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Challenge for Week of 6/27/10

PandoraGlitters

PandoraGlitters

Sandy Survivor
Joined
Sep 23, 2007
Posts
2,457
Write a how to or ways of poem as exemplified by Manx Wharton's wonderful poem on page 20 of Blue Angel Landing. Ways to love your country, how to break in a pair of jeans, whatever comes to mind. Tell us something!
 
So many choices: how to survive to 60; lose your virginity; play online games? the list is endless
 
spuɐɥ ɹnoʎ uo puɐʇs oʇ ʍoɥ

uʍop ɯlɐd ʇɐlɟ spuɐɥ oʍʇ ǝɔɐld
ʇsǝq ǝq ʎɐɯ llɐʍ ɐ oʇ ǝsolɔ
ƃuılddoʇ ʇuǝʌǝɹd oʇ
ɟɟo ƃuıɥsnd ,spɹɐʍdn ǝʌɐǝɥ
ʇooɟ ǝuo ɥʇıʍ
.ƃuıoƃ ɯnʇuǝɯoɯ ǝɥʇ dǝǝʞ
sdlǝɥ uǝʇɟo dlǝɥ spuǝıɹɟ ɐ
,ʎllɐıʇıuı
ǝɔıʇɔɐɹd ɟo sɹnoɥ ɥʇıʍ ʇnq
ƃuıʞlɐʍ ɯlɐd ǝq plnoɔ ooʇ noʎ
sǝƃɐd qǝʍ ssoɹɔɐ
.sıɥʇ ǝʞıl ʇsnɾ
 
Don't think I'll write about how to do flaming BBQ:(
Still getting wound care 3 mornings a week.
 
Last edited:
How to write a poem

How to write a poem

Writing a poem
is all about observing
the world within and
without you; you can
write about anything from love
to a rusty gate
in the oddest place
you could once have imagined,
given the feelings,
and the sensations
and the emotions that you
yearn for in poems.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Ohhhhhh and bend presumably ;)
Click to expand...

Tha' would be verry nice, indeed...*wink* Just be sure to look back over your shoulder now and then...

Now...to the ontopic part...

Alright, I fibbed. I've got nothing yet...we'll make this a placeholder:D


:cool:
 
PandoraGlitters said:
Write a how to or ways of poem as exemplified by Manx Wharton's wonderful poem on page 20 of Blue Angel Landing. Ways to love your country, how to break in a pair of jeans, whatever comes to mind. Tell us something!
Click to expand...
How To Break A Poem

You say the mechanics
of poetry turns your artistic soul off
of sharing the beauty, the imagery, the echo
back from blank walls of protected feeling.

It is not about being cold
and precise. In this let passion first
go out and seek the chinks in the stucco
plaster, to rip great flakes off and let you in.

Write your heart
onto the page and fill the empty hollows
with words so that they spill over
the edges into a steady roar of emotion.

When you turn
with tears on your cheeks and fall exhausted
against the chair you say you are done
and can do no more, it is enough.

It is never enough.
Return and savour that taste with dispassionate
pen and read, read those tears, begin to cut
at every pause, every breath you stop to take.

Draw marks and lines
then tear it all apart so that reassembly
brings out the mother in your soul
and nurture the infant. Grow the child to adult

More beautiful than pure angst
could ever produce, relish this mellow subtlety
of layers you placed with cold and steady intent
and explain how you ever thought it was enough.
 
Last edited:
Well done, Champ! Esp.

. . . In this let passion first
go out and seek the chinks in the stucco
plaster, to rip great flakes off and let you in.

*awed snaps*
 
PandoraGlitters said:
Well done, Champ! Esp.

. . . In this let passion first
go out and seek the chinks in the stucco
plaster, to rip great flakes off and let you in.

*awed snaps*
Click to expand...
I was trying to tie the metaphor of blank walls, tears (like rain) falling, empty page.. you know, all that poem-y stuff. And thank you.

(It's a good one for Saturday, I think. I want Corwyn to read it).
 
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Washing Dishes with the Dali Lama

Work the soap into a lather
With steaming water from the faucet.
Nothing else should really matter,

Like your temper and the chatter
In your mind of how at work you lost it.
Work but soap into a lather.

Then practice working slower, better:
Every bite you once tasted
Savor once again. Every bit of matter

Scrape it from the silverware. Wonder
If you must, how our monkey mind is wasted.
Don’t work yourself into a lather

Because you’re human. There’s no cloister
Where a monk is perfect. Don’t posit
Theories that you can not answer.

Washing dishes you can master
And be thankful there’s a faucet,
But if not, there still is water.
Nothing else should really matter.
 
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PandoraGlitters said:
Write a how to or ways of poem...
Click to expand...
How to Understand Epistemology

First, discriminate acquaintance from description—
an insidious distinction
Lord Russell liked to use to taunt
us dimwits who could not follow
now and that or how and that,
though those were later formulations
by Ryle and Polyani. Nevermind.

The basic basic question is, What do I know?
Well,

I know not to tug so hard
as to jerk your head
when pulling on those red kinks and curls, and

not to force you into anything
but ask in no way politely
because at the time it is important
that you, um, {whatever I need right then}

and this is understood as a contract
wherein I may be required
to lack, lap, laugh, love,
lick at any particular hour,

even on a Sunday,
idly luxurious, because
knowledge is found quite anywhere

and certainly there there there. Between.



Oh, come home. Come


.
 
wonderful writings, y'all :rose:

i have to admit to being blown away by gm's Washing Dishes with the Dali Lama!
 
I am so pleased to read the work you challenge-takers are writing. Sorry I missed your poem poem, SweetOblivion. Nicely done.

A villanelle! You go, greenmountaineer. Wonderful subject matter for the form, too. I think that's a keeper.

Tzara, you had me reading Bertrand Russell this morning (not a bad use of the 2nd day of Summer vacation) in order to more fully appreciate your very smart, sexy poem. Thank you for that. I'm working on one, but it has a little ways to go. Still in idea/seed mode.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Where've you been? Missing on parade!
Click to expand...

i know, i know. life at the moment's all over the place, mainly due to the no2 son who's in the process of being moved out. i should be back to normal very very soon and taking part as much as before. :rose:
 
GM this reminds me of the poems for a challenge.. we were supposed to explore washing dishes. Very cool villanelle.
Tzed, I have now justified the existence of Google. Quite the philosophy behind it. Thank you for teaching me a new word :kiss:.
I must admit that reading SweetO's poem gave me the idea about writing on poem-ology. Thank you for that.
I can hardly wait to read your poem when it's graduated from germ cells to stem cells dear lady. Great challenge.
And finally, I must remember to thank Manx for his fabulous poem to be inspired by... Maybe on Saturday, you-know-where 'dora.
 
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How to say goodbye

There must be 50 ways.

Some are dramatic, a romance
of darkness, spotlights
and hissing wheels,
a trumpet of engines
and you swing up the steps,
become one face of many
that blur clacking off into night.

Maybe you inflate your ire, huff
from a room or car sometimes
with sound effects, a slam, a sigh,
the volumes of dismissal
signaled by heels clicking away.

There is a carefree wave,
a handshake fraught with intent
or limp with disinterest, weary
and detached until fingers
reverse direction as if the Hand
of God had slipped away.

Oh why even speak
of a last kiss or the moon?
They conjure everything
you need to know about leaving:
mouths like night flowers
blooming jasmine, the sheen
of light that drifts from the sky,
blinks among the leaves
and dusts your eyes
with lunacy.

These are promises of return,
possibilities that even if
dreams do not come true
there's always another train
or night. Heels will approach
again. Lips will press.
Unless of course

you've said the only goodbye
that really matters,
and you must beg the moon
to help you shine a light
on memory.
 
"Watch out for this guy! He's slick! And dark... and mysterious... and maybe even a bit evil! But in a totally sexy way!" -- BooMerengue

I still love you Remy!!

I need to write a poem about How to keep my mouth shut, but I don't know how!!
 
Angeline said:
There must be 50 ways.

Some are dramatic, a romance
of darkness, spotlights
and hissing wheels,
a trumpet of engines
and you swing up the steps,
become one face of many
that blur clacking off into night.

Maybe you inflate your ire, huff
from a room or car sometimes
with sound effects, a slam, a sigh,
the volumes of dismissal
signaled by heels clicking away.

There is a carefree wave,
a handshake fraught with intent
or limp with disinterest, weary
and detached until fingers
reverse direction as if the Hand
of God had slipped away.

Oh why even speak
of a last kiss or the moon?
They conjure everything
you need to know about leaving:
mouths like night flowers
blooming jasmine, the sheen
of light that drifts from the sky,
blinks among the leaves
and dusts your eyes
with lunacy.

These are promises of return,
possibilities that even if
dreams do not come true
there's always another train
or night. Heels will approach
again. Lips will press.
Unless of course

you've said the only goodbye
that really matters,
and you must beg the moon
to help you shine a light
on memory.
Click to expand...

I know there's a saying about being beaten before you start, but my memory is all in disjointed flashbacks now. Struck dumb. With awe.
 
BooMerengue said:
I know there's a saying about being beaten before you start, but my memory is all in disjointed flashbacks now. Struck dumb. With awe.
Click to expand...

You can still write those flashback images. And you're smart enough and a good enough poet to pull it together thematically. Do you remember that Rybka was a big fan of your poetry? And he was one tough fishy mofo to please. Lol, no sympathy from me, girlie. Git writin. :kiss:
 
Actually I am. I miss Rybby. And YDD was a toughie, too He/she told me my nostalgia poems are the best of mine. Interesting now that my memory is coming and going. But I'm trying. A clue... it's based on a Don Hendley love song.
 
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