley
Before I link you to the round up, here are a few photos (scanned from my father's slides) from our visit to Cape Canaveral in 1970.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Linda at
Teacher Dance. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Welcome back! If you haven't been following the crown or have come here directly from the Poetry Friday roundup, do jump over to
Laura Purdie Salas's blog where this crown started and then follow the bread crumbs through the blogosphere to each sonnet in the crown. If you do that, you'll end up right back here.
The sixth sonnet in the crown was written by
Tanita Davis. She left me with a bit of magic and alchemy to wrestle with. And remember, since this is the last sonnet in the crown, I also needed to end with Laura's first line. Here is the final sonnet in the crown.
A weapons grade plutonium ring by Los Alamos National Laboratory
Our mettle tested, move from lead to gold
primordial, decaying and man-made
the final row includes the hard-to-hold
radioactive elements arrayed
Most form inside a nuclear playground
where subatomic particles collide
synthetics known for scientists renowned
forever by their names identified
A few were given form before the Earth
from ancient supernova residue,
Uranium, Plutonium give birth
to energy and bombs--I wish we knew
Pandora’s box we hold now, God forbid.
The world escapes when we unhinge the lid.
**Time out for a bit of science - If you've been
following the news, you'll recognize that this last sonnet is about the
now complete 7th period of the table. The four new elements “discovered” were, in fact, synthesized in a lab. Actually, all the elements from 95 to 118 are synthetic. Once formed they very quickly decay into simpler elements.
I hope you'll take some time to go back and read once more the contributions of each poet. Here is where you'll find the posts by each participant in the crown, in the order they were written.
Finally, and at the prodding of my sisters, I am sharing the full crown here.
The Poetic Table of Elements
I.
The world escapes when we unhinge the lid
that traps all elements inside a chart
When science won't stay tethered to the grid,
our only hope is knowledge tamed by heart
One proton—One electron orbits round
a simple element: first row, first place
When hydrogen ignites, we are unbound
from earth--a rocket blazes into space
But what results? What comes from being first
Solutions for our planet's fragile life?
A cancer beat? Malignancy reversed?
Or data, fused and used, a sharp-edged knife?
Each element, an elegant, sharp key
Will science break us down or set us free?
II.
Will science break us down or set us free?
What bonds secure us here in time and space?
What kryptonite of mind and heart will be,
the downfall of the species and our race?
But all’s not lost if we exploit the chart
manipulating valencies to make
new cures, bold applications, works of art,
in mankind’s quest to keep the world awake
So row by row assembled pure and raw
our lives, our earth composed of bits that spark
organic forms, the very breath we draw
all wrought from heat, from cold, from light and dark
Row 2 gives form to charcoal, diamonds, steel
what other treasures will the chart reveal?
III.
What other treasures will the chart reveal,
in double-lettered gilded boxes, fine
as Portia faced? AR has sex appeal,
I think, and choose my fate by noble shine.
A lilac glow when placed in voltage fields!
A barrier, so wine may age sans air!
Unseen, from dust, our Constitution, shields!
Argon, you worthy prince! you mighty heir—
You cheat. Hypoxic in the blood, you dope
to win; and ew! you asphyxiate, too—
a “kinder” end to fowl. “Inactive”? NOPE.
Those who search for matter (dark) target you.
Still, even the unstable can excite
A science lover, choosing in the night.
IV.
A science lover, choosing in the night
to ponder periodic elements
that cross the bounds of fields of study might
do well to mine fourth row intelligence.
The first row with transition metals, it
is last with elements completely stable.
Though some are poisonous — like arsenic —
radioactivity is down the table.
These minerals derived from the earth’s core,
compose the human body. With their aid,
one can work jewelry, craft circuit boards,
make stainless steel and artificial legs.
So much depends on calcium—like bone—
It’s odd to think it’s metal, and not stone.
V.
It’s odd to think it’s metal, and not stone
that we bite down on, gnash and grind at night.
Fine silver mixed with tin, its pauper clone,
alloyed with other charms to fend off blight.
The way these chemicals transist, set in --
you’d never know they weren’t a part of us.
Perhaps they are as native as our sins
the framework for our aches, the messy truss.
Rubidium -- are we made up of you?
And cadmium and antimony too?
Unstable ores that blow the earth askew
so there’s no fault, no consequence undue.
But what if we own up, apologize:
Don’t blame the elements for our demise.
VI.
Don't blame the elements for our demise.
What doesn't kill us - staid in chemist's hands,
Transformed through science into health's allies -
Will strengthen, if the cure we can withstand.
We scientists approaching this sixth row
Both toxic radon and earth magnets find.
Radiant metals, some with half-life glow
Can manufacture health for humankind.
The intellect, that bright quick silver streak
Of those who sought the elements to tame
Theory to fact, persistence scales the peak
Of ignorance, lends wings to wisdom's flame
so heirs of strength, persist in courage bold
our mettle tested, move from lead to gold.
VII.
Our mettle tested, move from lead to gold
primordial, decaying and man-made
the final row includes the hard-to-hold
radioactive elements arrayed
Most form inside a nuclear playground
where subatomic particles collide
synthetics known for scientists renowned
forever by their names identified
A few were given form before the Earth
from ancient supernova residue,
Uranium, Plutonium give birth
to energy and bombs--I wish we knew
Pandora’s box we hold now, God forbid.
The world escapes when we unhinge the lid.
I can't begin to tell you how much fun this year of writing has been, and capping it off with a crown has been such a treat. Perhaps most exciting is that even though the year has ended, we've all signed on to continue this crazy adventure. Thank you, my sisters, for one of the best birthday gifts ever.
I do hope you'll take some time today to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected by Tabatha Yeatts at
The Opposite of Indifference. Happy poetry Friday friends!
My poetry sisters and I are wrapping up our year of writing with a crown sonnet. This particular project holds a special place in my heart because the very first sonnet I ever wrote was because I was invited to participate in the first crown project with this group. All these years later, I'm still energized, excited, humbled, and honored to work with these women. I'll also admit to being just a bit giddy over the topic of the crown. I never imagined my sisters would choose the periodic table!
The first sonnet in the crown was written by
Laura Purdie Salas. She kicked things off beautifully and left me a terrific final line to begin with. Without further ado, here is the second sonnet in the crown.
Rough Diamond by USGS Employee
Will science break us down or set us free?
What bonds secure us here in time and space?
What kryptonite of mind and heart will be,
the downfall of the species and our race?
But all’s not lost if we exploit the chart
manipulating valencies to make
new cures, bold applications, works of art,
in mankind’s quest to keep the world awake
So row by row assembled pure and raw
our lives, our earth composed of bits that spark
organic forms, the very breath we draw
all wrought from heat, from cold, from light and dark
Row 2 gives form to charcoal, diamonds, steel
what other treasures will the chart reveal?
Sara Lewis Holmes took over from here. I hope you'll head to her blog next to see where this goes!
I'll not conclude my Poetry Friday contribution yet, as you'll circle back around to me when this thing comes to a conclusion. I hope to see you back here soon!
Today I'm singing the praises of my sisters ... my out-of-this-world real life sister who is 10 years older than me and will soon be celebrating her own very big birthday (I'll let you do the math), and my writing sisters who gifted me with a year of poetry by indulging my request to write together.
Let me begin with my big sister. Here we are as youngsters and much later on (in 2006) with our mom on the occasion of our Dad's 80th birthday.
I may have complained when I was younger about having a second mother, but these days I'm forever grateful for her love and guidance. I hope my next 50 years with her are as good as these have been.
Dear Tricia… A proposition.
I had so much (torturous) fun participating in a crown sonnet writing project recently that I’m ready to try it again, crazy ‘though that may be. And I thought Poetry Friday bloggers might make the perfect crown community. What do you think?
I’ve gotten a few yeses already – from Sara Lewis Holmes, Kelly Fineman and TadMack (aka Tanita Davis) – plus me. We need seven folks total and Kelly suggested that you might be one of the missing poets we’re looking for! (Suggestions for others are welcome).
Here are a few of the things we’ll need to agree upon before starting:
Specific form/rhyme scheme
The order of the writers/stanzas
Any subject matter/thematic parameters
Audience (ie young or adult) *** There seems to be a consensus so far that writing for tweens or teens would be fun ***
Timing/deadlines
Let me know if you might be interested in writing 14 lines and debuting them in one big whopping crown on a Friday down the road…
Cheers, Liz
Once Laura and Andi were included in the mix, we set off on a grand adventure. Our first shared piece of work debuted on Friday, April 11th. We wrote a number of pieces sporadically over the years, but last fall they gave me the gift of a collective YES when they all agreed to write one piece together each month. It began with a triolet. The work of this year will end in January with a crown sonnet. In this busy, end-of-year season we're taking a moment to reflect.
Over the last year we've written to the following forms or prompts and published on the first Friday of the month (mostly). Here they are listed by the month published, which means we spent the month (or day!) prior to publication working on them.
- January - Triolet - on beginnings and endings
- February - Villanelle
- March - Sestina - with a nasty little word pool chosen by members of the group (here/hear, sense/cents, cart, horse/hoarse, turn, up, wind, break/brake, lion, lamb, wave/waive, rays/raise/raze)
- April - Raccontino
- May - Pantoum - using the words certainty and flight
- June - Ode - on something humorous
- July - "In the style of ..." - Who picked e.e. cummings?! Oh, and let's throw in some voice recording while we're at it!
- August - Haiku - in the form of a classified ad
- September - Found
- October - Etheree
- November - Ekphrastic - to a goddess image (oy vey!)
That last one was tough for me. (Heck, they were all hard!) I wrote my poem on an airplane the day before it went live. I was flummoxed by the image and had no idea what to write about or in what form. I printed a copy of the image and went to work on a 6 am flight from Richmond to LaGuardia. This is how ALL my poems begin, with pen to paper. It's where I work out most of the kinks before I finally type and post the work. Here's how it began.
I have no idea how I got here, but when I began to write I realized the word sonnet was rattling around in the back of my brain. Without a rhyming dictionary at hand, I listed rhyming words. When I began to edit I went from third person to first. I have several pages that look like this. My poetry notes and notebooks are NOT neat and pretty, but they clearly show the process (and the struggle) of trying to find just the right words.
If I'm honest with myself, I'll admit that I love rules and adore forms. I should not have been surprised that I went here. I do find it much easier to write when I know (or can pretend I know) what I'm doing. Throwing in a theme can be an added challenge, but it makes the writing that much more interesting.
In grateful love and admiration for this amazing group of women who gathered me into their fold, I am sharing the first villanelle I ever wrote (after LIZ threw down another gauntlet in October 2009 and asked us to write a villanelle using the words Thanksgiving and friend). Boy, would I love to revisit this one. However, the beauty of our work this year is that we have given ourselves permission to share our drafts in all their glorious messiness. Perfection is not the goal, but rather sharing bits of ourselves with each other and the world.
Untitled Villanelle (because I don't often do titles)
Dear friends, Thanksgiving!
For glorious oaks and sprawling trees
in winter, summer, fall and spring
For all things green and lush and living
that dance so lightly in the breeze
dear friends, Thanksgiving!
For spiders spinning webs of string
while swinging and dangling on a trapeze
through winter, summer, fall and spring
For sunflowers bold and bright and smiling,
climbing skyward with grace and ease
dear friends, Thanksgiving!
For birds that chirp and peep and sing
while visiting blossoms with bumblebees
through winter, summer, fall and spring
For poems, prose and words that sing
of beauty that brings us to our knees
Dear friends, Thanksgiving
in winter, summer, fall and spring!
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2009. All rights reserved.
Thank you dear poetry sisters. There are no words to express my gratitude for your support and encouragement in poetry and in life.
That's a wrap for today. I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Buffy Silverman at
Buff's Blog. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Our year-long journey of writing poems together is coming close to the end. It’s hard to believe we’ve been at this for 11 months. I take full responsibility for changing this month’s form from epistle to ekphrastic, but am not remotely connected to the choice of image. I’ll blame Tanita and my sisters for that one. Here it is.
I try to take a very “in the moment” approach to writing ekphrastic poems. I don’t study the images for too long. I look closely for a moment and then write a list of the thoughts that come to mind upon first glance. Usually what emerges is a very odd collection of ideas. Here’s the list that came from first glance at what my sisters called the goddess.
- the glass ceiling
- caged women
- corsets
- a bird in a gilded cage (cue Tweety bird swinging and singing “I’m a tweet little bird in a gilded cage. Tweety’s my name but I don’t know my age. …)
- crouching tiger, hidden dragon
- woman warrior
- The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus (Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,/With conquering limbs astride from land to land;/Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand/A mighty woman)
- the trappings of womanhood
- paper doll
As you can see, this list is quite random, but starting in this way always sets the wheels turning in my brain. In the end I wrote a number of different poems in different forms, but this is the one that took hold and stuck with me.
Sonnet for a Kept WomanYou cannot hold my soul it won’t be bound
Inside a cage I heed sweet freedom’s call
Throw back my head and cry a mournful sound
Though trapped by ceiling, floor, unyielding walls
How to break free when others box me in
Is what I ask myself each day anew
I fight the battles, though I rarely win
But onward push to change your point of view
The corset of the past constricts me still
In places where I dare not dream to go
And yet I breathe and move against its will
Refuse to be sucked in its undertow
Someday the chains you’ve put me in I’ll break
And standing tall I’ll leave you in my wake
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.
Today is a particularly fortuitous day to be sharing poems with these ladies, as today The Miss Rumphius Effect celebrates its 9th anniversary. Without this blog I never would have waded boldly into the writing pool with these amazing women. I'm so grateful to have found them through this medium. You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Katya at
Write.Sketch.Repeat. Thanks to all of you who stop by to read, write poetry, and share in the love of children's literature. Happy poetry Friday friends!
This month my poetry sisters and I tackled the etheree. An etheree is a poem of ten lines in which each line contains one more syllable than the last. Beginning with one syllable and ending with ten, this unrhymed form is named for its creator, 20th century American poet Etheree Taylor Armstrong.
Variant forms of the etheree include the reverse form, which begins with 10 syllables and ends with one. The double etheree is twenty lines, moving from one syllable to 10, and then from 10 back to one. (I suppose a double etheree could also move from 10 syllables to one, and then from one back to 10.)
I made the etheree the first poetry stretch for the month of September. I did this to avoid procrastination and to encourage myself to write early. How did I do? Terribly! I was still writing and rewriting in the wee hours before this post was scheduled to go live, in the hopes that something good would come out of the bits and pieces I was tinkering with. Early in the month the theme of relationships was bandied about, and that's when I really got stuck. It seemed to me that relationships required two poems, or at least a conversation. Alas, I couldn't seem to make this one work.
As I prepare this post I am reminded that we promised ourselves to write and share REGARDLESS of the state of the poems, knowing that much of the time they won't be perfect. That means today I am embracing imperfection and sharing the most polished pieces of the lot.
First up is a pair of poems I wrote about a dog and cat who share the same home. They are untitled.
Hey,
meathead!
Flea scratcher,
frisbee catcher,
king of the beggars …
you think you are special,
but our human loves me most!
With my playful pounce, tender touch,
intelligent and commanding ways …
look and see! No one can resist a cat.
Hey,
furball!
Mouse chaser,
sun spot bather,
queen of aloofness …
you think you are all that,
but our human loves me most!
With my soulful eyes, thumping tail,
affectionate and faithful ways …
look and see! No one can resist a dog.
I also wrote numerous poems about my dog. I like this one best, as it's a true story.
Finding CooperThin,
trembling,
quietly
watching humans
come and go. He waits
for one tender hearted
to heal, to love, to comfort
him. She falls in love at first sight,
knows without doubt that he is the one
who will save her. They rescue each other.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.
You can read the etherees written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Heidi Mordhorst at
My Juicy Little Universe. Happy poetry Friday friends!
After reading my poetry sisters' posts yesterday, I wanted to revisit my poems, rethink the form, and play a bit more. While doing this, I thought I would share a bit about process.
I had a hard time finding source material for this project. I looked over travel brochures, the newspaper, appliance manuals, picture books, and more. It wasn't until I was looking for a dinner recipe that it struck me I might be able to use a recipe. Unlike my mother's old Good Housekeeping cookbook (a wedding gift circa 1952), today's cookbooks contain more than just recipes. They often contain a bit of insight, family history, tales of cooking exploits, and more. When I read Jamie Oliver's recipe for
Monkfish Wrapped In Banana Leaves With Ginger, Cilantro, Chile, And Coconut Milk, I knew I had a text to work with.
The first thing I did was copy and paste the recipe into Word and justify the text. Here's the intro and directions from the original piece. When I realized I wouldn't be using the ingredients in my word choices, I took that section out. (It occurs to me now that I may have cheated a bit in doing this. Oh well ...)
You just can't go wrong with this combination of flavours. It's open to all white-fleshed fish. Banana leaves are very easy to buy from Asian or Latino markets. Get nice big ones to wrap your fish up in. Failing banana leaves, you can use vine leaves, which you can get in the supermarkets, somewhat smaller, but no less tasty for that. If you really can't get hold of any leaves then kitchen foil will do.
To make the banana leaves more pliable, hold for a few seconds over a gas flame. Leaving aside the fish and herb sticks, pound the rest of the ingredients in a pestle and mortar to make a thick paste and spoon a little onto each banana leaf. Place the fish on top and then spoon the rest of the paste on the top. Bringing the sides in and spiking it with a rosemary sprig or bay leaf stick to secure it. This will look lovely and it is natural, but I have been known to use a clothes peg or string to hold it all together. It won't be a perfect seal but this allows it to breath and steam, letting the flavours infuse, so gutsy and tasty. Put the parcels on a tray and bake for 15 minutes, then remove from the oven, and allow to rest for 5 minutes. I serve the individual parcels on plates at the table and let my friends dissect them. When opened, the fragrant steam wafts up and smells fantastic. Serve with plain boiled rice to mop up the juices, that's all it has to be. End of story, done, lovely.
Once I began looking at the words, the recipe faded into the background and I was left with "finding" a poem in a limited bit of text. Now that I look back, I realize that there are other words and phrases I might have used, like "to make ... more pliable," gutsy, spoon, and flame. However, I also told myself that I HAD to use the words in the position and order found, so some of the words I liked may not have fit in appropriate place given this rule.
Originally, I made this into a blackout poem.
Version 1
After seeing some the poems of my sisters (particularly Tanita's), I thought maybe I would like this better with the words "whited out" instead of blacked out. Here's what the poem looks like in reverse.
Version 2
I almost think I like the second version better. It seems less jarring to read. Maybe next time I'll create the poem by copying the page and simply using a highlighter. Who knows?
This poem was the very first found poem I've ever written in this manner. (I have written centos using book titles and created book spine poems. I suppose those could both be considered a form of found poetry.) Once it was done, I knew I needed text that didn't need to be beautifully written, but needed a wealth of interesting words. My second choice was an academic text. It was wordy and convoluted, but I found inspiration in a number of exerpts.
I'm not sure I'll pursue this form again, but who knows what may happen the next time I sit in a meeting and have some dreadful page of notes in front of me. If I look at it with a poet's eye, I might just find what I need to make a poem.
I haven't quite decided how I feel about found poems. I did a lot of reading while trying to find just the right source. I tried mining historical documents, but the language was already embellished in many ways and while I tried to create something new, using such beautiful language felt like a bit of a cheat. Ultimately I decided to look for plainer language and perused cookbooks, travel brochures, and classic educational works.
The pieces I'm sharing today are made from highly redacted text. After retyping and justifying each excerpt, I blacked out sections until I had my poems. You will need to click on the images to enlarge and read them. (Just in case you are wondering how to read these, scan from left to right, top to bottom.)
When I posted the poems to the
Padlet that Laura created for this month's efforts, I realized that together they actually told a story, so that's the way I'm sharing them here. The first two poems were created from excerpts of the book
How We Think, written in 1933 by John Dewey. (Poem 1 from p. 10-11. Poem 2 from p. 109.) The third poem was created from the introduction and directions found in a recipe by Jamie Oliver. That recipe is
Monkfish Wrapped In Banana Leaves With Ginger, Cilantro, Chile, And Coconut Milk.
WHEN KINDRED SPIRITS MEET
(a short story told in found poems)
A man ...
finds his love ...
and sparks fly.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.
You can read the found poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Linda at
Teacher Dance. Happy poetry Friday friends!
Last month I believed that writing in the style of e.e. cummings was our hardest challenge. I take it back. THIS was the hardest challenge. Sometimes I find shorter forms more difficult than longer ones, and we've written to some challenging forms this year, including villanelles, sestins, raccontinos, and pantoums. So really, you'd think haiku would be a piece of cake.
But honestly, I think haiku are really hard to write. Seems ridiculous, doesn't it? But if you follow the rules (and there are lots of them), writing haiku in the spirit intended requires patience, a keen eye, and skill. Here is the formal definition of haiku and some notes about the form provided by the
Haiku Society of America.
A haiku is a short poem that uses imagistic language to convey the essence of an experience of nature or the season intuitively linked to the human condition.
Most haiku in English consist of three unrhymed lines of seventeen or fewer syllables, with the middle line longest, though today's poets use a variety of line lengths and arrangements. In Japanese a typical haiku has seventeen "sounds" (on) arranged five, seven, and five. (Some translators of Japanese poetry have noted that about twelve syllables in English approximates the duration of seventeen Japanese on.) Traditional Japanese haiku include a "season word" (kigo), a word or phrase that helps identify the season of the experience recorded in the poem, and a "cutting word" (kireji), a sort of spoken punctuation that marks a pause or gives emphasis to one part of the poem. In English, season words are sometimes omitted, but the original focus on experience captured in clear images continues. The most common technique is juxtaposing two images or ideas (Japanese rensô). Punctuation, space, a line-break, or a grammatical break may substitute for a cutting word. Most haiku have no titles, and metaphors and similes are commonly avoided. (Haiku do sometimes have brief prefatory notes, usually specifying the setting or similar facts; metaphors and similes in the simple sense of these terms do sometimes occur, but not frequently.
See, that's a lot to keep in mind for such a short poem. Perhaps that's why great haiku pack such a punch.
Never a group to do things the easy way, we added to the challenge of writing haiku by requiring that we use the form to write classified ads. And what a challenge it was! I wrote numerous pieces, most of which fell into the category of senryu.
Senryu is a Japanese poetic form similar in structure to haiku. Instead of focusing on nature and the essence of a particular moment as haiku do, senryu are concerned with human nature, political issues, and satire. While one is usually quite serious, the other is more playful.
A senryu is a poem, structurally similar to haiku, that highlights the foibles of human nature, usually in a humorous or satiric way.
The
13th Floor Paradigm has this nice bit of history and other information on senryu.
The Senryu came into existence as an independent genre in the Edo Period (1718-1790). It is often satirical, ironical, irreverent, mundane, cynical and is about human nature, therefore about human foibles including the erotic. It has the same form of the Haiku, but doesn’t use a seasonal word (kigo) and it doesn’t have a cutting word (keiriji) (in reality, in English we have no direct equivalents to the keiriji, so we use what’s called a cutting phrase.)
It would be wrong to think that Senryu is always humorous. In fact, a Senryu could talk about divorce, sex, murder, war, jealousy, cruelty…in a word every day-to-day events in human society.
Alright, it's time to set this rambling introduction aside. I'm generally on the ball with these challenges, but this time around I wrote just over 20 poems in one day -- YESTERDAY! Here are my 3 favorite drafts.
Seasonal workers
needed - Wear boots, bring shovels
Buffalo in May
*****
Seeking teen to teach
hip old guy to surf, tweet, blog …
once the damn thing's on
*****
Kicka$$ girl seeks boy
for whirlwind romance, mating—
head loss optional
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Tabatha Yeatts at
The Opposite of Indifference. Happy poetry Friday friends!
This month the poetry seven were tasked with writing poems "in the style of." We had quite a bit of discussion about what this meant before we ever got off the ground. When we settled on e.e. cummings I was terrified, and that's putting it mildly. While I may eschew punctuation and capitalization in my poems, I don't usually play with them in the manner of cummings.
Okay, confession time. I have always disliked the poetry of e.e. cummings. There, I said it. His poems have always made me feel dumb. I just don't get them, and (I say this rather immodestly, but I'm a pretty smart cookie), when I don't get the gist, I get frustrated. Perhaps I never read cummings widely enough, but after struggling with a few of his poems, I gave up, never to return to him again.
Enter this month's writing project. As the poet of the style of choice, I jumped into reading cummings again. I'll admit I still don't get most of his stuff, but I did find some pretty amazing pieces. I floundered for quite a while with different topics, but after the shootings in Charleston I knew I needed to write about it. I try not to write when I'm emotional, as the poems tend to come from a dark place. My first drafts were very dark and darn depressing. They needed something more, but I didn't know what that was. On the Sunday following the shootings, the homily focused on embracing hope and rejecting despair. In thinking about Father Jim's words, I realized exactly what my poem was missing, and so my single poem became a pair.
hatred and hope - a pair of poems in the style of e.e. cummings
(written in the wake of the Emanuel AME shootings)
hatred
is.
one
cold heart
looking
kindness
open arms--
genuine love
(in the eyes)
and
firing
a
gun
againandagainandagain
| hope
is.
hearts
battered
broken
againandagainandagain
un
yielding
to despair
forgiving
fighting
(believing-believing-believing)
in their
phoenix
rising |
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.
One of our esteemed members (Andi!) suggested we record our poems this time around. I'm not sure I've captured the emotions I was experiencing as I wrote these, but I'll leave that for you to decide.
Now that you've read and heard my poems, here is the e.e. cummings' poem I chose to emulate.
silence
.is
a
looking
bird:the
turn
ing;edge,of
life
(inquiry before snow
To date, this has been the most difficult challenge for me. I am most grateful to the group this month for leading me to cummings as I've never known him. You can read and listen to the fabulous "in the style of" poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Katie at
The Logonauts. Happy poetry Friday friends!
During the month of May the Poetry Seven spent their time working on odes. After much discussion of form, we decided that a bit of humor was in order. Beyond that, there were no rules, no subjects, and no limits.
This is where I'll admit I had a hard time with this. I was the kid in school who hated free writing. I stared at the page wondering what to write about. However, if I was given a topic, writing was easy. Form does that for me. When I have constraints, I find getting underway a bit easier. So for me, free verse is tough. And no theme meant I found myself in the same space I so often inhabited in high school English class, staring at the blank page wondering what the heck I was doing.
Inspiration eventually came from the strangest of places ... a visit to a port-a-potty. I'll let the poem tell the rest of the story.
Ode to Where My Backside's Been
To all the toilets that have been
privy to another side of me
from the port-a-potties I have
hovered over
one hand holding my nose
while the other finds purchase on the wall
to the heads on rolling ships
to the Amtrak bowls spouting blue water
and the tightly confined closets at 10,000 feet
To the padded seat my mother thought
was a good idea … it wasn’t
a great whoosh of air escaped when you sat on it
and in the heat of summer you stuck to it
to the myriad of public toilets I’ve run from
only to realize when traveling abroad
just how good we pampered Americans have it
From the loosely constructed,
half-walled stalls placed over a trough
running the length of the “Ladies” room at the
base of the Potala Palace
an unavoidable stop before climbing all those steps
to the holes in the floor with footprints on either side
to the basins with no seats at all
I salute you all for your service
but you pale in comparison to
the water closet at Narita airport
whereupon entering the stall
quiet music played
water trickled into the bowl
and the heated seat … yes, I sat on it!
offered comfort and relief after a 15 hour flight
I still dream of that toilet in Tokyo
would even brave another trans-Pacific trip
to rest my weary behind
and perhaps, take a selfie
to begin a photographic ode
to the commode
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.
You can read the fabulous poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Buffy Silverman at
Buffy's Blog. Happy poetry Friday friends!
During the month of April the Poetry Seven spent their time working on the pantoum. Here is a description of the form.
The pantoum is a poem made up of stanzas of four lines where lines 2 and 4 of each stanza are repeated as lines 1 and 3 of the next stanza. The final stanza of a pantoum has an interesting twist. Lines 2 and 4 are the same as the 3rd and 1st of the first stanza, thereby using every line in the poem twice.
Keep in mind that this form of poetry is of an indefinite length. It could be 3 stanzas, 4 stanzas or 20!
(Adapted from The Teachers & Writers Handbook of Poetic Forms.)
There was no theme this time around, just two words--certainties and flight.
My very first thought was the phrase "certainties of flight." This made me think of birds and later, baby birds. I ended up writing many, many versions of a wood duck poem. In the first draft I shared with my sisters, the 2nd line of the 2nd stanza was "
in trees that stretch so tall." I disliked "
so tall" and wanted something like towering trees, but couldn't find a way to say it. Then it hit me that I was describing one nest and needed only one tree. So, I changed it to "
in a tree that stretches tall." I still wasn't happy with the description, but wanted to keep the end rhyme because I liked where it took the poem. In the most recent version I picked a specific tree and chose the word sky for my end rhyme. This one change, of course, meant changes elsewhere. Without further ado, here are both poems, the first shared draft and my most recent revision.
Untitled Pantoum Draft V.1
Do wood duck ducklings dream of flight
when huddled in the nest together?
Picture the world from a dizzying height
while from the ground untethered?
Huddled in the nest together
in a tree that stretches tall
from the ground untethered
soon they’ll leap and fall
In a tree that stretches tall
high above the forest floor
brave young ducklings leap and fall
uncertain drop before they soar
High above the forest floor
looking down from a dizzying height
uncertain drop before they soar
wood duck ducklings dream of flight
Untitled Pantoum (Semi-Final Draft)
Do wood duck ducklings dream of flight
while huddled sleeping in their nest
the world below a glorious sight
the urge to jump for now suppressed
Huddled sleeping in their nest
red oak stretching toward the sky
the urge to jump can’t be suppressed
soon they’ll fall before they fly
Red oak stretching toward the sky
high above the forest floor
ducklings fall before they fly
uncertain drop before they soar
High above the forest floor
the world below a glorious sight
uncertain drop before they soar
wood duck ducklings dream of flight
My writing of the above poem was inspired by something I saw several years ago while watching the BBC series
Planet Earth. Of course, these are Mandarin ducks, but woods ducks have the exact same experience, and this jumping/falling from a great height stuck with me.
While working on the wood duck poem, the phrase "flight risk" kept popping into my head. When it took root and wouldn't leave, I started thinking about escaping small town life and began working on a second piece. Here is an early draft of this poem, also still a work in progress.
Flight RiskShe was a flight risk from the start
with dreams too big to be restrained
small town girl, big city heart
she sought an honest life unchained
With dreams too big to be restrained
by certainties of rural life
she sought an honest life unchained
wouldn’t be some farmer’s wife
Forget the certainties of life
she was reaching for the moon
refused to be some farmer’s wife
and disappeared one afternoon
She was reaching for the moon
small town girl, big city heart
she disappeared one afternoon
fled to chase a brand new start
Poem ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.
You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Ellen at
Space City Scribes. Happy poetry Friday friends!
This month the poetry seven have been focused on writing a pantoum using the words certainties and flight. They will debut on May 1st. YIKES! Mine is not even close to written yet because I'm still tossing around ideas. Here's the work I did yesterday as I sat in two different meetings. This is not surprising, as words and poems seem to emerge in the most inconsiderate of moments.
Here's what emerged during the morning meeting.
When I got back to the office, I dumped my ideas into a form, playing a bit with the lines.
Unsure of the this idea, I tried something new at my second meeting.
The ideas I'm working with are fledgling birds (ducks!) and leaving rural life. I'm not sure if either one will work, but we will find out next week!
Here are the requirements of the form.- composed of couplets (any number)
- even number lines share the same end rhyme
- the title and last words of the odd numbered lines tell a story
When I sat down to write I thought that this might be a bit easier than our last form. Boy, was I wrong! I wasn't sure where to start, so I settled on a sentence for my story. I made a form (yes, I'm a type-A poet!), filled in the story words, and went to work. I'm not quite satisfied, so this is far from done. Here is the first version and a much revised second version. (Note that I've highlighted the title and the odd numbered end words to make the story stand out.)
Version 1
Dear Poet, Be Advised …
The lines you write mean nothing
unless your heart fills the ink that stains
the page. Don’t spend your time on rhymes
that may amuse. Instead take pains
to choose the perfect words with
which to bare your soul. Let loose the reins
of your imagination. Write all your colors, even orange!
Empty all your feelings out, ‘til nothing else remains.
Version 2
Dear Poet, Be Advised …
The lines you write mean nothing
unless the ink that stains
the page is filled with heart. Pick rhymes
with prudence. Take pains
to choose the ideal words with
which to craft your art. Let loose the reins
of imagination. Write all your colors, even orange!
Pour body, soul and feelings out, ‘til poetry fills your veins.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.
You can read the poems written by my Poetry Seven compatriots at the links below.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Amy at
The Poem Farm. Happy poetry Friday friends!
For those of you not following Ed DeCaria's
March Madness Poetry, you've missed some terrific poems by a number of Poetry Friday regulars. Today I'm sharing some thoughts on my process and the two poems I wrote before bowing out (rather ungracefully).
If you don't know the particulars, each participant is given a word that must be used in a poem. In the early rounds, poems must be 8 lines or less. A participant's "seed" number indicates the difficulty of their words. I was a number 12 seed.
Round 1 - incalculable
Given the "big" words in this one, I like to call it my SAT prep poem. If I'd had my wits about me when I wrote it, I would have dipped into the Princess Bride well and used the word inconceivable instead of unfathomable. I also wanted "life without chocolate," but darn chocolaty goodness had too many syllables!
Mysteries of the Universe
We ask question upon question, curiosity untamed
Find answers steeped in numbers, though some cannot be named
Digits of Pi? - Innumerable
Number of stars? - Incalculable
Distance to you? - Immeasurable
Life without love? - Unfathomable
Indeterminate mathematics, from matters most humane
Round 2 - machinations
When I got the word machinations, I immediately thought of fairy tales. I began writing about the evil queen in Snow White. Here are the lines I wrote and then tossed.
Her royal highness sat in jail
facing trumped up allegations
Poisoned apple, girl gone pale
what could be her motivation?
When I couldn't make this work I decided to try writing an
ottava rima. Ottava rima is an Italian form that consists of an eight line stanza with the rhyme scheme
abababcc. In English these lines are usually written in iambic pentameter. Once I chose a form, I changed my focus to the evil witch in Hansel and Gretel. I wanted to give her a name, but that presented a problem. In some forms of the tale she is called the Gingerbread witch, but in others she is unnamed. In the German opera she's named Rosina. Neither of these names worked with the rhyme and meter of the poem, so I randomly chose Helga.
Before Hansel and Gretel
With skill and care she built a house to eat
deftly made with saccharine temptations
Deep in the woods where people rarely meet
the townsfolk questioned Helga’s motivations
Why build a home far from the county seat?
Unless your heart hides evil machinations
But Helga built a house with kid appeal
the perfect trap for catching every meal
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2015. All rights reserved.
I'm pretty happy with my efforts given the time constraints and imposed words. Regardless of the outcome, it was fun and I enjoyed the challenge.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Catherine of
Reading to the Core. Happy poetry Friday friends!
As part of our year-long poetry writing adventure, the Poetry Seven tackled the sestina during the month of February. It seems that the shortest month gave us the hardest form.
Not completely satisfied with my first sestina, I chose new words from the communal list and went back to work. The words I selected were:
sense/cents, turn, up, wind, break/brake, rays/raise/razeWhen I embarked on my first stanza, I had no idea where to start and no topic in mind. This time I knew I wanted to write about the coming of spring and wrote a few phrases that included the end words. After writing the first stanza, I filled in my form and got to writing. I posted the poem and waited for feedback. While still noodling and tweaking, I was heartbroken to find my second stanza had only five lines. I'd missed an end word! Fixing that mistake changed the stanza that followed, and the one after that, and then another. It was like dominoes falling. One little change meant big changes elsewhere. I also had trouble wrapping this one up. Ultimately, I wrote two envois, one that followed the rules and the one that broke them, unsure of which was "right."
After many passes at this poem, I'm putting it to rest for a while. I will revisit one day to revise again. Until then, here goes, rule-breaking ending and all.
Waiting on SpringWe brave Arctic winds.
Our senses
stinging seek warmth, turning
east at sun-up,
but poorly angled rays
can’t break
cold’s hold. The canebrake
still hibernates, wound
tight, not raising
until it senses
temperatures climbing up.
We turn
our minds to the return
of spring, when daffodils break
through and push up,
blossoming skyward. Wind
blows fragrant, tickling senses.
Land, razed
by snow, blossoms. Spirits raise
as eyes turn
skyward, sensing
a break
in the weather. Tailwinds
carry kites up,
above trees, up
towards golden rays.
Wind
clocks forward, turn
away from this long slumber, break
free from childhood and into adolescence.
Let green fill your senses.
Our world is waking up!
At daybreak
birds raise
a chorus, beautiful melodies turned
and carried on the wind.
It’s senseless to rail against the cold. Spring will come, raise
life anew. Up-beat we turn to March.
Break winter’s hold! Bring on the winds of change.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Laura Shovan of
Author Amok. Happy poetry Friday friends!
View Next 25 Posts
"the fact that you love me<br />is still a surprise" <br /><br />I just LOVE that. And it's so true. Love that lasts is also love that is reborn, over and over. You've captured that beautifully, by sharing the "map of your heart" in this poem.
I double-dog dare you to share this with its intended recipient! I love that someone else chose the benches! Don't they just encourage that close communication? I keep imagining how they were used when the Pitcairn family lived there... <br /><br /><i>we don't need to speak<br />for our hearts to be heard</i><br /><br />Awwww.
So many beautiful parts here, including what Sara and Tanita already mentioned. "we sit in our chairs<br />as the day is undone" is probably the part that spoke to me. Something about the sort of violence of the day coming undone while you sit with your beloved in "our" chairs--that steadiness and comfort...just lovely!
Trisha this is so sweet and beautiful! I second Tanita - you better share it with your love! I am always going to think of you when I visit the cloister. :)
A gentle, touching take on this photo...you may not write love poems often, but when you do, it's a good one!
*swoon!* This is lovely on so many levels, Tricia. <br />"but we don’t need to speak<br />for our hearts to be heard" - so true when you've been with someone for a long time. =)
Love-ly! You ladies seem to be evenly split between birds and benches. Interesting to see the variety of directions you went this month!
The benches!! The benches are popular!!<br />Tricia, I love your love poem -- and I hope you share it, wrapped up in a pretty ribbon. It's so dear....
Double-dog dare not accepted! In all our years together I've never said or written anything like this. I'm only safe because I know he doesn't read my blog. Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to share.
Awww, I just melt to read that. My hubby and I will hit 20 years in May, and it's definitely a surprise that the love is still there, quietly warm on the hob. Reading your poem was like eating chocolate. Yum.
I love the last four lines most of all: <br />"You are my comfort<br />my home and my song<br />in the map of my heart<br />it's with you I belong"<br />Spoke to me today.