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EQ: What is an image? How do poets work with imagery?
Continue course:
https://www.coursera.org/learn/poetry-workshop/discussions/weeks/2
To review, this week's poetry prompts are below. Write to one prompt, or both. You'll have an opportunity to share and workshop one of these poems, as desired, at the end of the following module (Week 3).
Make A Still Life: Without All of That Messy Paint
In the tradition of the Imagists, write a poem that describes an object. Be as literal and vivid as possible. Pick up the object (if you can), look at it from as many different angles as possible. Consider its color, its weight, its texture, its material and write up a picture!
Hello, My Name Is…: Title as Poem Catalyst
Think up a poem title structured as such: The [Concrete Noun] of [Abstract Noun]. So, like: “The Cheese of Time” or like “The Monkey of Holiness” or maybe “The Steak Knife of Despair.” If a title like that doesn’t get you going… Then, write a poem based on that title.
Another variation on the Object Poem:
OBJECT POEM
https://penandthepad.com/write-object-poem-5085351.html
https://www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/by-writing-goal/improve-my-writing/spotlight-on-object-poems
An object poem describes an inanimate object in detail, focusing on singular characteristics of an animal, natural phenomenon or manufactured good. A vivid description of the object's physical form, functions and potential is used as a literary device to personify the object. Employing straightforward and highly descriptive language, an object poem leads the reader to fresh perception of the subject. Ultimately, the reader senses the significance of the object as a metaphor for human interaction, emotional situations or spiritual truths.
Another variation on the Object Poem:
OBJECT POEM
https://penandthepad.com/write-object-poem-5085351.html
https://www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/by-writing-goal/improve-my-writing/spotlight-on-object-poems
An object poem describes an inanimate object in detail, focusing on singular characteristics of an animal, natural phenomenon or manufactured good. A vivid description of the object's physical form, functions and potential is used as a literary device to personify the object. Employing straightforward and highly descriptive language, an object poem leads the reader to fresh perception of the subject. Ultimately, the reader senses the significance of the object as a metaphor for human interaction, emotional situations or spiritual truths.
Jealousy is a chair
ReplyDeleteThat stands empty in a full classroom
The warmth of people
Laughing and sitting around
Breaking the silence
The chair longs for a voice
The chair stands cold
And curious
Would it still be jealous
If there were any other object
In its space besides a human
Would it be jealous
If there were books or boxes
Filling and breaking its silence
Or would it be fulfilled
That it was picked
For anything at all
Depression is a domino,
ReplyDeleteAs it falls I fall deeper and deeper along the line.
The pattern changes throughout the day,
It hits one after another.
The dominos fall one by one,
Trapping me at the end.
Everything stops.
Jealousy comes from within the mirror. You can see it in your hair, how it is so much flatter than the girl who sits next to in english class with the thick black curls, shiny and smelling of sweet perfume. You can see it in your clothes, and how they will never look as good on you as they would the next person, their figure so delicate and perfectly shaped as if god himself had built them with his own two hands. The emotions inside of you are swarming with the emotion as green as an emerald.
ReplyDeleteJealousy is a ring. A ring too tight. A ring that I chose to wear even when it was a strain to get past the first knuckle. Jealousy is a ring. A plain ring with nothing appealing about it. Its small metal frame, cold, hard exterior and scratches. Scratches from struggles. Fighting to put it on and take it off. Jealousy is a ring that starts nowhere and ends nowhere. It never really leaves, if every night you place it on the nightstand. Jealousy is a ring. A ring you bought yourself for one other person.
ReplyDeleteAnxiety is a lunchbox. A bag that stares into your future and glares into the eyes of others. The people on the outside seem full of joy in their blues, pinks, and golds. But underneath the glossy outside a gray abyss awaits. An abyss filled to the brim with mystery. For no one truly knows what is inside. And the zippers, like stitches over a wound, keep it shut, for now.
ReplyDeleteAbstraction: Fear
ReplyDeleteObject: Mirror
She stares at the brown faded marks.
A fear reflects back at her
all around her pale arms,
hidden thighs,
aching joints.
A dull pain crawls up her skin.
Hands clutch onto her heart.
These marks
bask in this mirror
exuding, emanating, existing.
Goosebumps rise out of her skin.
Hair sticks out alert of
the adrenaline pulsating.
Screams leave her chest,
but her mouth never opens.
She stares at fear itself.
Scars bleeding out memories.
The only thing she sees.
ReplyDeleteAnxiety and the sun
Anxiety is like standing outside on a hot summer day.
The sun’s heat waves streaming into your chest waiting to explode.
Anxiety is like putting a grilled cheese outside and watching it melt into the concrete.
The sun is a big ball of fire in your chest screaming to come out.
Simplicity and a box
ReplyDeleteSimplicity is a box. A box that has no decorations outside. Simplicity is the box that people carry around them for the majority of their lives, a box filled with all of their interests and likes and dislikes. Simplicity has no cut corners and nothing particular about it. The bland exterior helps people blend into society as it carefully whispers into your ear and guides you on an invisible journey to find the boxcutter and tear the tape that has your personality trapped inside of the box. Simplicity knows that there is more underneath the surface of things. Simplicity is a box. A box that is small enough to carry, but large enough to be a burden on one’s true self.
Abstraction: time
ReplyDeleteObject: mirror
Time is a mirror. In the mirror you stand, day to day, and watch yourself age. Bit by bit, little by little, your smooth skin begins to fade. The hair atop your head leisurely turns to grey. The long sinking wrinkles begin to set it. You stand and watch as time proceeds, but for now you'll continue to live by routine. Brush your teeth so age won’t knock them out, apply lip gloss to keep your lips plump rather than thin and frail… etc
Abstraction: hate
Object: butterfly
Hate is a butterfly. To dance around your emotions, to be delicate and keep to yourself, flutter around self destruction. I don’t know
Time is a Ring
ReplyDeleteTime is a ring, a silverband, rolling with no end in sight. On and on an endless band with an endless path. See how it gleams, reflecting the light from the ceiling fan. She watches it swerve off course and right itself again. Loop in circles around and around. As the light gleaming circles the rim of the ring, she watches. She watches it from the moment it leaves his hand, to its descent to the ground, to now. As it comes to a stop on the grainy, paper wood floors clattering, she watches. Listens to it clatter, the fast pace of her heart, and the sound of heavy footsteps. Time is like this ring ending what was once endless.
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ReplyDeleteFear
ReplyDeleteMirror
Mirrors have always instilled unexplainable consternation in me. The sight of a mirror would spark chills in my fingertips that would travel upwards, raising the hair follicles in my arms and neck, before settling in the middle of my spine. Fear is a mirror. It is a woman will long black stringy hair that blankets her unidentifiable face that would creep into the top left corner of the reflective square, her name would be Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary would reach with her gaunt fingers and tug at the tips of my hair and pull ever so slightly as if to tell me “I'm here”. She would whisper words I couldn't understand in my ear with a faraway and throaty croon.
Fear is a mirror. Staring into your reflection of the mirror, you see every yourself staring back. In this perspective, you see every pore and inch of your body. Every crease in your clothes, every mark on your skin. The longer you stare, the more you see flaws in yourself. Your doppelganger grows horns and their smile stretches to the edges of your faces; you don’t recognize yourself anymore. You see your soft skin turn hard and scaly, you see yourself being crushed by an endless succession of buses. It’s you, but stronger. It’s your Tethered, a piece of you that you do not want to see. It’s the demons that swim under your skin and in your veins.
ReplyDelete