Tag: read write poem

Whispers flicker in the void, explaining
each color present and how it combined
absent light with permanent darkness.

Overpowering and blinding,
a quasar burns static and noise.

Here, we don’t need sound;
we imagine music and try to sing.

That radio sun burned out ten years ago.

Or so they tell us.

—

This is for Read Write Poem’s Opposites Attract prompt. The idea is to write 2 poems each dealing with opposing elements, experiences, memories, or whatever. Then alternate the lines between the 2 poems to create a single poem.

This was an interesting exercise that went in an unexpected direction. I started with the ideas of darkness and light. Sound crept into both freewrites, thus creating a third layer of opposites. When I combined them, it seemed that the opposing forces in the poem shifted to light and sound rather than light and dark. After combining them line-by-line, I started fiddling with the lines to get a smoother flow from one thought to the next.

Below, I’ve included the original drafts so you can see how the poem developed.

Darkness draft:

In perfect darkness
Whispers flicker in the void, explaining
the absence of light, the permanence of darkness
a radio sun, burning static and noise
we hear music and try to sing

Light draft:

In perfect light
Each color present, combines
Overpowers and blinds
Here we don’t need sound,
The radio sun long ago burned out.

First Combination:

In perfect darkness
In perfect light
Whispers flicker in the void, explaining
Each color present combines
the absence of light, the permanence of darkness
Overpowers and blinds
a radio sun, burning static and noise
Here we don’t need sound,
we hear music and try to sing
The radio sun long ago burned out.

Update: Changed the first line from “Flickering whispers fill the void” back to the original “Whispers flicker in the void.” I think I like that better. Thanks Julie for making me think about whispers and flickering.

“Discrimitive insight”
(viveka)
is the enemy of avidyā
and therefore the chief instrument
to disentangle us from
the force
of the gunas.

It cuts through tamas
and rajas
like a knife, opening the way
to realization
that the core of our identity
is separated
by
a
wide
gulf
from the continuous ebb
and
flow
of the tendencies that capture
the attention
of the usual individual
and are everywhere
regarded as pertaining to the
Self.

—

I have no idea what this is about. I tried a Read Write Poem prompt called Thirft Store, where you arrange found lines into a poem.

The basic strategy is to find a passage of prose, keep it exactly like you find it, but change the line breaks strategically to call emphasis to the aspects of the passage you find poetic.

I decided to get a book from my library that I haven’t read (yet) open it to a random page and grab the first two sentences my eyes fell on. This is from page 304 of Philosophies of India by Heinrich Zimmer.

The end result is more of an exercise in line breaking than an actual poem, but it’s a useful exercise, I think, since it allows me to experiment with creating the look of a piece with total objectivity rather than having to battle preconceived notions when adjusting the line breaks in one of my own poems.

So, here it is, for what it’s worth.

Dreams, like dew in the early morning,
drip from a shipwreck survivor’s rag.

Each glistening drop a chance, hope
against another day of slow gnawing

thirst.

Dreams are dew in these latitudes—precious, scarce.
To cling to one is to forsake the other.

Staring at the dew collected on his faded rag,
he squeezes it above his mouth.
Each drop a moment’s

relief.

In the blistering afternoon,
dreams of early morning dew
fly off like the shorebirds
he imagined yesterday.

He marvels at each drop,
each perfect liquid globe,
like the one surrounding him,
that only delays

thirst.

In these shimmering drops,
he sees sharks and a noose
tied by his own hand.

Each dream falls due
against the night,
the moon’s reflection,
endless rolling waves

fade
like dreams,

like dew
in the early
morning.

—

This is for Read Write Poem: It’s all about the First Line. The idea was that participants would contribute a line of poetry and then choose someone else’s as the starting point for a poem based on freewriting from the borrowed line.

This was heavily influenced by Jules Verne’s The Survivors of the Chancellor, which I read last week as part of my Lost reading project.

The first line, “Dreams like dew in the early morning” was provided by Sam at thinking cities… Make sure to pay him a visit and read some of his poetry. It’s good stuff.

A nycticorax nycticorax brouhahas behind my back,
Monkey swings a question: axes if I’ll take a hack.
Banging fall against my led racks one up for me.
On a wire, freezing fire, spinning tire, unicycle riders flee.
A liar pulls his pants up higher.
Typewriter, scared-of-spiders, aims a little higher:
Could the cold of clouds combine?
Do the roses know the thyme?
This is strange—her thin I thought; you thought it
Too. You know it’s true.

—

This is for read write prompt #68: meaning is optional. Surprisingly enough, it was fun. I tried to write something that sounded interesting and would be fun to read out loud yet with as little meaning as possible. Despite my initial attitude indicated by the words in bold, it was more difficult than I imagined it would be. It also required more thought than I anticipated. Who knew it would take so much time to write something that doesn’t mean anything?

Nycticorax nycticorax is the Latin name for the Black-crowned Night Heron. The literal translation is “night raven.”

Can you find the line from a Cure song that snuck in here slightly altered?

In the dusky woods behind the lighthouse,
legends flourish and tangle, thick as weeds.
Liars, poets and pranksters all espouse
fair warnings they know you’ll never heed.
You’ll wish your sword weren’t now a plow
if you should dare proceed.

She warns you not to leave the path
or wander into dark and mossy woods.

In nightmares, ignored warnings bloom like flares;
branches claw the clouds; darkness settles round.
Wandering till trees repeat and even prayers
unheard are lost, and rising, make no sound.
Faint steps—wolf or bear? Turn, but nothing there.
Each steps’ crunch—bones rattling underground.
Each step deals a lonely solitaire
against your faith in being found.

She warns you not to leave the path
or wander into dark and mossy woods.

Desperate, you forsake the trail.
Without a map, you seek a fairer route.
When after darkest days, you find a vale,
a bright respite from fear and pain and doubt,
you discover, then, that only when you’ve strayed
you find your truest way.

She lies about leaving the path
to trap you in the dark and mossy woods.

—

This is a bop style poem written for Read Write Poem’s share the bop prompt. Participants were asked to donate two lines of poetry, and then pick someone else’s lines to serve as the refrain in their own poems. The refrain in this one was donated by Christine Swint who writes at balanced on the edge. I loved the mystery of the “dark and mossy woods” and wondered what was off the path.

I didn’t know where it would go (neither the path nor the poem), but it was fun using someone else’s idea as a jumping off point. As I wrote, I found the poem wanting to rhyme, which I don’t usually do, but this is all about experimenting so I followed that path and wound up using a sonnet-like rhyme.

And, for those who may be interested, Deb at Stoney Moss wrote a very cool poem with the lines that I donated. Her poem is called “A Vulture’s Love Is True.”

Update: Angie at The Space Between Words also used my lines. Her poem is “cathartes aura bop.” Go read it.