This semester course is for senior Creative Writing students interested in studying the art of poetry and writing original poetry. An open mind and supportive attitude will be essential as we workshop each other’s poems. We will be exploring several approaches to the art of writing poetry through a variety of different exercises to generate poems in open and closed forms.
The common denominator between those who can see and those who can't is fog Because fog plugs even the devices made to enhance the eyes means humans were never meant to live in the clouds and those who do can't see anything, even with glasses, a telescope, binoculars putting red bull and dreams against the same pointless wall
Is it the nicotine that pumps my Estrogen- Or is it the acidity from all these Tampons? O high you make the migraines Worth while The pressure when you’re Digested through my stream The bliss of immortality The invincibility with Red Bull wings, Truly worth a dime bag But O High why must you make me Crave the touch of food Sliding down my throat Bananas and chips just won’t do I need a four course meal- Meat and potatoes smothered with gravy. O High let me come down So I can finally face reality Once I finally Crash The acidity will be neutralized The migraines will stop I will just be another human With issues Until next time.
Justice Dunwoody September 08, 2011 Ekphrastic poem
The creaky shutters that rocked in the wind gave the house it's character The great tall evergreen tickled the sides of the house And tapped on my window At night The balcony shaded me from the sun on a hot August day. I would sit in the book room At sunset and watch the natural world spinning Beneath me. The house was old and had a mind of its own Its held secrets But never shared them
Down there Low class people Live Low class lives Thick, heavy, dark, shuttered Closed Drapes, carpets, blinds, walls, furniture, clothes Designed To hide, absorb, camoflage, muffle, stifle Noise Moans, screams, music, sweat, blood Breast, hips, thighs But, me see I have nothing to hide Delicate palettes Silk, lace, eggshell, bone, ecru, gossamer White No thought of /time for smudges-stains Wine, fluids, fingerprints, laughter, people My life is always Perfect Up here.
Excuse me waiter how long have we sat here? It feels like it’s been forever. I’m aging, is that why I’m so
Cold? Maid this tea is Gone? I don’t understand why this picture is so empty. I’ve seen my children grow, I cannot bear to do this anymore.
Excuse me waiter, how long do I have to live through this? You’re not working out for me, I’m sorry, I wasted my youth. I’ll never be able to make ends meet like this. Bending over backwards just for some fantasized pleasure.
Excuse me waiter, I’m done with age, I’m done with work, I’m done with you.
Hotel room http://www.google.com/imgres?q=hotel+room+edward+hopper&hl=en&safe=strict&client=firefox-a&hs=bOh&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&biw=820&bih=800&tbm=isch&prmd=ivnso&tbnid=ODaeJJHNzCj69M:&imgrefurl=http://www.artchive.com/artchive/H/hopper/hotel_rm.jpg.html&docid=OowqpWTbb9saKM&w=969&h=883&ei=sRNqTtryCsjE0AGE3P3ZBA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=162&vpy=92&dur=1537&hovh=214&hovw=235&tx=120&ty=228&page=1&tbnh=156&tbnw=190&start=0&ndsp=12&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0
The sign lights up outside “Suey”, it reads in light-up letters Her distraught is underlined by the blush on her cheeks She breathes in, Ready to take in his nervous posture
The couple behind her ignore, Block out the rest of the world, The yellow jacket fading into the background His scarf hangs, still as the world in that moment
His folded hands are frozen And she stares expectantly Waiting for the moment that they sign crashes down Dead, Reading, “Suey”, in cracked letters
The feet between us are tangible. We have forgotten how to be together. As I fondle the keys one of the notes hangs in space, filling the room before crashing to the floor and spilling out of existence. You flick your paper with indifference.
Scheduled intimacy is colder than the nights We spent outside waiting Quiet in the snow With stolen minutes.
I wore that dress you like, The one you told me Ran across the curves of my body, Like fire. A summary glance, a nod of approval, and we fall into separate planes.
Together in this room, we are living In separate overlapping dimensions, That intersect only occasionally. Riding in and out of sync, Like the clinging notes I place between, that are never quite In harmony. http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_PNidzO0YzRs/S-abiX_HW6I/AAAAAAAAAjQ/Kly86PeQkiQ/s400/hopper-edward-room-in-new-york.jpg
Chop Suey, 1929 Is it really love? shines of being puzzled. Is this prince charming or just another one? I think I love you, he states. Surprised and overwhelmed Is it really love?
A chill runs down my spin. Cool winter morning, Is the time right Shall I feel the same, or should I leave it then to blame. Is it really love?
Hilltops lather me in a soulful happiness. A continuous serenade of fortune to have feeling. Nameless. Timeless. Priceless. Predictable. A comfortable realm of greenery.
The roads and pathways console me from a stressful day. Depth of earthy compromise allow me to let go of my worries. I can focus myself, lose myself. Run, scream, and shout my cares down the dirt path.
I soak in the pond’s redemption Distractions have carried my touch away far too long. The ripple from the touch of my finger surges my tense self away.
Finally I am my-self. My favorite. My all. Myself, and sane. I am shadowed in the daybreak, and swallowed whole by the sunset of my greenery.
New York Movie Her eyes read pain. Her body stood S T I L L.
Drowning in deep contemplation. The lights in the auditorium grew dim. Anxiety roared throughout the audience. She remained motionless.
The spotlight lit the main stage. There she stood—hoping to fade in with the walls. She no longer wanted to entertain them. It rained epiphany that night.
Tired of portraying this façade. She never did make it on stage. Next night she fell victim to suicide. Front page of the newspaper. http://www.google.com/imgres?q=new+york+movie&um=1&hl=en&safe=strict&client=firefox-a&sa=N&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=s&biw=1680&bih=810&tbm=isch&tbnid=-HfYdxHxPyMP0M:&imgrefurl=http://www.artchive.com/artchive/H/hopper/theatre.jpg.html&docid=0H_oS0lGeswKvM&w=1031&h=833&ei=BhBqTteoB5HI0AHo-uiHBQ&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=192&vpy=98&dur=361&hovh=202&hovw=250&tx=112&ty=115&page=1&tbnh=156&tbnw=193&start=0&ndsp=28&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0
I sit in my seat And read Listening to the tirade of Sr. And his mistress Listening to him ramble about his Wife “Do you think I should stay?” He asks I remain silent Sit and read For I am another’s mistress Who am I to judge? http://www.google.com/imgres?q=edward+hopper+two+on+the+aisle&hl=en&safe=strict&sa=X&noj=1&tbm=isch&prmd=ivnso&tbnid=SVEh7cvOAtGgoM:&imgrefurl=http://extremepresentation.typepad.com/blog/2008/01/hopper.html&docid=O7msfDAwSPnuDM&w=480&h=443&ei=RxZqTpi7GcHq0gHDk-HWBA&zoom=1&iact=rc&dur=307&page=1&tbnh=155&tbnw=181&start=0&ndsp=30&ved=1t:429,r:1,s:0&tx=112&ty=70&biw=1680&bih=810
I could see into the ends of his eyes. Straight into an Iris the ocean.
We could sift through the waves tacking the past. Our stories could return here mysterious and parallel dimensions of stormy retina forever staring at the sky
the stars the sun but here we are until our bodes are bitten from seas, cold and stony bottoms of gullies smashed with shale cases of jewels
here, our skin turns white and still fraying or feathered cirrus twisting into the ends of the earth. we're gray. Mirror the vastness we sail. We'll treasure these watery cliffs when we're one. The sun rises. so will our hearts. so do our eyes.
Red Bull and Glasses
ReplyDeleteThe common
denominator between
those who can see
and those who can't is
fog
Because fog plugs
even the devices
made to enhance
the eyes means
humans were never meant
to live in the
clouds and those
who do can't see anything,
even with glasses,
a telescope,
binoculars
putting red bull and
dreams against
the same
pointless
wall
O High (material poem)
ReplyDeleteIs it the nicotine that pumps my
Estrogen-
Or is it the acidity from all these
Tampons?
O high you make the migraines
Worth while
The pressure when you’re
Digested through my stream
The bliss of immortality
The invincibility with Red Bull wings,
Truly worth a dime bag
But O High why must you make me
Crave the touch of food
Sliding down my throat
Bananas and chips just won’t do
I need a four course meal-
Meat and potatoes smothered with gravy.
O High let me come down
So I can finally face reality
Once I finally
Crash
The acidity will be neutralized
The migraines will stop
I will just be another human
With issues
Until next time.
Justice Dunwoody
ReplyDeleteSeptember 08, 2011
Ekphrastic poem
The creaky shutters that rocked in the wind gave the house it's character
The great tall evergreen tickled the sides of the house
And tapped on my window
At night
The balcony shaded me from the sun
on a hot August day.
I would sit in the book room
At sunset and watch the natural world spinning
Beneath me.
The house was old and had a mind of its own
Its held secrets
But never shared them
http://www.barewalls.com/i/c/432831_The-Mansard-Roof-1923.jpg
Sacrifice
ReplyDeleteCottage throne upon the green.
It had food.
It had water.
It had furniture and comfort.
There was one man.
A monolithic saint.
He consented to,
Bearing the cradle of life.
There was only one shepherd,
In his cottage throne of green.
There was only one
Living all to himself.
Down there
ReplyDeleteLow class people
Live
Low class lives
Thick, heavy, dark, shuttered
Closed
Drapes, carpets, blinds, walls, furniture, clothes
Designed
To hide, absorb, camoflage, muffle, stifle
Noise
Moans, screams, music, sweat, blood
Breast, hips, thighs
But, me see
I have nothing to hide
Delicate palettes
Silk, lace, eggshell, bone, ecru, gossamer
White
No thought of /time for smudges-stains
Wine, fluids, fingerprints, laughter, people
My life is always
Perfect
Up here.
http://www.antiquesandfineart.com/articles/media/images/00801-00900/00816/Night_Windows_1928.jpg
[Ekphrastic Poem] – New York Restaurant
ReplyDeleteExcuse me waiter
how long have we sat here?
It feels like it’s been forever.
I’m aging, is that why I’m so
Cold? Maid this tea is
Gone? I don’t understand
why this picture is so empty.
I’ve seen my children grow,
I cannot bear to do this anymore.
Excuse me waiter,
how long do I have to live through this?
You’re not working out for me,
I’m sorry,
I wasted my youth. I’ll never
be able to make ends meet like this.
Bending over backwards
just for some fantasized pleasure.
Excuse me waiter,
I’m done with age,
I’m done with work,
I’m done with you.
I’m done.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a3/New_york_restaurant_by_edward_hopper.jpg
Alaina Howell
ReplyDeleteEkphrastic Poem
Hotel Room
I am limp.
I need to be held or I will
Fall form this bed.
Everything is packed around me
But I am incomplete.
I am blank like the walls that surround me.
She wont write anything.
She wont unpin her hair, put on a day dress
And give me life.
Maybe it’s a lovelorn companion
Perhaps kin that she has lost forever.
She is silent,
And therefore so am I.
Hotel room
ReplyDeletehttp://www.google.com/imgres?q=hotel+room+edward+hopper&hl=en&safe=strict&client=firefox-a&hs=bOh&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&biw=820&bih=800&tbm=isch&prmd=ivnso&tbnid=ODaeJJHNzCj69M:&imgrefurl=http://www.artchive.com/artchive/H/hopper/hotel_rm.jpg.html&docid=OowqpWTbb9saKM&w=969&h=883&ei=sRNqTtryCsjE0AGE3P3ZBA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=162&vpy=92&dur=1537&hovh=214&hovw=235&tx=120&ty=228&page=1&tbnh=156&tbnw=190&start=0&ndsp=12&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0
Whitney Lora
ReplyDeleteEkphrastic Poem
Chop Suey
The sign lights up outside
“Suey”, it reads in light-up letters
Her distraught is underlined by the blush on her cheeks
She breathes in,
Ready to take in his nervous posture
The couple behind her ignore,
Block out the rest of the world,
The yellow jacket fading into the background
His scarf hangs, still as the world in that moment
His folded hands are frozen
And she stares expectantly
Waiting for the moment that they sign crashes down
Dead,
Reading, “Suey”, in cracked letters
Room in New York
ReplyDeleteThe feet between us are tangible.
We have forgotten how to be together.
As I fondle the keys one of the notes
hangs in space, filling the room
before crashing to the floor
and spilling out of existence.
You flick your paper with indifference.
Scheduled intimacy is colder than the nights
We spent outside waiting
Quiet in the snow
With stolen minutes.
I wore that dress you like,
The one you told me
Ran across the curves of my body,
Like fire.
A summary glance, a nod of approval,
and we fall into separate planes.
Together in this room, we are living
In separate overlapping dimensions,
That intersect only occasionally.
Riding in and out of sync,
Like the clinging notes I place between, that are never quite
In harmony.
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_PNidzO0YzRs/S-abiX_HW6I/AAAAAAAAAjQ/Kly86PeQkiQ/s400/hopper-edward-room-in-new-york.jpg
Danielle Furia September 9, 2011
ReplyDeleteCreative Writing Blackout Poem (bin Laden article)
Charles Jay
evoked
pain,
fear, and
terror in our
world. After the death of
Lifton,
he retaliated and took delight
in the
misfortunes of others.
He believed that
more can be accomplished by taking out a
charismatic leader.
Chop Suey, 1929
ReplyDeleteIs it really love?
shines of being puzzled.
Is this prince charming or just another one?
I think I love you, he states.
Surprised and overwhelmed
Is it really love?
A chill runs down my spin.
Cool winter morning,
Is the time right
Shall I feel the same, or should I leave it then to blame.
Is it really love?
"Blackout Poem"
ReplyDeleteSome things
In
the world
almost
guarantee sellouts.
The biggest
question went far be-
yond the packaged deal,
Believing that enthusiasm is
tougher.
It is a lesson that some
force
is more
than enough to
Have been able to
win.
The
need to
blend
is the way to get
Energy.
Jeneé Skinner
ReplyDeleteEkphrastic Poem - Greenery
Hilltops lather me in a soulful happiness.
A continuous serenade of fortune
to have feeling.
Nameless. Timeless. Priceless. Predictable.
A comfortable realm of greenery.
The roads and pathways console me from a stressful day.
Depth of earthy compromise allow me to let go of my worries.
I can focus myself, lose myself.
Run, scream, and shout my cares down the dirt path.
I soak in the pond’s redemption
Distractions have carried my touch away far too long.
The ripple from the touch of my finger
surges my tense self away.
Finally I am my-self.
My favorite. My all. Myself, and sane.
I am shadowed in the daybreak,
and swallowed whole by the sunset of my greenery.
New York Movie
ReplyDeleteHer eyes read pain.
Her body stood
S T I L L.
Drowning in deep contemplation.
The lights in the auditorium grew dim.
Anxiety roared throughout the audience.
She remained motionless.
The spotlight lit the main stage.
There she stood—hoping to fade in with the walls.
She no longer wanted to entertain them.
It rained epiphany that night.
Tired of portraying this façade.
She never did make it on stage.
Next night she fell victim to suicide.
Front page of the newspaper.
http://www.google.com/imgres?q=new+york+movie&um=1&hl=en&safe=strict&client=firefox-a&sa=N&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=s&biw=1680&bih=810&tbm=isch&tbnid=-HfYdxHxPyMP0M:&imgrefurl=http://www.artchive.com/artchive/H/hopper/theatre.jpg.html&docid=0H_oS0lGeswKvM&w=1031&h=833&ei=BhBqTteoB5HI0AHo-uiHBQ&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=192&vpy=98&dur=361&hovh=202&hovw=250&tx=112&ty=115&page=1&tbnh=156&tbnw=193&start=0&ndsp=28&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0
Ledibel Rivera September 9,2011
ReplyDeleteEukphrastic Poem
The City
sun rise over the buildings.
the noise of busy people
Bustling around through the city’s streets.
yellow flowers blooming.
warmth on my skin from the sun coming through the window.
the windowsill, reaching out looking
At the people below
So many different smells in New York
But always the same view.
The birds flying,
babies crying,
taxis honking,
Pizza cooking,
hot dogs burning,
diapers oozing.
Sewer rotting,
people stealing,
tourists buying.
little things to remind them of New York.
Ledibel Rivera September 9,2011
Eukphrastic Poem
The City
sun rise over the buildings.
the noise of busy people
Bustling around through the city’s streets.
yellow flowers blooming.
warmth on my skin from the sun coming through the window.
the windowsill, reaching out looking
At the people below
So many different smells in New York
But always the same view.
The birds flying,
babies crying,
taxis honking,
Pizza cooking,
hot dogs burning,
diapers oozing.
Sewer rotting,
people stealing,
tourists buying.
little things to remind them of New York.
http://cache2.allpostersimages.com/p/LRG/8/873/432J000Z/posters/hopper-edward-room-in-brooklyn.jpg
Ekphrastic Poem
ReplyDeleteMistress
I sit in my seat
And read
Listening to the tirade of Sr.
And his mistress
Listening to him ramble about his
Wife
“Do you think I should stay?”
He asks
I remain silent
Sit and read
For I am another’s mistress
Who am I to judge?
http://www.google.com/imgres?q=edward+hopper+two+on+the+aisle&hl=en&safe=strict&sa=X&noj=1&tbm=isch&prmd=ivnso&tbnid=SVEh7cvOAtGgoM:&imgrefurl=http://extremepresentation.typepad.com/blog/2008/01/hopper.html&docid=O7msfDAwSPnuDM&w=480&h=443&ei=RxZqTpi7GcHq0gHDk-HWBA&zoom=1&iact=rc&dur=307&page=1&tbnh=155&tbnw=181&start=0&ndsp=30&ved=1t:429,r:1,s:0&tx=112&ty=70&biw=1680&bih=810
Nighthawks #1
ReplyDeleteLonely nights
think legs and coffee are
medicine without consequence
They leave them empty like
storefronts,
streets
Yawl riding a swell
ReplyDeleteby Adeline Ainsworth
I could see into the ends of his eyes.
Straight into an Iris
the ocean.
We could sift through the waves
tacking the past.
Our stories could return here
mysterious and parallel
dimensions of stormy retina
forever staring at the sky
the stars
the sun
but here we are
until our bodes are bitten from seas,
cold and stony
bottoms of gullies smashed with shale
cases of jewels
here, our skin turns white and still
fraying or feathered
cirrus twisting into the ends of the earth.
we're gray.
Mirror the vastness we sail.
We'll treasure these watery cliffs when we're one.
The sun rises.
so will our hearts. so do our eyes.