Poetry

All posts in the Poetry category

Blogging Sounds for 3WW

Published August 29, 2012 by Ms. Nine

Weekly Writing Challenge from The Daily Post at WordPress.com : blog sounds

 

3WW prompt: free, affair, expectation

Free from twitter beeps

An affair with the keyboard

Tap tap tap tap

Hummmm of  a hard drive

Scratching muse

An expectation

Anticipation of a post

Like dinner hot on the table

Poetry Lessons Missed

Published August 28, 2012 by Ms. Nine

Lately I’ve been reminiscing about my days as a teacher. I miss watching children enjoy learning by trying the activities I created for them.  One activity we did together was as much fun for me as it was for them.  I’d like to share it with you today.

It’s called “Copycat”.  Think of a poem you know and like.  Now copy the style of the poem using your own theme or idea.

Here’s one from Sylvia Plath’s Mirror.

Computer

I am sleek and black.  I have no thoughts of my own
Whatever you type, I save immediately
Just as you typed it, unedited or revised
I am not a critic, only a device —
The batch of nanoes, four-cornered
Most of the time I’m booted, clicking on a desk
It is hard, cluttered with paper.  I have stayed on it so long
I think it is part of my hard drive.  But I flicker.
Sleep mode and blank screens separate us over and over.

Now I’m a tablet.  A woman bends over me
Searching the internet for what she  wants
She turns to those search engines, google and yahoo
I show her favorites and posts on face book
She rewards me with giggles and tapping fingers
I am important to her. She opens and closes me.
With me she has news feeds and weather apps, and with me she
Shuts off the TV, like an ugly lamp.

 

Have fun writing today.  And thanks for stopping in.

(I would love to see a new Robert Frost in the comments.)

Wild Word Whispers

Published August 9, 2012 by Ms. Nine

Tag.  A running away from it game. Today I’m it, the one making the rules.

For the tagged:

  1. Chase your dreams
  2. If you decide to tag a few blogs, leave a comment
  3. Answer one question you hope nobody will ask

I’ll be commenting as I tag you.  When you’re it you get to make the rules.

The answer to the question I wish nobody would ask:  Yes, I took my estrogen today. Shut up.

 

Thanks for playing! (or not)

Published July 27, 2012 by Ms. Nine

 

This post about the writing process by writer A. Christine spoke to me. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

 

a. christine writer

First, you get an idea. It is bright and shiny like a quarter in a corner, and you run over and pick it up and gloat quietly in your head that you were the one who found it. You subsequently remember that there are lots of ideas out there that other people have picked up and will pick up, some of which look and sound an awful lot like the one you have in your hand. Damn that Collective Unconscious thingamajig!

Still, you like your idea. It excites you, so you keep it around, like a pygmy puff (Harry Potter reference – think a less reproductive tribble). It sits on your shoulder and occasionally reminds you that it’s there. It’s comfortable, and as the idea grows and develops into something more concrete, you start to get that persistent poke at the back of your brain that you need to put…

View original post 1,386 more words

Summer Shorts, Part II

Published July 3, 2012 by Ms. Nine

Flash fiction, a genre I’m experimenting with this week, is challenging but worth the exercise.  The fun part comes in editing.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.

Readers, I challenge you to write a short (500 words or less) and post it in a comment (or link me).  Here’s a link with ideas and prompts: http://www.everydayfiction.com/flashfictionblog/10-ideas-for-flash-fiction-writing-prompts/

If you’re new to this genre, here’s another site with a clear definition: http://365tomorrows.com/03/23/what-is-flash-fiction/

Oh, and there are lots more.  Google it and see for yourself.

Here’s my short for today.

Waiting

     Marlene twirled her fork in the linguine alle vongole.   She saw Pedro, the head cook, watching her from the kitchen’s swinging doors.  She smiled. If only her father accepted him, she wouldn’t need to sneak.  Tonight she would wait for him by her mother’s head stone, a place her father would never look.  She left her plate untouched.  “My father works late tonight.  I’ll go home and get ready for Pedro.”

“I’m clocking out.”

“Nice job tonight, Pedro.  And remember what I told you about my daughter.  She’s too young for you.”

“Yes.” Pedro averted the old man’s eyes. “I will wait for her then.”

“That’s best.”  The old man sighed, appreciating Pedro’s honesty.

She wore the modest black dress, the one Pedro liked.  Pedro.  His name alone delighted every part of her.  She waited for love with the pain of anticipation.   To distract her, she read the words on the gravestone.

“Loving wife and mother taken by her own hands

Merciful God, forgive her.”

She wished for a word, a mother’s advice, a discourse, an approval, a sign.

An owl hooted.

She waited.  And waited.

If you have some flash, please post and share.  I’ll be waiting!

Thanks for stopping by!

Poets and Novelists

Published June 29, 2012 by Ms. Nine

Have you ever considered infusing your novel or short story with a splash of poetry?  I’m mostly a prose writer, but the value of dropping a poem in your prose cannot be underestimated (think Hunger Games).   A poem can break up the visual monotony of paragraphs and thread a recurring theme.

Yesterday I spent most of my blog time visiting other writers’ blogs and making comments (what fun!).  In the process, I discovered a writer of uncommon talent.  Her many modes of artistic expression include art, photography, and poetry.  I was particularly moved by her poems.  Her poetry resounds with raw rectitude.  Rousing and provocative, her verse wraps the reader in layers of meaning that break and reshape into loops of creative thought.   Stimulating!  Check her out at Perle’s Ink.

Drawing inspiration from my feedback tour, I’m posting a poem about writers.

Hey, Writer, What do Your Words Do?

Do they…

build up

unbind, obey

bulldoze

brown nose

rebuke, rebuff

bleed, blunder

roar like thunder

say enough?

Thanks for stopping by!

Next week – summer shorts

Enjoy your weekend and happy writing.

Going Home

Published June 19, 2012 by Ms. Nine

I visited my hometown, a place I haven’t seen in years, to attend a wedding.  A day before the wedding, my feelings of nostalgia led me to the old neighborhood where I grew up.   How differerent it looked from the days of my youth!  It took days to untangle my emotions and wrap them up in words.

Here’s what I told myself:

What did you expect?  When you walked away thirty years ago, did you think you were the only one who would leave?  You thought home would always be there, didn’t you?  Well, things change.

Where you once lived, the new owners have installed wrought iron stairs leading to your old room on the second floor.  At the top of the stairs is a door instead of a window.  Two familites live there now.

As you walk the streets of your childhood memories, you notice the sidewalks where you learned to ride a bicycle are less shady.  You can’t recall their exact location, but you know there are trees missing.  Wasn’t there a willow tree here?

The neighborhood has changed, too.    Houses now occupy the fields where you played hide and seek.  You’re bewildered.  You remember slinging your ice skates over your shoulder to join a dozen others on a frozen pond.  Where’s the pond?  That too, has morphed into an unrecognizable cluster of track houses.

You wonder if your mind is playing tricks on you.    Back yards that once blended in congenial fraternity are now partitioned in stockade fencing.  You’re saddened by the thought that your idea of “neighborhood” is as obsolete as a game of jacks.

Is there a constant in the universe of your memory, a single element that grounds you to the place you called home?   You yearn for the elusive anchor that will moor you to the past, if only for a moment.  If you don’t find a familiar marker, you’re certain your heart will float away, adrift and alone.

Then you remember the poultry farm and its garage style store  where your brothers earned their first paychecks.   Even though you haven’t seen it yet, you know it’s still there, right around the corner.   You approach on foot and notice that the gravel parking lot is now paved and larger than you remembered.  Inside, the gleaming glass cases stock the same stuff, only there’s more of it – chicken pot pie, chicken salad, chicken croquettes, eggs – just like you remembered.   You buy the chicken salad and taste it.

Suddenly, for one tangy and sweet moment you’re back home.

Thanks for stopping by!

Next post: research in the Adirondacks on June 21st.

%d bloggers like this: