Bubblewrapped's NaPoWriMo 2010

Yup, I'm definitely envious of all these styles and forms of which I know nothing. Literally nothing, haha, and although I generally don't like writing poetry, I found (during the Writing Olympics, and the Vilanelle event) I did best when I had a structure to work with...so basically what I'm saying is...

I loff you still and you should team me everything, kay? Kay.

Day 8, Poem 1

Form: Villanelle
Words of the Day: Not used

some thoughts on drawers

I learnt it young: to keep my thoughts in a drawer,
locked up like wishes, or like wayward cats.
Thoughts were dangerous, my father swore;

that's why he kept his close and locked the door,
and others barricaded theirs beneath their hats.
I learnt it young. I kept my thoughts in a drawer.

Sometimes at night, I'd let them out to explore-
but they were in again by morning; like bats,
except more dangerous. My father swore

he heard them squeaking in the night. They tore
through darkened hallways in our block of flats.
So I learnt it young: to keep my thoughts in a drawer

and never let them out – not anymore.
They wrecked the house; they scared my friends; and that's
why thoughts were dangerous (so my father swore).

Keeping them locked up made them easy to ignore
(though I sometimes hear them knocking on the slats).
When I was young I kept my thoughts in a drawer.
Thoughts were dangerous, my father swore.

Notes: I apologize in advance for the sheer suck that is today's poem. I hate villanelles, and this one is no exception. The rhymes always feel forced to me, and there just is not enough room to breathe. I'm glad it's over with. Gah.

And of course by team me, I mean teach >.<

I do not think todays poem is a 'sheer suck' at all! I like your flow, as ever, and what I like more is the idea behind your poem. Keeping thoughts in a drawer...hmmm...a metaphor for society's views on dangerous thinking, perhaps? I love the fresh new way you tackled this subject: most would argue that society forces us WHAT to think and HOW to think - you say neither. Instead, you propose that within our heads, within that space from ear to ear, we have the freedom to think whatever we like, but that others will not necessarily be appreciative of our thoughts; they will think them dangerous, bizarre, dirty, powerful, too-huge. Instead, you are saying that we may think what we want, as long as we keep our thoughts all safely locked away and do not voice them - or think them - in public; only in the quiet confines of our home at night.

This poem is, in one word, sinister. Probably not what kind of effect you were going for, but that's what I feel. I shudder every time I read it. I do not want to know your thoughts, I do not want you to open that drawer in front of me and let them 'wreck the house...tear through the darkened hallways...' At first, it seems you are weak and doing the bidding of your father. Later, the way you describe your thoughts makes me think that even you are afraid of them (note that I only refer to 'you' here since you've written it in the 'I' form - I'm really referring to your character) and it's probably best for everyone if you clamp them shut. At the same time, I'm morbidly fascinated at this drawer of thoughts (clever title, by the way); I want to know you, to know this locked drawer of thoughts, to finally confront it - but the effect of this poem is so powerful, I really don't think I'm daring enough. I think, at the end of the day, I will leave it closed, should I happen to stumble across it.

There was some lovely imagery in there again, with my favourite lines being:

and others barricaded theirs beneath their hats.

Such interesting word choice - 'barricaded' when referring to 'hats' - it makes it come alive, dance off the page. And also:

he heard them squeaking in the night. They tore
through darkened hallways in our block of flats.

This is where it starts to get alarming, and puts people on edge. Your language is simple, but not simplistic, and in this way, you seem to make the idea of your thoughts in drawers so frighteningly complex. ***shudders for the third time***

Oh, and, thanks for introducing me to the villanelle - I actually had not heard of it before. How many of these had you written in the past? I feel like I'm gonna need some heavy practice to get it up to that level.

Day 9, Poem 1

Form: Free verse
Words of the Day: Not used
Inspired by: Elizabeth Knox's description of heaven in The Vintner's Luck and Laurie R. King's "Describe your fantasy library" prompt.

all good books go to heaven

It is a building in three parts, with spiral towers
going up and up, and lined with books, all bright colours.
The shelves are made of wood with lights in it.
The windows are deep and set in stone.

What I love best are the stairs that curl close
to the walls; the way the books line up by size,
and breathe at every passer-by the way
that dragons breathe while sleeping, exhaling dust.
It is a library that folds the way books fold
over scuffed carpets and old fireplaces. I sit
in an armchair soft with all the places it has been
in a warm, round room
full of whispering silence.
Above me hangs a cobwebbed chandelier
and the slithering membranes of books
shiver upwards, winking in the light.

They are skins shed by the minds of poets,
where Hell is an empty page and
Heaven is full of the kind of things that burn.


Notes: I hardly think I'm qualified to teach anyone, Jigglester, but if you have questions about the forms or anything I can help with feel free to ask I'm glad you found some merit in the villanelle, Navida. Your interpretation pretty much sums up the idea I started with, which is interesting, since I felt the execution was somewhat flat. I think it's the rhyme; for some reason I find it hard to take rhyming poetry very seriously

This is only one of the poems I'm going to write today - the actual form I'm supposed to be doing is a ballade, but Laurie R. King's prompt derailed that as I was in the process of writing, and the above happened instead XD

So...since I wrote such a humungous comment on the last one, I thought I'd better keep it short and sweet: I love the idea (and I know the quote sth like: 'I have often thought that the only kind of paradise would be a library.'), and although the imagery is very sweet and magical and has splendid imagery, it's not as new, as fresh as some of your other poems. The way you described it was like a fairy-tale, and we've read too many of those to remember, so it loses its effect, becoming less powerful, smack-in-your-face, jolt-me-awake kind of a poem. I KNOW the idea has been thought of before, so the IMAGERY has to be exciting and different - hard, I know. Too many of similar sounding words used unnecessarily here: 'breathe' used twice in two lines, 'folds' used twice in one line, 'stairs...curl...fireplace...scuffed carpet...warm...round...whispering...silence...cobwebbed chandelier...' - all it takes is for you to say LIBRARY and we have an image of all this in our heads. You don't really need to do much 'picture painting.'

Lines I thought were more original were:

slithering membranes of books
shiver upwards, winking in the light.

And:

where Hell is an empty page and
Heaven is full of the kind of things that burn

Although, that last couple of lines was weird. I agree that 'Hell is an empty page,' but why is 'Heaven full of the kind of things that burn'? ***shudders again*** I immediately thought of books burning there. Take it out. Get rid of it. Change it. Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.

Day 9, Poem 2

Form: Ballade
Words of the Day: Not used
Inspired by: Bolet's Chopin Ballade No. 4

Mrs. Papadakis plays Chopin

she keeps his picture on the mantlepiece
with all the others, not in pride of place;
some days he's turned towards the sun, at peace,
and other days she cannot see his face.
the hardest part, she finds, is that there's space
where there was not space, like that single phrase
of music she's forgotten in the case
of the Piano Grand she never plays.

in the kitchen she keeps a map of Greece,
and the tablecloth is an off-white lace
like a lattice of shadows that her niece
once wove, and often threatens to replace.
between them both she scents the faintest trace
of an ancient past, the musk of bygone days,
and in the air she hears the silvery bass
of the Piano Grand she never plays.

she's often found her memory's caprice
a curse; has tried her hardest to replace
the scent of zinnias and ambergris,
the music like a phantom's soft embrace-
yet still the slow, delinquent past gives chase.
she finds him in the garden and the chaise
and nothing that she does could quell the pace
of the Piano Grand she never plays.

she knows that she will never quite erase
the faintest hint, the marble, smoky glaze
of music caught like colours in the case
of the Piano Grand she never plays.

Notes: Yeah, you put your finger on what was bothering me about it - that fairytale aspect is something I've been trying to shake from much of my writing (courtesy of watching too much Disney as a kid, I reckon XD). I think after wrestling with formal poetry for a while, my mind just reverted to reaching for the comfortable and familiar. I might rework it at some point. Re: your question about the villanelle, that's actually only the second one I've done, at least that I can recall XD

Day 10, Poem 1

Form: Shakespearean Sonnet

on a new ship

Learning affection is like learning knots:
in the beginning, every shape's the same.
The rope before me is a vein that clots
and other twisting things I cannot name.
Each smile is rough- a sheet-bend curling round
to form a net entangling lips and spines;
each gentle pull finds me more tightly bound
a clove-hitch friend, sufficient for life lines.
It takes a sailors eye to see which links
will go the distance; which will slip undone;
whose mighty sailing ship the one that sinks
and which will surge off proudly in the sun.

Yet though we're weak, and ignorant of form
our knots will hold, and weather out the storm.

I luuuuuuuuuuuuuurve 'Mrs. Papadakis plays Chopin' - probably my favourite of your poems and the last one is good too, though I would nix the last two lines. I didn't think they were necessary.

Shortest review ever: I liked the sonnet because it was different - learning of love like learning knots, but I also found the idea rather...tasteless. More intellectual, I guess, and less emotional - but that's sonnets for you. Had a slight issue with the rhythm, too, but that's natural; better not to let the meter change what you're really wanting to say. But I love this experimentation. Almost a scientist, you are.

The last three lines of day nine made me open my eyes in agreement and astonishment that you managed to put together those words in just the right way. They are correct, and they poked at my heart. Thank you.

I also loved the sea-sonnet. I suppose I always love sea-imagery anyways. Only one part seemed confusing, but it can be fixed with punctuation:

whose mighty sailing ship the one that sinks
and which will surge off proudly in the sun.

I really admired that the rhyme seemed effortless! It's been a while since I've seen that, so thank you again!

-Hannah-

Day 11, Poem 1

Form: Tritina

losing faith

this is another kind of cowardice: the truth
as metaphor. you think of it as something solid
you can keep, a thing you may just lose

(it's not your fault, you didn't mean to lose
it, maybe you'll find it somewhere if you look- a truth
dropped on a pathway, reassuringly solid).

It's been a long string of six years solid
since you cast it off, put it down and left it; can't lose
what you never possessed. tell me the truth.

you can't make truth solid just to lose it again.

Notes: I'm not happy with this one, but I'm a bit rushed tonight so I don't have the time to improve on it right now.

Day 12, Poem 1

Form: Dorsimbra

Markesha walks through walls

Markesha is perched in a nest of stars
and some days her feet never touch the ground.
You swear when she speaks that she lives on Mars
the way some of her vowels sound and sound.

It's a well-known fact
that girls on the cusp
are destined for
trouble.

She's hyperbolic: she never stands still,
she's always orbiting somebody new.
Permanently out of radio range,
Markesha is perched in a nest of stars.

Day 11, Poem 1 was too direct for my liking from the outset - maybe you were rushed, so the metaphors and imagery were lacking, and the 'truth' was a little too plainly sitting on the table. The last line was likewise rushed, clearly, but I think the IDEA itself is interesting, and with quite a bit more planning and thinking about what image you want to represent the idea with, to back it up and concrete it, so to speak, I think this could turn into a cute little tritina.

I loved the first two lines of 'Markesha walks though walls,' - 'a nest of stars' is clever, and innovative. The 'lives on Mars' part was a bit...cliche, so had less impact. I've never actually seen a dorsimbra before, but from the outset, those shorter lines in the centre looked decidedly odd - but that's probably the structure, not you 'Hyperbolic' is good - I don't think the 'she never stands still' is necessary as she already appears flighty from the first stanza. 'Orbiting someone new' is interesting, so I felt more should have been done with it earlier on in the poem - and I think 'radio range' can fit without sounding too...technological by just removing the 'permanently,' at once too officious and long.

"On A New Ship"

I really love this. You handle the form beautifully and your imagery is great, especially;
"Learning affection is like learning knots:
in the beginning, every shape's the same."
and
"Each smile is rough- a sheet-bend curling round".
The last two lines are very effective, especially the reference to form!It's very clever.