Poetry Friday: Each drawer is different

Poetry: What is it?

An interesting piece about poetry from Ron Padgett provides a beginning for us.

It's fourteen lines that look the same, but you can't say it the same 14 times. Try it.

As the poet explains, there are many, many kinds of poems: tiny, long, nature, funny, serious, patterns, etc. But the thing is, once a poem is written, it is never read the same. Each of us puts our own emphasis on the parts and the meaning. They are gifts given from within one person, presented outside of himself, so you the reader can take it within you.

When I first saw this poem, I imagined someone looking for something, but not finding it any place he looked. Now that I heard the author, and heard his inside feelings of the poem, I see it as an experiment in feeling the words and how each time they are said, the words become something else, depending on its reading.

It's rather like mood too. You could read that poem when you're tired, and it would sound different.

You could read it when you're angry, and imagine how it would sound!

You could read it when you're bored, and how long would it take to read it?

So poetry is feeling, it's sound, it's emotion, and it's imagery -- and a gift each of us will read differently.

Five things to do [not on one day-- but do try them all].

1) Think of a phrase, something plain or something special, something boring or something joyful, or some other emotion. Write it fourteen times. Read it to someone. Ask them to read it to you. How were your readings the same or different? What does that show you about poetry?

Leaves of fall, fall.

Sheri Edwards 

Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.
Leaves of fall, fall in colors.

2) Go to poets.org and choose "Forms." Choose a few to read. Which did you choose? What surprised you about each? Which would you read again? Which could you write?


3) Go to poets.org and choose "Themes." Choose a theme and choose few poems to read. Which did you choose? What surprised you about each? Which inspired you to write a poem on that theme?

4) Choose a form or a theme of a poem. Write your own. Share it below so we can read your gift. You may want to create and share an audio recording of your poem, so we know how you would read it. We may read it our way, but we'll always thank you for your gift.

5) What surprised you about reading poetry? What surprised you about writing poetry? How would you explain poetry to someone else, now that we've heard from Ron Padgett and other poets you've read?


Please write a short note and a link to your responses in the comments below.

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Poetry Friday Host: The Poem Farm

Reflections on the Teche by Margaret G Simon

Lilac Lane

Source: June 5 Tuesday Quick Write

Basic Prompts:  

1. Write for two minutes to describe a very specific place.

2. Find yourself at the place:  in photos, videos, reality, or if necessary, imagination.

3. Write for one minute each to describe the details of sights, sounds, smells, touch.

4. Rewrite the descriptive paragraph using the details of senses.

5. For kids: use the places near you.  Write first, then go there for step three.

Here goes:

1. Two minute write of place:

I look both ways and slink underneath the bush, pushing aside the branch and slowly letting it drop back into place.

Above me my roof is now green pointy leaves reaching towards the skies. Light purple lilacs top the branches. I breathe in the perfume and close my eyes. I love this, my own house.

I step over the first branch and into my kitchen. The tin cake pans and cups await my ingredients.

I reach over the three thin branches and pull out the big spoon.  I step "outside" and into the sunlight. I run with my spoon and cake pan to the sprinkler, now squirting water into the zinnia flower bed. I scoop near the back and fill the pan with dirt, letting the sprinkler soak it as I fill.

Carrying the pan back, I swat a mosquito, pick three lilac florets, five lilac leaves, and a bunch of grass.

Back in my kitchen, I stir and arrange. Each leaf and floret must be in the correct place to finish the dessert, a balanced pattern for my cake.

I carry the finished cake through the kitchen, step over two large branches and onto my kitty quilt spread in the largest opening between branches, my living room.

2. Close my eyes: Imagine the place that once was my playhouse and now is a parking lot for the Bismarck Hospital.

3. Four one-minute writes of sensory details:

Sights

The noon sun beats down around the house, but filters gently through my skylights. The shadows dance around, playing tag with the light, fairies sparkling here and there.

Sounds

An occasional buzz, a soft wine, whirrs by my ear. Splat! I squish another mosquito. The gentle breeze fills the space with a soft shhh  shhh. 

Smells

Sweet lilacs fold through me, and the earth breathes a clean cool dew all around.

Touch

The trunks, striped in brownish twists like licorice, occasionally peel away in stings that may catch in my hair.

4. Rewrite

I run through the back porch and out the screen door. It slams, and I hear my little brother rushing after me.

I look both ways and disappear underneath the bush, pushing aside the rough branch and slowly letting it drop back into place. I stand in the middle of the thick row of lilacs, silent as Bill runs past. This is my sanctuary.


The trunks, striped in brownish twists like licorice, occasionally peel away in strings that sometimes catch in my hair. I brush away the fuzz, and shake my head, only slightly afraid of a possible spider web.

The noon sun beats down around this place, nature's summer play house, but filters gently through my skylights. The shadows dance around, playing tag with the light, fairies sparkling here and there. An occasional buzz, a soft wine, whirrs by my ear. Splat! I squish another mosquito. The gentle breeze fills the space with a soft shhh  shhh. 

My roof is now green pointy leaves reaching towards the skies. Light purple lilacs top the branches. Sweet lilacs fold through me, and the earth breathes a clean cool dew all around. I breathe in the perfume and close my eyes. I love this, my own house.

I step over the first branch and into my kitchen. The tin cake pans and cups await my ingredients.

I reach over the three thin branches and pull out the big spoon.  I step "outside" and into the sunlight. I run with my spoon and cake pan to the sprinkler, now squirting water into the zinnia flower bed. I scoop near the back and fill the pan with dirt, letting the sprinkler soak it as I fill.

Carrying the pan back, I swat a mosquito, pick three lilac florets, five lilac leaves, and a bunch of grass.

Back in my kitchen, I stir and arrange. Each leaf and floret must be in the correct place to finish the dessert, a balanced pattern for my cake.

I carry the finished cake through my kitchen, step over two large branches and onto my kitty quilt spread in the largest opening between branches, my living room.

Crack. I turn and smile. My friend Darlene has brought her own treat: cupcakes of pebbles topped with petunias. 

We giggle, and call out, "Bill! We have treats for you!"

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Lilacs are magic:

 

5. Your turn!  

Please share your sensory description of a favorite and happy, sad and emotional,  or eerie and scary place -- or any feeling that is strongly attached to a place. 

Please leave a link to your writing, or write it here.  Thanks!