Why do you write?

Perhaps this is just me but i do feel as though i can convey my exact thoughts and sentiments when i'm allowed time to write it out. I feel as though somehow i've surpassed or more likely relinquished the need for conversation well because i too often trip up over my own tongue and end up sounding like an inbred. I am able to through poetry illuminate, edify and even wow. While with English and my two cent input to most conversations i simply exist as a tree in the background on the stage which the play of life is being held on. So i assert would anyone prefer to speak poetry with me instead of... well this stuff.

Critiquing

As I've said in previous posts, I'm primarily a fiction writer. I wrote short stories, flash fictions, unfinished novels, etc. I help run a writing club, too, and many of our members are poets. Because of my heavier background in fiction, I often found myself lacking in terms of on-the-spot critiques for the poetry that finds its way into our meetings.

This class has fostered my growth as a poet, and by extension my strength in critiquing other poetry. I definitely feel I can more adequately respond to the poetry I come across, as well as scrutinize on a deeper level. For this, I am grateful.

Introspection

I'm not sure if I can attribute this to this class, but I've been more conscious of my own experiences in terms of what I write, this semester. Most of my writing in the last few months concerns thematic correlations to my personal stories, which I haven't really done before. I suppose there's a sort of vanity in that, but it seems to work well if you make a point. I've started doing this a lot with poetry, and I really like what's come of it. At the very least, I like where I'm going with this.

This will sound obvious, and in many ways it is, but putting my personal experiences into poetry is pretty cathartic. I would have expected it to be, but I'm just putting that out there.

One thing I will attribute to this class is how I've handled these personal experiences in poetry form. I don't think I would have been able to convey them as well otherwise.

F o r m

Ever since taking this class, I've been paying particular attention to how I format my poetry. To this end, I've also been scrutinizing how other poets structure their work. Prior to Intro, I believe a wealth of my poetry conveyed itself through bland and uninspired stanzas. I never played with line breaks or end-stops, or even thought to structure stanzas in a provocative way.

As a fiction writer, I'd say I thought with a mindset anchored by prose, though "anchored" may be heavy a term. My fiction work definitely brings a lot to the table in terms of my poetry, but not all of it is germane. Poetry definitely allows for different methods of creative finesse.

What do all of you think?

Overall

I took a lot away from this course, more than I expected but at the same time what I was hoping to find.It was nice to see the class get close and for everyone to be open with their material, it made class real. It was nice to see the many different poets and styles. We went through a good amount of poets and covered a wide range of styles, I felt it built up a good base to start at. Thanks everyone, good luck with finals!

"Which is a better pet? A turtle, table, or steak?

Some turtles are really fucking evil. They want to take over the world and keep all the water to themselves. I recently saw this documentary called Rango, with some nigga named Johnny Depp narrating it, explaining how corrupt land turtles are. Sea turtles are usually cool (example: Finding Nemo), but those land muthafuckas are shit. Look at Super Mario—they tried to kill the princess! And Bowser is a big-ass stank nigga. So, no, overall turtles don’t make good pets. They will try to kill you in your sleep and doo-doo in your sneakers.

Tables are really nice. They listen to your worries, hold things for you, and you can boo-boo on them and they will not complain. The first table I had was named Hemphrey. He couldn’t speak English too well, but Hemphrey was the nicest table I’d ever met. He died from a heroin overdose. So, yes, tables make great pets, just keep cool shit like heroin away from them.

Steak. So good. Well-done steaks are well mannered. Raw steaks are just like the people who eat them. Musty. So, steaks can be good or musty pets. Choose one and choose wisely.

Overall, tables are the coolest pets.

Golf Wang, bitch!"

This is a post on an online music website called hype beast. It was submitted by a nineteen year old boy named "Tyler the Creator" He's a rapper from the Los Angeles area. He is vulgar, immature, violent and a ridiculously huge tool. But he is very F****** strange, making him, for me worth being interested in. Here is his music video, again, this is something I am fascinated by only because he is soooo amazingly off of his rocker. I like insanity.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSbZidsgMfw

Sylvia Plath

"I am too pure for you or anyone."

This is a quote by Sylvia Plath.. I hate to admit it, because its a slightly egotistical way of feeling, but in my quietest state I relate to this quote in a deep way. I am in no way shy or virginal or elitist but I truly feel that most people these days don't spend enough time trying to get to know themselves. I feel like the path to salvation has a lot to do with knowing your insides well enough to create a life course true to your being. Too many people allow the bustle and noise of the world to distract them from what is most important, self revelation. Then again, I feel Sylvia knew herself to an astounding degree. And she wound up committing suicide.

Expectorant

The rain brings out the smells of the street

Like an expectorant.

Fragrances flowing

Instead of trapped uselessly in the concrete

For no one to enjoy or be repulsed by.

For, no one in their right mind would dare bring their delicate nose

and mouth and face

So close to the pavement.

So close to the disease hiding emplacement

of ignorant beings, for their nicotine-less leftovers of cancer.

But I am usually in my left mind.

And enjoy the varied smells of Bridge Street.

I would sit among the rubbish

To feel the heated stone

In the summer

When germs aren’t real

And any place to bask is a good one.

But, it is summer not yet

though, getting there.

Slowly,

Painfully,

Creepingly.

April showers bring May flowers and the air is filled with moisture, cold and dreary.

The perfect environment to nurse and encourage growth to the yellow, thick infection

in my lungs.

Making my coughs sound chunky and degenerative like an old man on his

death bed.

My sickly noises draw concerned stares from the others on the bus,

but this is Oswego and the people have been blown into the same twisted shape as the trees

by the fierce angry wind.

So I stare right back.

Presentation...

It was my turn to present my project today.

Up until about the second I walked into the classroom I didn't feel nervous about it at all.
I had been through workshop, after all.

But I got into the classroom, and up there to present and I was extremely nervous about it. Maybe it was the vulnerability of standing up there in front of everyone and reading my poetry -- reading a bit of my soul, in a sense...
But once I got to reading my own poems, I felt calm. It was strange, but looking up at the words on the screen and realizing "Well, this isn't so bad," had a calming affect on me.

I almost laughed at how nervous I had been before hand.

Did anyone else have an experience much like this for the presentations?

the world

I'm not to sure how things are going to go within the next few years. Some people think we're going to all kick the bucket in a matter of a year and a half or so. What does that mean? Do i try my hardest now, put time and effort in to all my work, only to have everything destroyed within a forseeable time period. But then if the world doesn't end (which it probably wont) Then im fucked. I did nothing, and have to keep doing nothing. But if i do put forth effort into everything i do and the world doesn't end, it's only to keep up the same routine i've been in for about 19 years. I wake up, I brush my teeth, shower go to school/work/whatever i have to do that do that day, meet up with a few aquaintences, injest somethings, go home watch tv, go to sleep. It just seems like such a dry routine. Especially when you have a wife and kids to wake up to. Oh god, kids. I cant imagine having myself for a child. I was probably such a little prick. There's no way my parents could have enjoyed raising me, I definatley wouldn't have. I just don't want the routine for myself, at least right now. I got to figure something out for after college. Just not sure what to do yet.

blehebe

My shoulders carry two tons of steel.
This shit's been welded and its hot but feels
could sweat that paces around on this back
And tries to figure out what this body does lack.
"Is it feelings, smarts or the ability to not be a jerk?
Maybe his body is just filled with dirt,
Cause if his actions had exchange rates that's what they'd be worth.
What's funny is, he's never been truley hurt,
but he writes on and on and goes and goes
thinking his words are caught in a flow.
They never make sense and he acts so needy
Take something from him and hell start to get greedy
Then there's hell to pay."
I'm sorry.
It's the sand paper
It's the silk
It's that spilled cup of milk.
It's the fly
It's the wall
It's the fact of getting crushed while you crawl.

Poetry For Therapy

I don't know about you, but I have found this class sort of relaxing. I usually keep a journal anyway, so having a more creative outlet makes my writing more interesting. Instead of writing 'today I did X, Y, Z' I'm more detailed on why X made me think about 27 and Q.
Also, this semester has been tough! Being a Freshman is hard enough with out being constantly sick and having to go home due to an impending death in the family. I'm not one to talk about my personal problems, but poetry has provided me with an outlet so I don't completely explode. I can organize my thoughts by letting them pour out onto the page, a 'waterfall' of sorts. I can then sort through whats really troubling me.
I don't know if you use poetry for telling a story or preserving memories, but I kind of use it as both. Its nice to be able to say what I want, when I want, and then do something creative and beautiful with it.

craziness

The world works in a crazy way. You can never really tell how something is going to go until you are specifically in that situation. You can think about it all you want. Try to mentally prepare youreself, but its not really worth it. i dont really know where im going with this, but the point is, is that you have to take life as it comes. I spent to much of my time preparing for events and worrying about it, when i could have just worried about it when it came time for worrying. That's all really.

Fighting With Your Muse

Often times while I'm writing I will have a good idea, run with it, but once I have exhausted my idea, its hard to loosen up my train of thought. I'm really happy this has loosened up as the semester has gone on, but sometimes when I read a particularly challenging poem, its hard to think of a response.
This exercise has helped me not only in my poetry writing, but in other courses of study as well. I find that my essays are far less jarred and seem to flow better. I am not over-thinking and analyzing how every fact might be wrong, instead I find a way to prove it write with my newly expanded imagination.
I wish that I was still little, though. I have an imaginary professor sitting over my shoulder as I write sometimes and I worry that what I'm writing sounds silly or crazy. I wish I could let go and let my pen take me to a land of pink grass and trees that float on clouds. But sometimes I'm stuck, writing about my boyfriend (which is pretty cliche) or some melodramatic issue I'm having.
How do you loosen up and stretch your muse?

The Final Portfolio

Organizing my final portfolio was a pretty difficult task, especially the revisions. But it was mainly because I did not know exactly which of my poems to revise. There were many poems in my notebook that I wanted to work on, but some of them stood out more than others. I was pretty pleased with the way that they came out though, some the revisions were in-depth. I was also easy to revise the poems that went through workshop, because I was told all the problems that I needed to fix in my poems. Those specific poems are the ones that I hope stand out the most and are better crafted. I learned a lot about my writing and what I needed to fix during workshop and I think it was one of the more useful things in the class.

Oral Presentations

I really am looking forward to doing my oral presentations, just because of the freedom in picking our own poets. Some of the poets we have discussed in class were good, but I was not fond of some of them. I think being able to pick your own poets, especially the modern ones, was a cool concept. And some of the older ones were interesting too, mine being the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. The hardest thing if anything was organizing the entire presentation. I tried to use that Prezi thing but it was way too hard. I mean, maybe if I had more time to understand it and control it, then I would use it because the presentations on it are pretty awesome. But unfortunately I just had to use powerpoint. Definitely going to try Prezi in the future.

Working with my muse

Completing my final portfolio really gave me a better insight on how my poetry writing has evolved since I first started in the class, especially with my muse. Working with my Muse has become something that I become accustomed to and it is present in a lot of my writing. My revisions focused mainly on making my poems more in-depth and trying to add more meaning into what I was writing. Somethings that were annoying about working with my muse were at times, I just could not think of anything to write, and my free form writing came out terribly. But my muse was good when I was in the zone and writing better things on paper. I did not understand exactly the role of the muse at first, but now I understand its importance in my poetry. I just hope it can get better from here after ending this class.

Final Portfolio

This final portfolio has allowed me to review and analyze all of the different techniques that I have learned this semester. My portfolio shows a new way of me writing. Even though I do have rhyming poems in there, many of my poems don't rhyme, which is new to me. I emphasized on creating personification in my poems and telling a story that I think people will either be able to understand, or have personally been through those situations. I enjoyed writing about various topics that came to my head whether it be abut love, hate or a story that I have heard of before. The most important thing to me is getting my story out to the public. I love writing poetry and I also love slam poetry. This class gave me the opportunity to learn how to write poetry that is not for a slam contest, this is reflected in my final portfolio.

Poem Length

Through out this semester, I've been having a lot of trouble lengthening my poems. I feel like if I can say in in two words, why stretch it out? Yes, the apple is bright red. Yes, the apple is a lustrous ruby red, thin skinned holding back the juice of summer sun and lazy bumblebee's pollination. But after that, what? I feel like if my reader has to muddle through too much description, they will loose my point of view, my focus, and motive. Maybe it was one of my high school teachers who, along the way, taught me to be concise and precise.
The advice 'show, don't tell' has helped out in this area as well as the dialectical entries. Forcing me to see what my ideas are and how to expand on them and make them clearer to the audience. All though, I prefer Mind Movies because I can let my words flow and now have to worry about anything being right. If a word shows up, I'll explore it. But often, I feel I have reached a stopping point and there is no way to expand. 'There is always a way to expand' says one of my English professors. So, how do you expand your poems when you find you've reached a stopping point?
Does changing rooms or music help? How about putting the pen down and coming back to it?
Personally, I find it hard to stop and start again. I feel like I've lost my train of thought and I can't get back into the swing of things, the pouring out of my thoughts.

Oral Presentation

How did everyone do on their oral presentation if you have gone? I was so nervous to go for mine. I usually do not like presentations in front of the class. I was the second group to go and just wanted it over it. I am relieved I went first because I had the rest of the class to just sit and listen to other peoples. If I would have waited to go towards the end of class, the entire time I would have been so nervous. One of my biggest concerns was that I was going to read and talk too fast just so I could get it over with. This would have resulted in my presentation being really short. For the first group that went in my class, people were having trouble fitting the entire presentation in the limited amount of time. What are some things you did to prevent this? The night before I timed my presentation to make sure I was on track to avoid not having enough time or it being too short.

Final Portfolios

How is everyone doing on there final portfolios? As you look back on your more recent poems have you seen an improvement compared to the poems you wrote in the beginning? I remember walking into the classroom and not being able to understand was a muse was. It is interesting to me when I look back on the poems I wrote first weeks of class. Now I can see so many changes I can make to them and how I can make them better and improve them. It was sort of hard to come up with eight poems at first because so many of my beginning ones I feel like are not good enough. However, these are the poems I can make a bunch of revisions on, so it is perfect for the portfolio. I thought making revisions was going to be very difficult. Once I started to improve ones I am surprised and relieved to see how easy it is. The fact that we had workshop definitely helped. I feel like I do sort of the same style of writing throughout the majority of my poems, so it kind of helps me on all of them.

Feelings about course

What did you all think about this course now that we are almost finished? At first I was nervous to take a class that involved writing poetry. I thought to myself I do not know how to write a poem. However, after almost being completed with this course, I am impressed with my abilities. I have grown a lot as a poet since the first day I walked into the classroom. I have learned many new techniques and now when I am reading poetry I find myself pointing out different elements. I view writing poetry completely different because of this course. I think writing poetry is a creative way of expressing your thoughts and feelings. Also, I was really hesitant when people first began reading my poems, especially the first work shop. Now I am more confident and like when people read them. As a writer, there is always room for improvement. The more and more poems I write, I feel the more I improve my writing.

Robert Frost

As I finish my project and review it one more time and make the final changes before I present tomorrow, I have once again reminded myself of how great a poet Robert Frost is. He has always been one of my favorite poets, but throughout this project, I have been reacquainted with my love of his work. His ability to write about nature and the simple things of life really tugs at my heart strings. I can relate to his natural themes and it reminds me of my home and childhood. Of all the poetry I have read, not a single poet through the majority of his work have I been able to relate to with the exception of Frost. Does anyone else have one particular poet who they can truly relate to and enjoy thier work no matter what?

Clarity

During workshop, over and over again I heard people recommending the author to change things around to make the overall message, setting, event, or metaphor more clear. I understand the reasoning behind this, as no one wants to read a nonsense poem that to them appears to have no meaning. But much of the time when I write a poem, I enjoy being cryptic. I love creating a subtle metaphor that most people won't catch. And frankly, I don't care about those people who don't get it. That may sound conceded, but I promise you it's not. Romantic love makes a good analogy of what I'm getting at. If you had such a passion with everyone you met, your love would mean nothing to anyone. It would be taken for granted, and largely unwanted. The same goes for a somewhat cryptic metaphor, the few people that actually understand will feel accomplished and more connected to the poem, realizing how they have a special connection to that poem that many do not. Even if this weren't so, I as an author enjoy the thought of someone penetrating deep into my words, working to understand me. Perhaps that part is conceded :p

The Muse of Delirium

Time and time again, I find myself most creative when I am incredibly tired, sometimes to the point of delirium. It's interesting, when I get this tired I feel almost as if I'm high. Perhaps the muse presents itself more readily because I am too tired/impaired to involuntarily censor it. Many of the best music/lyrics/poetry I've ever written came to me after a ridiculously long video game binge, or coming home from work (I used to work nights, so I was always extremely tired). Anyone have similar experiences?

I carry 'I carry your heart with me' with me

Poetry had never been a part of my life. In fact, I might have had a slight biased against it when I was younger, I'm not sure. I did, however, read childrens poetry like Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein as a child, but who hasn't. I knew I had always loved songs with beautiful words, but I never knew how much I needed the beauty of such a common thing. That is, until worthy songs weren't being produced quick enough, and I was in dire need of solace in something. I lost my friend to cancer a couple years ago, and it was shortly after that, that I was caught hook-in-mouth by the haunting words of my first, real poem: 'I carry your heart with me' by E.E. Cummings. These beautiful, absurd words gave me the connection I needed to the loss I felt and I was beside myself with passion for this new art I'd happened upon. It's in the words "...and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you," that I found my most passionate love for words.

Happy Poems

In general, I don't enjoy happy poems nearly as much as melancholy, angry, or even depressing ones. For the most part, I'd say the same is true for me concerning music, as well as literature and movies. I find the intensity of emotion to be so much more appealing and captivating. Perhaps that's just part of my personality, or maybe I just relate to it more. Happy poems just seem so frivolous comparatively. Most of my own poetry tends to be at the very least somewhat somber. Even when I set out to make a happy-ish poem, somehow the ending always turns somehow sad.

A Spanish Contribution

Since my major is Spanish, and I have an interest in poetry, I've decided to combine them as completely as I can. Coincidentally, I am taking both an English and Spanish poetry course this semester. So, while being introduced to many, many new poets in creative writing, I've also been given the opportunity to read poems by Spanish poets. (Generally consisting of Latin American writers) And of those include Jorge Luis Borges, Pablo Neruda, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and countless more. There is something intriguing about poetry in the Spanish language, as if each poem automatically contains the most beautiful words ever written, and quite often- they do. In Pablo Neruda's poem Tus Pies (Your Feet) the last few lines take my breath away. They are as follows: "Pero no amo tus pies, sino porque anduvieron, sobre la tierra y sobre, el viento y sobre el agua, hasta que me encontraron." Or, "But I love your feet, only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me." The passion and conviction in that stanza, as the final lines of a beautiful poem, leave me utterly motivated to capture the essence of pure love and nature as these poets can- and with each poem, I remember these writers.

another untitled poem

The clouds follow you

Dripping gray with doubt

The lion stands by your side

Proud and gold

Her mane reflects rays

On to your shadows

We pick at you, the rotting fruit

Only hoping you can grow

You’ve been sold the wrong soul

And I pray to the earth as my lashes wax the uncut lawn

Because crosses don’t comfort me

Reading Poetry Aloud

After a few days of critiques during class, something came to me. Peotry is not just about content, it is also about oral presentation. one of the presenters shared a poem that was well written, but there was something about the way she read it that just clicked. I remember watching this video in an english class that I had last year,(the video was of a young woman delivering a peom that eventually won a contest) and evaluating the way she read it. she read the poem with such emotion and connection, that it was clearly evident why she was chosen as the winner. I especially loved, during class, when we got the chance to hear poets read their poems online. Hearing the actual poets read just gives you a better association with that poet's feelings and gives me a better sense of visualization. I think hearing a poet read their poem right in front of you, makes the poem more unique in a certian way.

Muse

It can be said that anyone who considers themselves to be a poet must have the ability to connect with their muse. Well, to me, connecting to my muse was not always the easiest thing. I found myself asking: "What exactly is a muse?" multiple times.Was it a mood? Was it a feeling of relaxation that could come over you, and allow you to connect to whatever it is you were writing? It occured to me that a muse may not be something we can really put a label on. To me, a muse was a thought, a spark in my brain that gave me some intuition to write. My muse gave me a reason to write poems the way that I wanted. I now know that there are no rights, and no wrongs when it comes to muse work, and that one simply cannot and should not be judged for whatever it is they write while completing it. Muse work helps one to commit themselves fully and undoubtedly to their work. What do you guys do to get better connected with your muse? What does muse mean to you?

Critiques

A few weeks ago, when we first started sharing our poetry with each other during classtime, I was really nervous about critiques. To top things off, I was in the first group, and was the first to present my poem. I think that I was most nervous because I felt like a "beginner" poet in comparison to the other people in the class. I hadn't had a lot of experience with writing poetry, and although often times it seemed like a breeze to understand the different approaches to the poetry langauge we went over in class, I just couldn't seem to get comfortable with the thought of having to share my work. I was pretty surprised with the aftermath of sharing my poem. Nobody was judgmental and I great deal of feedback that would later help me to revise my poems. I learned some very helpful things about how to improve my poems, and to top it all off, my nervous energy about presenting had basically dissapeared.

Notebook

as this is the end of the semester, I'm definitely feeling the pressure to get all of my work done. I was nervous to get all of my poems together for my notebook, since I didn't really think I wrote all that much this semester, and didn't really follow the syllabus to a T. I just wrote when and if ideas came to me, keeping them in a separate notebook for just simple ideas that I thought would make okay poems. As it turns out, I'm well over the minimum for the notebook entries. It made me realize just how much I actually did write this semester, and how proud I am of that work. I never considered myself to be a "writer" or even someone who writes, but this semester has helped me realize that I do actually have something to say, and at times I'm pretty good at saying it

Lies

The idea of lies in the poetry language has intrigued me since we learned about it. I presented a poem in workshop that incorporated lies. I edited it up for my portfolio but I figured I would show you guys as well.

I walked to the grave of my father,

sat down in the cool grass and leaned

against the smooth stone

sipping a PBR, his favorite.

I though about the time I was out late,

dreamt up a story, selling it smoothly

without so much as a stutter

sneaking out at night

sneaking back at dawn

He knew, always, but only caught me once,

sitting in his great arm chair, smoking, waiting,

for the silent crawl through the window that

never locked right

home free

until i saw the small orange tip dance to life

home free

until I heard the cloves crackle

like people snapping their fingers all at once

I weaved my smooth web

explaining who, why, where

with deceitful expertise,

he just sat, smoking silently in the dark,

the tip glowing and fading with each breath

smoke sliding up and folding over itself

as it collided lazily with the ceiling

when my opus was finished

and the last lie fell on the floor with a dull

thud

he stood up silently, crushed his cigarette

and walked upstairs.

I stood petrified, fear and confusion

like clown makeup on my face,

and there I stayed until dawn

even now, sitting in the grass,

I never knew why he didn't speak.

Maybe knowing was enough, or maybe

it was some psych-babble trick he learned

watching Discovery channel between basement naps

The breeze and the sound of a pick-up playing Springsteen

shake me back and I look up to see my beer is gone

and the sun is slipping below the skyline

I light a cigarette,

hear the crackle, just like before,

I leave my beer on the marker

Translations

One thing that has fascinated me this semester is reading translated work.  I remember asking a question in class one day about why works are constantly being retranslated.  It is because languages update over time and new translations need to be made it keep up with the changing language. 

In my research of Arthur Rimbaud's work I have realized that tenses are often lost in translation.  For example, his poem "Royalty" features both -ing and -ed endings.  This could be very frustrating because even though it might be minuscule, word choice really makes a difference when reading a poem.  A poem that is written in present tense will sound very different from a poem that is written in past.

In order to correct this, there should be some sort of translating committee that sets guidelines for this type of thing.  While this could lead to limiting  expression, it would provide a cohesive way to translate poems.  It is terribly frustrating to try to figure out what translation is in its "truest" form.

Senses Favorite Breakfast Revised

I took into consideration everyones comments on my poem during class and I revised it a great deal. Adding line breaks, more imagery, and an actual point to the poem at the end. I played around with phrase length as well. What used to be just two sentence stanzas throughout, is now a 3,4,3,2,3,4,3,2,3,2 pattern.

Senses Favorite Breakfast

Awoken by a warm, sweet, smell,

Body rises from warm comfortable bed.

Arms and legs make robotic moves, eyes barely open.

Body exits bedroom and follows the path

Sniffing nose leads.

Step after step, left and right feet follow

Each other.

Feet meet hard wood floor, and shuffle down the circular staircase.

Feet meet cold granite tiles, Numb.

Toes for just a few steps…

Until nose meets the kitchen.

Greeted by a warm, sweet, buttery mixture of aromas.

Stomach barks, tongue licks lips; top around to bottom,

Counter-clockwise. Arm reaches to open the fridge, grabs

Rectangular carton of Tropicana.

Synchronization: eyes aid arms and legs to fetch

Glass, fork, and plate.

Fork stabs the face of two fresh pancakes, and

drags them from hot buttery pan to cold ceramic plate.

Feet tour the kitchen once again to brain’s favorite seat.

First seat of the center island, most convenient for dining needs.

i.e. utensils, napkins, fridge.

Orange Juice pulp convenes in brain’s favorite glass, short and wide,

And sweet, old Aunt Jemima bends over onto Saturday morning pancakes.

Warm and fluffy, with a perfect circular crisp around the perimeter.

As pancakes take flight from plate to salivating mouth,

and all senses are on the brink of reaching harmony…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! 9A.M. ALARM SOUNDS

College student awakens.

Music and the Beach

This poem came to me as I was blasting Techno music trying to get in touch with my Muse. It has a lot of rhyming, but I don't think it really sounds forced. It could definitely use more imagery and complexity, but I love the ending.

This music’s got me feelin’ so free,

As if a trance has taken over me.

Just makes me want to move my body,

Come borrow my ipod and you’ll see.

Cruisin’ in the fast lane, I ignore the speedometer.

A nice hot day, I could use a thermometer.

Arrive at my destination, the beach,

Lay down my towel and munch on a peach.

Put on my shades and close my eyes,

And its just me and the beats until the battery dies…

Influential Poetry

For the final presentation, I researched the poet Jack Spicer. I noticed that many of his poems contained enjambments, repetition, and one or two accidental rhymes. I also noticed that he enjoyed including nature and animals in his poetry, and that he used a lot of fluctuated sentence lengths (Long, medium, short, medium, long). His influence allowed me to check into my Muse and write a poem completely different that my usual poetry.

Rising and Setting

The wind whistles into the sand, and grains flutter through the sky

Lost into eternity never to land in the same place twice.

The waves rise and set

Just like the sun.

Just like the sand.

Fish and birds rise and set

When they come up or down to eat. Each other.

The food chain revolves around movement; who moves the fastest

Or who disguises and slowly fetches their prey. Movement gets lost into

Eternity. It goes away.

Poetic Style

Even though we learned in class that beginning poets usually follow a similar style as their favourite poets, I thought that it was possible that I might not- seeing as what I had written so far had sounded like any of the other poets. I wasn't good at using the old language, and hated rhyming, and hated iambic and it seemed the only thing I could get concretely was visuals, shock value, and personification. Then I started my Project for class on poets that influenced our work, and I realized more then ever how all poets are similarly derived from other poets. And that their styles are only recognized as different because they vary a slight amount. I chose Bukowski and Plath, whom I couldn't think would have anything in common. However their shocking language and personal poems made it more clear than ever to me that poets all seem to sort of "copy" each other in style. And that made me wonder who the first poets were to start different styles before we got all these variations? What do you think?

Portfolio Revisions

I started working on my portfolio a few nights ago, and upon reading the rules learned that our poems need not just be revised- but changed dramatically. I thought this would be really hard for me, because I seem to love my initial work and don't want to change much other than a few words and punctuation/spelling errs. I now have to change some of them, I've tried putting them in stanzas which is something I never do. I really had to push myself in order to revise those first few poems, but now that I have, I really enjoy almost completely re-writing them. Once read again, I found that I can find a more particular voice and create a whole new poem with some of my favourite lines or parts and keep the theme relatively the same, I was really afraid that I would have to change them completely but it turns out it's not that hard at all. I'm glad I really got to experiment and learn how to do this in this class, because it was one horrible habit of mine.

writing about everyday surroundings

I’ve noticed that a lot of the time people feel the need to write poetry about very exciting things that didn’t exactly happened, and were merely influenced by everyday occurrences. However, I think that sometimes making simple things seem big are better than just writing about big things. For example ‘The Day that Lady Died’ by Frank O’Hara is a simple recollection of his day. When I write I noticed I tend to write more about simple things, such as movie and book references or little things that we see every day, a post card, a glass of water. I also feel that in a way modern poetry might be moving that way- to an extent, with more simple topics, and a simpler layout. Again, however this is just my opinion. Although as just a thought I think that this may have been a beneficial thing to practice in class, rather than rhyme or iambic pentameter things that I feel today seemed forced and cheesy. However, back in the day when things were written in rhyme or iambic, the language seemed to be much more elegant as well. Today our language is not elegant, it’s lost its elegance, and mostly there are slang terms that we as young writers are accustomed with. So case in point I think we should write about the simple things, rather it be soaking your toes in the water while smoking a J, or the nervous feeling crossing the stage when you find you won the talent part of a beauty contest. I find it much more relatable, and much more interesting.

I am relieved.

This class has been the most personal experience I have ever had. While in the beginning I was extremely uncomfortable and anxious I finally settled in. I feel like a different person every Tuesday and Thursday and at the end of the semester, I'm finally enjoying it. Today was hard presenting something that I am so confused about. I am glad its over, but I will definitely miss the push to explore. I'm sure I still will on my own but I'll miss it.

Final Presentation and Portfolio

I've been a little worried over the past week or so about my presentation and portfolio. Between all of my other classes I've managed to gather quite a lot due in a rather short time and I feel the pressure really starting to get to me. Even though I have managed to tame the beast that is a good chunk of what is due by Friday and Thursday, I feel as though my writing may have suffered from the incoming due dates. When I sat down to revise a few of my poems, I felt like I fell short of my artist ability, but no matter how hard I tried I wasn't able to muster up enough artistic energy to make anything "better." That's not to say that I haven't improved on the poems, I feel like I've been able to accomplish that for the most part. Most of the poems I edited were chaotic and sporadic, and I was able to refine them into passable poems. I just can't escape this feeling that I could be doing so much more with my ideas. This isn't the first time I've encounter a problem like this, because I've always felt that my creative writings lacked a certain finesse. This course certainly helped with that, but it's more my language than anything.
The other thing I'm worried about is that Oral presentation. I don't really have anything formally written up, just a collection of thoughts really. After seeing some of the other presentations though, I feel like it's more about what you say, and what you've drawn, than how you go about presenting it. I had a lot of fun with this class, and I hope that I will continue to write poetry in my spare time.

Writing in Verse

The most frustrating part of this course for me was learning to write in verse.  The iambic pentameter exercises were really difficult for me and I felt like I could never tell the difference between a stressed and unstressed syllable.  Despite speaking out loud when writing or reading verse, there was something about it that continually tripped me up.

Prior to this course, I don't think I appreciated how much effort it takes for poets who write in verse to do so.  It is an extremely mathematical and precise process that requires a lot of effort.  Also, poets like John Keats who wrote lengthy poems needed to be successful at both verse and imagery.  It is easy to see why iambic pentameter has fallen out of favor with poets. 

Although I was reluctant to learn iambic pentameter, it has made me much more aware of how the individual words in my poems sound, instead of just the flow of the poem as a whole.  Below is my attempt at writing in verse.

Neon vacancy signs line the broken boardwalk
A town that was lively is now wrought with empty shops
The ocean’s still there, where else it could go?
A lonely town, its nightlife dressed with tired bars
Out near the water, the rakers still rake the beach
This is their home, for bad or worse, they’ll never leave
Hold out hope for a distant past they still recall
Live their nights trading tired stories in old bars
Their deaths will be marked by the crashing of the waves