Title Poetry

I haven't really been writing much lately, at least not creatively. Way, WAY behind on the Glory-Be Project for one thing. I've been trying to make it up a little by crafting some long, complicated title poems.

I didn't actually set out to make a super long one, but I couldn't seem to stop once I really got going. Same thing happened on the next one - it just kept going XD I have every intention of doing two more, one for spring and summer. I've been having a bit of fun just collecting titles for the last few days. I really am proud of how well the autumn piece turned out - super proud.

Doc noticed me working on the winter poem a few days ago and was impressed by the idea. Asked me to send the finished pieces to him, so I complied. He LOVES the autumn piece. Just loves it. Thinks it's one of the best things I've ever written. I believe his words were "knocked it outta the fucking park" XD I was already happy with it, but hearing that keeps me warm.

Today was the last official day of Drama. He's giving them tomorrow off to work on their assignments, but I think he really wants to chill out on his birthday. I'm planning to take him out to lunch whenever I finally get paid, but in the meantime I bought a wooden slate and some chalkboard paint - the one thing he didn't mind about our classroom being moved this summer was that the new room had a chalkboard instead of a whiteboard. This gift is one half sincere and one half me being a smartass. I think he'll like it though.

It's been a good term. I wish there had been more students in Drama, but it was still fun. I'm not really glad it's over, but I am glad that Doc is going off the clock for the next two months. It'll be nice to chill out a bit and enjoy his company instead of rushing from one place to another, always under a deadline.

A pear tree full of apples

So I've been busy.

No, really. I have three essays that need to be written in the next two weeks. About 25 pages in all. I've made that sound better by promising myself to write at least 1.5 pages a day for the next two weeks, and that will complete everything I need. Today, I have .5 pages.

Well, that's progress at least.

End of the semester coming up and all, so I'll continue to be busy for a little while longer. It's even worse since I'm close to graduating. Most of my experiences of late have been cataloged in poetry and dA journals, so it's not like I haven't been updating - just not here XD Anyway, I did another poetry reading, my first one in months, so I thought maybe I should give this thing some love too. I don't want it feeling neglected or anything.

I'm genuinely happy with that poem and reading. Between that one and Surrogate, I've been writing some pretty decent poetry the last month.

My pear tree is full of awkward curves
that have fallen, still green, into the shade
of your undergrowth where you have allowed them to ripen,
indifferent to the bruised skin.

I really like these lines. I think they sum up a lot of the things I want to say and cover much of the last year in a pretty metaphor. Doc has spent a lot of time on me; granted, a lot of it is because I won't leave him alone XD He honestly doesn't seem to mind at all.

This poem was the product of that sleepy time just after you've woken up - I can't remember exactly what I was thinking, but it had something to do with the opening line about bushels of knowledge. Usually I would roll over and forget about it, but I know a good line when I hear one, so I made myself get up and do something with it.

I think it also came from something I told Doc on Friday, about how these Independent Study sessions are keeping me grounded, and have been keeping me grounded for a while now. They just calm me down whenever I'm overwhelmed. I always feel like I'm accomplishing something, not just writing another essay for a grade. He's been so tired lately - I think he was grateful to know he has that effect on me. Makes the job worthwhile I guess.

I wasn't entirely sure about writing this as I was making some assumptions, so I called Doc this afternoon to ask why he became an educator, which was an enlightening conversation. I'm happy he was so willing to answer something that personal; I doubt I would have finished this without that "permission," as it were, even if I didn't tell him why I was asking. I also found out he's been teaching over at one of the local high schools on occasion; I didn't ask, but I do wonder about that. On top of everything else, and he's taking that on too, likely on his own time, without getting anything practical out of it. Just that genuine love for what he does.

Have I mentioned that I kinda love this man? <3

Surrogate

I stopped using his full title
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.

And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.




I don't want anyone to misunderstand me - I'm not unloved. My family is quite large. I've never wanted for anything, partly because I so rarely ask for anything that when I do it's such a novelty that I'm not often refused. But they don't really know I write. They know, but not really.

It's like when you're a kid and you make a crappy crayon drawing and show it to Mom and you get that not-really-there pat on the head and a "that's nice" because she's tired and has been working all day and your scribbles aren't really a priority, you know? It's not anyone's fault. I'm glad my family has never shown much interest in my writing. I would have censored myself. I would have been too careful. But at the same time, now that I have the proper lens to examine it by, I know that it would have been nice to have that support. And that's where Doc came in.

About this time last year I started getting these glimpses of humanity in a figure that had previously been very distant and it intrigued me. I wrote about it. I gave him the results. And Doc was the first person that ever asked to read more of my writing, not for a grade in a class, not as part of a writing group, not as part of an exchange, but just because he wanted to. Just because he thought it was something special.

I've talked about the relationship enough that I don't have to go into details, but I noticed this a few weeks ago when he told me how much he loved German chocolate cake because my dad loves German chocolate cake and it was like something in my head went click.

I don't know. I guess what baffles me about the whole thing is that I never realized I needed that support and approval until he waltzed in and just gave it to me without even thinking about it. I can't explain how fulfilling and satisfying it is to have someone like that in my life.

Nearly Refreshed

If anyone reads this, I need to be reminded to update this thing on occasion D=

No change in my status since the last post except that I am growing increasingly excited as school draws near. And I'm working on some poetry. Even though I really do need to be writing more stuff for my independent study.

I scribbled unicorns for my mother

and colored in mandala patterns

for my father,

but rarely got an extra glance

for my artistic endeavors.

I put them on my bedroom walls

instead of our blank white refrigerator,

where I could be proud of myself

(since no one would be so for me).

I rather like where this one is going.

Priorities; I Have Them.

I wrote a poem tonight. Awesome.

I had already written Chalk White and knew I wanted to do more with it. But I had more or less forgotten all about the Poetry Screams contest. For some reason, I remembered tonight and pull my Word document up.

I like to research things when it comes to my writing. Initially, I was getting a bit of a Civil War vibe from the piece. It went in a totally different direction when my Google searching somehow landed me on will-o'-the-wisps. Then I found the local legend of a weird lantern light not far from where I live. It worked perfectly with the "beckoning lanterns" line I already had.

I love it when things fall into place. I do want to work more on it some time, but I like it a lot where it stands.

Oh yeah, and I voted today too. Whatever.

October

One of my favorite months <3 Been having some lovely weather lately - kinda grey and rainy, though not very much rain. It's very relaxing.

I didn't catch up on as much homework as I would have liked over the weekend, but I managed a lot. Mainly my Lit. journal. Need to finish some linguistic stuff before Thursday too, and get my Algebra website issue straightened out, but I feel a little more balanced than I did last week.

Other than that, I've been working on a piece for Poetry Screams. Dr. Minnick is wonderfully helpful and I really do need to buy him lunch sometime. It's the least I owe him. Currently on my third draft of this thing; my library group aside, I don't have much occasion to share my writing with people I know IRL. And even less occasion to ask advice from people who really know what they're doing.

He really wants me to do something with those postcards though - apparently that's a publishable idea. I'm not really sold on that, but I guess I can at least mull it over and try some things. I'm glad he likes reading them because I really enjoy writing them X3

A Poetic Education

The latest in my line of writing projects and one that's been making me think all day long. It's always the short stuff that prompts long-winded posts.

The series thus far is compromised of poems with six lines falling into two stanzas; stanza one is how the narrator should have learned something (i.e. by studying), stanza two is how they actually learned it (i.e. by experiencing). Fairly straightforward.

PaperDart posted a comment that really got me thinking though; about what I was writing, how I was writing it, and, more importantly, why I was writing it. I hadn't intended to imply anything negative about a love of learning, but the poems could be read that way. I've already brought it up in the Artist Comments here, but for summary; after mulling it over, I came to the conclusion that the disconnect I had been writing into the poems had less to do with learning and more to do with educating.

I have had three very good teachers and one truly awful teacher; the rest more or less fell into the spectrum of "bland." I understand that a teacher has a difficult job; I don't envy their profession or the sheer volume of work on their shoulders. But this is important work - this actually matters. They're working with kids eight hours a day. That was more time than I ever spent with my own family in a day.

I don't want to come off as "education MUST be fun or kids won't learn," but there's so little to enjoy in the current education system, or at least the one I went through. Minnick told us a few weeks ago in Drama - kids get an average of about two minutes to talk during the entire day. And then you wonder why they're restless in class?

But the teachers I did have, the good ones, the ones that made it worthwhile, got it - they made things not necessarily fun, but engaging. We wanted to listen. We wanted to hear what they were trying to say, or at least I did. Even if the rest of the day was shot by the other classes, these were worthwhile. I know last semester Adolescent Literature was more or less the only reason I got out of bed some mornings. I suffered through Anthropology, its lab course, and Form and Theory just to get to it. It was my reward for going through all the motions.

I'm getting rather rambly, so I'll cut it short - people deserve to know when they're making a difference. And even though I'm no longer in contact with two of those three teachers, I can make damn sure the third one knows it. And I did :)

Post 100

I feel like perhaps I should mark it in someway, but nothing really comes to mind. And I don't feel particularly accomplished about making it to 100 posts. Though I do suddenly realize the year is half over and the "ah-ha" moment has left me with a feeling of awkwardness. Where, I implore you, did those months go?

But anyway.

My Internet has been undergoing some maintainence, so I was offline for an entire day, something that does not happen often. I get Internet withdrawl like a junkie twitches for the needle. Usually. Surprisingly, I handled it very well yesterday. Possibly thanks to having Drama to look forward to and reflect upon after. I even got some poems done.

I like how Tangerine ended up, but I can't help but wonder why my every attempt at a "happy" poem ends in disaster. How do you make a color like tangerine so damn depressing?

Seafoam, meanwhile, I also quite like. I like that fifties-ish jukebox diner on the boardwalk feel it has going. It must be the Thunderbird.

I Am a MACHINE

But only when it comes to churning out color poems. Did two of 'em tonight, one in about fifteen minutes XD

Payne's Grey

Payne Grey
storm clouds roll in on ashy winds
that slide through dull iron gates,
opening with a gaping creak like the sigh of moth wings.
The rasping whisper of ragged newspaper clippings
writhing among the smoke dissipates
as the tempest thunders over the estate,
dousing the blaze of heat in pockmarked raindrops
that never reached the decadent parlor
where the Lady suffocated.


I really love the dreay feeling to this one. Vaguely Edgar Allen Poe-ish in it's imagery. I seem to enjoy corrupting beautiful colors with rather grim themes.


Amber

Amber
had a golden waterfall of hair
and tawny eyes that glowed like lanterns
on the cusp of a quiet evening.
The wind rustled through pine needles
and dangling windchimes
in delicious counterpoint
to her honey-drip song and
vanilla-smooth voice
that went down like crushed velvet and feather dust,
uplifted away from my grasping fingers.


I like these two poems together - one droopy and rainy, the other sunshine-y and bittersweet. I feel oddly proud of my ability to switch between the two moods so easily.

Periwinkle

Tonight was library night and it's also National Poetry Month - unfortunatley, only myself, the instructor, and one other person showed up tonight. In all fairness, we usually have meetings two weeks apart, and our last one was on the 29th. And our next one isn't for a month because other library event screw up our schedule.

Anyway, we did some found poetry and took on rigidly structured poetry, but the only thing that came out well tonight was the color poem. The form is thus:

Line 1 - Your color
Lines 2, 3, 4 - things your color looks like
Lines 5, 6, 7 - things your color sounds like
Lines 8, 9, 10 - things your color tastes like
Lines 11, 12, 13 - things your color feels like
Line 14 - sum it all up.

And lo;

Periwinkle
is a patch of open sky,
a gingham plaid skirt,
the slate of your eyes.
It chimes tiny bells when you speak
and startles birds into flight and runs
think like heavy syrup
on cottony pancakes
that taste lighter than air
and leave my mouth dry,
empty,
hungry,
for a flash of pale blue in summer.

I genuinely enjoy how well this one came out for a change. I don't usually like my library poems this much <3

Why College Poetry is Hardcore

Poetry has never been my thing, though I've been learning since last semester's creative writing crash course. I'm sure all these lessons in Poetry on meter and form and all the structural rules will be useful one day if I decide to really get into the stuff, but right now I'm honestly rather bored with the class.

But not completely. Today's lesson was on rhyme - end rhyme, slant rhyme, eye rhyme, mosaic rhyme, all kinds of different rhyme. You would not believe how many different types there actually are. A dozen, minimum, I didn't keep a count. But none of that is what I'm going to remember Form and Theory of Poetry  for later on. I'm probably always going to think of the video she played for us:

 

It gets interesting around the three minute mark, but watch the whole thing because it does build on what came before.

I already liked this song; "Lose Yourself" is one of the only rap songs I would say I like, but I have about a million times more respect for how well written it is now. We continued class afterward by scanning the lyrics where the video stopped and the sheer amount of slant rhyme and assonance in a handful of lines is ridiculous.

 

For comparison if you've never heard this song.

 

I've tried my hand at this sort of thing before, and while you do sort of pick up a knack for it as you go it's no picnic. I can't imagine getting every other word to rhyme with something else like this.