So what to do when you are in the fully flowing river of the muse, herself, and class is upon you? I had to stop immediately and go to class. And I swear it was the worst coming back afterward to being again. I felt like I was amidst choppy waves, tossing me every which way but where I thought I needed to go. The flow was harder to come by. The river had slowed considerably once I returned. Oh the horrible wretched inconsistent flow of the muse. Darn her! You are so consternating!
I'm working on my list of favorite and most delight-some words. Can you guess any of them that I've come across in my reading that I suddenly find a space for? I'm a hoarder of words. Let me tell you.
I used to have this notebook that I filled with my favorite words. Somewhere along the way it went missing. So my goal is to get it back and simply refill another page with them. Page after page after page of glorious words.
I am obsessed. Clearly. But if you try to give me an intervention, I shall brain you with Oxford's dictionary. Try me.
In the meantime, here is more laughable and somewhat promising poetry from me. Remember all the poems, save the last are simply warm-up poems. And please understand that most of my aims are to play with words, with images, with surprises unexpected, and the overall craft. I am crawling out of my darkness and into the light, but I still have some dark humor. Take it as you will:
Within
“A travesty!” I
Announce. “A travesty
Behest!” No one speaks
Nor writes like such any longer.
“The shame, ‘tis the shame
Of us all!” I cry
Mightily within my heart.
But it’s locked
Away in the closet
the corner closet within
a box within
A safe within
A blackened tiny space within
A room within
A room within
The closet of my heart.
And ne’er will I divulge such whimsy
To the world at large.
But to you
I may just
Someone tie the rope just right
Someone tie the rope just right
The noose is loose
Now too tight
You must be joking at the sight
of this knot
I know knots and
You know not
The pain and sorrow of such sloppy work
Simply won’t do with all that effort
Do it now and do it right
Someone tie the rope just right!
So I can hang myself.
Unnamed
I won’t give you the rhyme
You seek you see
I don’t like rhyming, it’s kitschy and bland
All the writers sound alike
When they rhyme
And I lose all meaning in such light
Playfulness and fondness
Especially when the darker ones
Rhyme and tip the boat too far
Into rhyming and I want nothing more
Than to plunge that author further
Into the darkness
They seem to know so well
And ask if rhyming exists
In such a great and deep abyss.
Unnamed
Poetry is easy for me
Perhaps not you but all my words
When flowing like water over the falls
Comes naturally easily,
Little work at all.
But when I drift slowly,
Eroding the sandy rocks below
Etching and carving my words into stone
I’m carrying bloated wood, a dead crow.
The dam is built, the drops ensnared
Algal is coming to murder us all
So set my voice upon a hill
And watch it run gloriously down
without stagnation
Watch in me for the sky above
As I work to create the image of the heavens.
This week's writing assignment was as follows:
1.
Write two versions of a mixed feelings poem (about the same topic,
think differences in tone and mood like "The Bells")
Note: He is referring to Edgar Allan Poe's The Bells. Take time to read if you have not. It's longer than short, but Poe is always worth the time, if not the shiver up your spine. Below is my take on the project. Needs work, but I think it is definitely a start:
A Day With Rain
A cool amber day
Turns foul and moody grey
sky kisses from a dead fish
black oil and last month’s dust
invading the taste of breakfast
stooped leaves on
mom’s tomatoes over
a somber pool that grows
like a silent figure over Owl Creek
hastening my steps to the bus
A day that ceases to end
As the sky just rends
Rends and Rends and Rends
With Rain
O Rain
O Wretched Wrothful Rain
Everywhere and everything is cold slicing rain
Rain will cease to end or end or end
Rain Just rain
Rain and Rain and Rain
Rain and Rain and rain
Rain Just Rain
Do not end or end or end
Everywhere and everything is cool shining rain
O Pattering Puddling Rain
O Rain
With Rain
Lends and Lends and Lends
A sky that just lends
A day I don’t want to end
Hastening my steps to the lot
A gleeful sprite in a spring-rain creek
Wishful puddles that flower
Her innocent daughter’s smile
In a joyful stomping hour
The invading taste of life
Earth and grass, a voltaic cologne
Enraptured frolic, bare and alive
Turns a foul and moody grey
Into an amber day
This poem's title is an homage to Enya's album A Day Without Rain in which exists my favorite song called Wild Child. The poem itself is a nice juxtaposition between today and how I felt about the rain versus a specific time when I was at camp (yes I was about 16, I believe) and it was just storming crazily outside. I was watching it and was just in awe of the rain, so I decided to go out and dance in it. So CD player tucked in my pants with Enya's album loaded up, I went out and danced in the rain for probably a good half hour to an hour, by myself, completely alone without eyes. I danced and jumped and frolicked in that rain and I cannot remember feeling happier about a single moment or time in my life that included simply me, existing in the world and being all that I am.
I'm hoping this endeavor I am taking on will bring it all back. Leastways, that's my true goal. Where do I see myself in 5 or 10 years Mr. Faculty Mentor and Advisor? Happy. That's where. Enraptured. Frolicking with glee. Fully clothed, of course.
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