April Showers

I'm planning on writing lots of structured poetry since I have an assignment in for the end of May and my tutor can't stop going on about how much he wants to see sonnets, ballads, terza rimas. You name it, if it has a definate, nameable structure, my tutor wants to see it. If it's free verse, the comment you get is, 'effective but lacking in structure.'

I start tomorrow, wish me well.

I'm all tired from baking cake but brain says I must bake poem too so here I am... baking poem... it's not gonna be in a format though as that's too tough for day one.

1. Reflections

She's thinner than me, that girl in the mirror,
her belly concave like a deflated rugby ball,
her arms as slender as knitting needles.
She frowns at me, her lips puckered in disgust
at how fat I am. She sneers.
She knows I want to be her,
knows how I pray to the porcelain God
every night, every prayer a
goblet of food
ready to unload.

Needs much cleaning up but a Pantoum I've at least got the first draft for:

2. Heaven For Sale (v.2.)

The nurse and doctor lost me for a while
and so I found the gates of Paradise.
I thought little of their slapdash style:
rubble beneath a hefty asking price.

And so I found the gates of Paradise.
'Heaven for sale: one soul' above the mound;
rubble beneath this hefty asking price
and there stood a sentry in his gaping gown.

'Heaven for sale: one soul' above the mound
where I would rest forever now, I thought,
and there stood a sentry in his gaping gown
who proposed that even entry could be bought.

Where I would rest forever. Now I thought,
this isn't how the gig's supposed to go.
Who proposed that even entry could be bought?
Did they deal with free thinking down below?

This isn't how the gig's supposed to go
so I lodged a complaint with the management.
Did they deal with free thinking down below?
Not bloody likely. The devil didn't ask for my consent.

I lodged a complaint with the management
And he asked if I was liking being dead.
Not bloody likely. The devil didn't ask for my consent.
Then suddenly I was in the burn-ward bed

And he asked if I was finished being dead.
I thought little of their slapdash style -
and suddenly I was in the burn-ward bed.
The nurse and doctor lost me for a while.

Hey Kit,

"Heaven for Sale"
Opens well. I'd change "to their" to "of their", and shorten the last line of the first stanza. Maybe "Rubble beneath a hefty asking price"? I like "and there stood the sentry." "Gaping gown" is a nice use of alliteration...I'm thinking of open-backed hospital gowns...I'm not sure that's what you intended... Stanza three works well, as does stanza four until the last line which I think sounds a bit forced. I like "Not bloody likely." I'd change "if I was liking" to "if I liked". The last stanza is really great.

Jas

Thanks Jas, those are some good suggestions and yeah, gaping gown was meant to suggest hospital gown

Finally finished my essay so I should be able to properly get on board and start catching up!

3. Chance Meetings

You met a girl at your sister's funeral;
spaghetti hair, bottle-cap eyes and a vacant stare
on her calcified face.
Now,the other girl, she was hot.
But you didn't know her name and she left
before you could get the number. So.
How do you find her again?
You kill the other one. Sister, that is,
and hope to see her at the following funeral.
It sounds like a bad joke,
doesn't it?
But that's how I met my wife.

This is odd and twisted and I really enjoyed it. Interesting imagery, good flow. I'd change "and a vacant stare
on her calcified face" because it's too formal for the informal rest of the poem.

I think this is one I'll have to finish off later. Just... feeling uninspired right now.

4. Erasing Birthdays

I got old somewhere along the way
and now I hardly can tell
how it happened or when.
I think it was a morning, or early,
at least.

Did I tell you about

And this is going to be one at some point, honest it is:

5. Substantial Rubbish

They've stolen our bin again, the buggers
and there it sits at number five,
like a picture hanging at a jaunty angle,
obviously and infuriatingly out of place.
Can't they read? Can't count to one?
One... one... one, look there it is!
Our number. One, not five.
And I'm sure if asked they would swear
'it got up and walked'.
They would write an elaborate tryst

Okay so another formatted poem. A villanelle this time. Trying to think of a better title, feel free to pitch in.

6. Distant Suicide.

I thought I saw a meteor in his eye,
burning like a distant suicide.
I thought to stop and smile and talk and try,

I thought to be the girl who might stop by
and ask and check to see he was alright.
I thought I saw a meteor in his eye

but then I smiled and waved and said goobye,
but then I left him by himself last night.
I thought to stop and smile and talk and try

to comfort him, to care and to supply
the human touch that keeps our burdens light.
I thought I saw a meteor in his eye.

I think, I hope, I wish we could apply
our words to actions, spring our thoughts to flight.
I thought to stop and smile and talk and try

but I passed him by and the eyes don't lie.
Burning like a distant suicide,
I thought I saw a meteor in his eye.
I thought to stop and smile and talk and try.

Inspiration, please come find me?

7. Open Your Eyes

My eyes are closed.
Are yours open, sweetheart?
Sleeping right beside me,
your body pressed against the sheets
in sweet suffocation.

I have your pillow.
It smells like bottled passion -
I sprayed it with your perfume surrogate.
And. There's other smells
like cinnomon melting into toast.
You're in the kitchen.
You're making breakfast.

I'll open my eyes now
and for once there will be more to see
than memories in their frames and
self deceit.

Hey Kit,

I enjoyed this, especially the last stanza. It flows nicely, and the imagery works well. I especially enjoyed:
"There's other smells
like cinnomon melting into toast.
You're in the kitchen.
You're making breakfast."

I think "bottled passion" was a bit much, and maybe too vague. Maybe something more specific which would suggest the passion?

Jas

Thanks Jas

Since I'm still failing to find ideas, I'm going to try it my tutor's way. He loves to say that poems are just words and you just find a word and start from there. So. I've been doing alphabet poems. I close my eyes, flick through the section of the dictionary and there's my word for the day. I've not got anything yet for c as my word is 'cornice' and I haven't decided what to do with it.

8. Anticipate

You will arrive on the six O' clock.
This is certain.

You will be wearing jeans,
a dismantled shirt
and the warmth of yesterday,
prickling against your back.

You will be carrying bags,
a petunia pre-bloom for me
and the weight of wars and politics
on your shoulders.

But these things are not certain.
And, as the six O'clock arrives,
I don't know if I will see your hand
consolling the thinning hair on your head,
or hear the lisp caught
in the snare of your tongue
as you call my name.

9. Bimanual

This is a two person world
where the single has become obsolete
and they only sell shoes in pairs,
expecting that you have two feet
or buy more than you need.

Like buns. What's the deal there?
They come in fours, in sixes,
with the unhealthy decision that a family
must follow two.

And then you have more and - naturally -
you buy a car and fill the seats and
off you go. But -
what if there is only one?
Then a car's no good
and the bicycle is cunningly named,
its two wheels carousing in perfect harmony.

So. I walk to work on my two legs,
with my two feet,
wearing odd shoes
and I bake the family loaves with
my two hands.


I think the second might actually be something when I get the chance to clean it up.

Kitty15 wrote:my tutor can't stop going on about how much he wants to see sonnets, ballads, terza rimas. You name it, if it has a definate, nameable structure, my tutor wants to see it. If it's free verse, the comment you get is, 'effective but lacking in structure.'

No offense, but what a moran. Good luck and try it tough it through with the rigidity of those formats.

I think the second might actually be something when I get the chance to clean it up.

Absolutely. It is so striking even as it is now. I want to see it when it's all cleaned up. Ugh, it's so nice. That feeling! You should capture more of it.

MeanMrMustard wrote:

Kitty15 wrote:my tutor can't stop going on about how much he wants to see sonnets, ballads, terza rimas. You name it, if it has a definate, nameable structure, my tutor wants to see it. If it's free verse, the comment you get is, 'effective but lacking in structure.'

No offense, but what a moran. Good luck and try it tough it through with the rigidity of those formats.

He's alright mostly. The structured thing is the only issue I've got with him, though that is a rather big one. But never mind. His classes are interesting at least.

And thanks Hannah, I'm defineately going to play with register and tone some more.

Well here's C. I don't like it but I struggled with the word from the start so I can't say I'm surprised. Tomorrow, I've got to write a poem inspired by 'but'. It's my mum's challenge and should prove a fun one, already got a few ideas in my head. Might try to do a catch up poem too, though I don't know if I will go with D or try an interesting register instead. Or both. Or another structured format. We'll see...

10. Cornice

I complete you,
tipping the scales of your thermometer
to 37° body heat.

But that's not enough.
You want more
than the tip of the iceberg,
the peak of the mountain.
You want the avalanche.

You're only happy when we're fighting,
when we're shooting up our veins
to cornice heights and exploding
through those silver linings
of the clouds.

But baby, you weren't made to be on top.
Not like I was.

Love it, especially the final two lines. I like how you get close to cliche and then subvert it. My only quibble is:
"You're only happy when we're fighting,"

which I think was a bit too direct, and I'd like it from a different angle since so much of the approach to this poem is slanted.

Jas