Poetry Workshop 1

I’ve written many times that poetry is not my GoTo although I love a good poem. Show me the works of Dickey, Frost, Eiseley, Poe, Tolson, Hughes, Cummings, Toomer, … and I’m gone, gone, gone.

So, of course, I had to take a poetry class.

In this first workshop we read several pieces, one of which was Jean Toomer‘s Becky.

It influenced me greatly, and as Dorothea Brande would wrote in Becoming a Writer, I was poorly influenced.

Let me tell you how it was
When all those men came down to look on me

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There is a joy in knowing something sucks.

Means you can fix it.

But that’s for another class.

Read the second class’ meanderings.

He stands naked in a ditch.

I mentioned back in Four pieces for a workshop I’m taking an online writing course. I’m sharing the exercises from that class in that post, Two Pieces for a Workshop, and in Four (Other) Pieces for a Workshop. This post is from the last class in that series. Here we were given “He stands naked in a ditch.” as a prompt and asked to create an atmospheric flash piece/tone poem from it.

I came up with the following 54 word piece.

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Four (Other) Pieces for a Workshop

I mentioned back in Four pieces for a workshop that I’m taking an online writing course and shared the requested exercises in that post and in Two Pieces for a Workshop. This time we were asked to 1) evoke emotion in two lines and 2) write about someone experiencing a strong emotion.

Evoke Emotion in Two Lines

  • He couldn’t believe what he heard,
    A siren calling his name.
  • The sky fell down around him,
    Drunken stars lit like father’s eyes.
  • She dabbed nail-polish on his nose.
    Easier that scratching his cheeks.
  • The guitar played itself in the corner
    Memories of old songs lost in time.

Someone experiencing a strong emotion
My sister lost her grip on the inner tube I sat in. The current pulled me out, away from the dock. I was focused on my parents and their friends drinking, laughing, eying each others’ buttocks and bulges and breasts, deciding who would spend the night with whom.

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Robins, Basho, and 20th Century Poetry

Three More Poems

I’ve written previously that poetry is not a form I go to readily. Such is still the case. I’ve been toying with sharing some of my poetry on Facebook. There’s a few gifted poets there – they hit more than they miss – and I sometimes feel the need for comradery.

Let me know what you think of these.

Do Robins Remember?

Do robins remember
They were once
Tyrannosaurs?

Do bluejays watch
Scurrying beetles
And remember
Brontosaurs falling to the grass?

Do cardinals hopping from seed
To seed
Remember being
Raptors chasing down their prey?

Or do they not care,
Their days being what they are,
Only hoping that tomorrow there is
A little more
Because memories fade
And tomorrows never last


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Three Poems

Spiders, Cats, and Mice

Poetry is not a form I go to readily. Even so, my poetry’s won awards. Here are three I particularly like. Hope you enjoy.

Do Your Daughters Sing?

She hears her daughters
(who may some day eat her sons)
Sing
Eight-legged wonders
in a shroud of silk
Warmed by day
Cooled by night
They burst free
Fleeing her mischief
Spinning their own way
to distant eaves
Not even knowing her name


Greetings! I’m your friendly, neighborhood Threshold Guardian. This is a protected post and requires either General Membership (free) or a Subscription (various levels). Members and Subscribers can LogIn. Non members can join. All posts are free to all members save certain posts in the My Work category. Enjoy!