Found Poems and Prompts/Poetry Responses (Post by 4.25)
Please post your found poem and your original prompt by Sunday, April 20. This will ensure that your peers have adequate time to craft a poem in response to your prompt.
We will share our responses to the prompts in class on Wednesday. Then, and only then, will you be asked to post your original poems to the blog as well. Remember to bring a copy of your crafted poem and a copy of the poem/prompt that inspired your poem.
See you Wednesday! :)
____________
Post your responses to the poems and prompts no earlier than after April 23rd's class but not later than midnight Friday, April 25.
posted by Bucky C. @ 9:05 AM
32 comments
32 Comments:
A Poem by Emily Marton:
Their Hoofbeats hit the dirt,
With Soft clouds of air puffing from their nostrils,
Grace exceeding their Beauty,
their strides long yet powerful,
With long tangled manes and wiry dense tails flowing,
they have their minds set on the day to come,
to survive the harsh plains,
so beautiful,
yet so cruel.
The young stay close,
minds buzzing
with fluffy tails and high pitched whinnies,
their short strides quicken to keep up with the rush
of yet another move,
never knowing what the day may bring.
but in the soft beating of their hooves,
their Wild spirit will always be pure.
because They are Wild horses.
Prompt:
In this unnamed poem by Emily Marton, she describes all the characteristics and beauty of her favorite animal, the horse. It is not just any horse, but a wild one. She explains briefly but in detail the daily life of a wild horse living on the plains. I found this poem by simply searching online for "poems about horses", since they are my favorite animal as well.I have always loved horses since I was a child, so if I were to write a poem it would most likely be about them. Now I would like to ask you to write a poem about any animal that you are passionate about. There are no limits. Just as Emily Marton did, give detail about the physical appearance of the animal, and maybe even what's on in their mind. You can also include what the animal is doing in the poem. If it helps, you may begin your poem with, "I love the ______ of the _____", with the first blank being a part of the animal and the second blank being the animal of choice. You may also rearrange this lead if necessary.
-Amanda Kinnison
Mary Gruenberg’s Found Poem
Growltiger's Last Stand - T. S. Eliot
Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who traveled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of `The Terror of the Thames'.
His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.
The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame;
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumor ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER'S ON THE LOOSE!
Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger's rage;
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!
But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear -
Because it was a Siamese had maulted his missing ear.
Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide -
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.
His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol'n away -
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.
In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks -
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.
Growltiger had no eye for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise -
But the moonlight shone reflected from a hundred bright blue eyes.
And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives -
For the foe was armed wit toasting forks and cruel carving knives.
Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.
Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I'm sure she was not drowned -
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.
The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.
Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.
In “Growltiger’s Last Stand,” T. S. Eliot is telling a story of a cat named Growltiger, one of the roughest cats that ever roamed at large. Yes, this poem may be familiar due to its inclusion in the musical “Cats,” but all those songs were poems before the musical was created. I found this poem by searching for “Ol’ Possum’s Book of Practical Cats,” on the internet. Poems that tell stories are my personal favorites, and I definitely enjoy writing poems that tell a story. My task to you, is to ask you to write a poem that tells a story. It does not have to be as long as this, as long as it has all the elements of a story, rising action, climax, and falling action. It doesn’t even have to be a true story, this one sure isn’t. Think of events, and write an actual story or timeline of it first if it helps you, and then let the words come pouring out!
Amy Dozier
Carter
April 19, 2008
ENG 418
“Cheaper than Therapy”
By Geoff Weilert
When a package arrives I quickly open it wide
And hastily remove all the stuff found inside.
I discard all items except the plastic wrapped
That piece with bubbles in which air is trapped.
I spread the sheet and look downward with glee.
And with two fingers, I pop one, two, then three.
I feel quite content and my face gets a glow
I pop some more and move on to the next row.
I’m feeling so good I can’t think of stopping
As the room fills with the sounds of popping.
Every worry and care and each little trouble
Floats away with the pop of each air bubble.
When I finally reach the end I feel quite mellow
All that popping has made me a contented fellow.
If you are like me, and contentment is a rarity,
Get some bubble wrap: It’s cheaper than therapy.
In “Cheaper than Therapy,” Geoff Weilert speaks about bubble wrap and how popping it helps him feel relieved. He is very particular about how it is laid out and popped in order, row by row. At the end of his bubble wrap popping party the rarely contented Weilert is cool, calm, and relieved. I randomly found this poem online from www.ellenbailey.com under the “humorous poems” section. It is a small website with a variety of poems listed. After reading this poem, I can just imagine Weilert with bundles and bundles of bubble wrap at home and whenever he feels the need, he just starts popping all these tiny bubbles. I love to pop bubble wrap and I think most everyone else does too. Weilert writes of a stress relieving mechanism which happens to be popping bubble wrap. Now I would like to ask you to write a poem in which you describe your stress relieving tactics. Tell me what you do to feel calm and relieved when overwhelmed. If you would like, you can start the poem with “When I feel stressed_______.
Nyka Barganier
English 418
Carter
April 18, 2008
"We Real Cool"
By Gwendolyn Brooks
THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
“We Real Cool,” by Gwendolyn Brooks is one of my favorite poems by my favorite poet. The poem tells the story of a group who lives life to the fullest and maybe puts things of importance to the side. They leave (or skip) school in the poem to party late, drink alcohol, and listen to jazz music. At the end of the poem, “We Die soon” is one of the last lines. I feel as though Brooks was reminding all readers that the path in life that the group in the poem chose to live may end up terribly. This poem is very relatable to the average student who more than likely has felt procrastination throughout the education process. I love this poem because my freshman year of college was this poem, well except for the alcohol. I had my days of skipping classes, staying up late and learning a valuable lesson in the end.
I would like you to write a poem with a rhythmic rhyme scheme. Talk about the things you learned in college including something in Bucky’s class. Maybe the first line can be something like,
College life is real cool. Coming
to college was an important too.
GOOD LUCK!!!
"Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota" by James Wright
Over my head, I see the bronze
butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green
shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty
house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the
afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two
pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens
and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking
for home.
I have wasted my life.
In this descriptively matter of fact poem, James Wright notices everything around him from the bronze butterfly over his head to the evening darkness slowly coming on. Taking the varying line lengths, detailed descriptions, and seemingly unrelated ending into consideration, it sounds like this poem was simply written off the cuff. Sometimes I like to sit down and write the first thing that comes to mind. The great thing about this kind of poetry, sometimes reffered to as organic verse, is that anyone can do it. Just sit down in a place of your choice like your bedroom, your backyard, a bench in the mall or the park, and write a poem, however long or short you wish, right off the top of your head. Do not stop to adjust rhyme, syntax, or word choice as this would compromise the integrity of the process. If it helps, you can start with "To my left___, To my right___, or Over my head___" and describe the things or people around you. However, do your best to write quickly and without thinking, simply let the words flow freely from you. Taking this approach can be very revealing, you may be surprised, as I'm sure Wright was, at what you find out about yourself.
"Don't think - Feel." - Bruce Lee
“My Name’s Not Rodriguez”
by Luis J. Rodriduez.
My name’s not Rodriduez.
It is a sigh of climbing feet,
the lather of gold lust,
the slave masters religion
with crippled hands gripping greed’s tail.
My name’s not Rodriguez.
It’s an Indian mother’s noiseless cry,
a warrior’s saliva on arrow tip, a jaguar’s claw,
a woman’s enticing contours on volcanic rock.
My real name’s the ash of memory from
burned trees.
It’s the three-year-old child wandering in the
plain
and shot by U.S. Calvary in the Sand Creek
massacre.
I’m Geronimo’s yell into the canyons of the old
ones.
I’m the Comanche scout; the Raramuri shaman
in soiled bandanna running in the wretched rain.
I’m called Rodriguez and my tears leave rivers
of salt.
I’m Rodriguez and my skin dries on the bones.
I’m Rodriguez and a diseased laughter enters
the pores.
I’m Rodriguez and my father’s insanity
blocks every passageway,
scorching the walls of every dwelling.
My name’s not Rodriguez, it’s a fiber in the wind,
it’s what oceans have immersed,
it’s what’s graceful and sublime over the top of
peaks,
what grows red in desert sands,
it’s the crawling life, the watery breaths
between ledges.
It’s taut drum and peyote dance.
It’s the brew from fermented heartaches.
Don’t call me Rodriguez unless you mean
peon and sod carrier,
unless you mean slayer of truths and deep-
sixer of hopes.
Unless you mean forget and then die.
My name is the black-hooded 9mm-wielding
child in all our alleys.
I’m death row monk. The eight-year-old gum
seller
in city bars and taco shops.
I’m unlicensed, uninsured, unregulated, and
unforgiven.
I’m free and therefore hungry.
Call me Rodriguez and bleed in shame.
Call me Rodriguez and forget your own name.
Call me Rodriguez and see if I whisper in your
ear,
mouth stained with bitter wine.
-----------------------------
In “My Name’s Not Rodriguez,” Luis J. Rodriguez explores things like his ethnic background, his family life, and his demeanor towards society (and society’s demeanor towards him). He uses his name to reveal things about himself and about those around him through his poetry. I found this poem in “The Spoken Word Revolution Redux,” a collection of spoken word poems. A name holds many connotations. Names are also a way we define ourselves. I would like you to write a poem about your name. It does not have to actually have your name in it, it simply has to explore your personal identity. If it helps you may start out your poem with “ My name’s not ________. It is a _____ of _________ing _______.”
WHAT BEE DID
by Julie Larios
Bee not only buzzed.
When swatted at, Bee deviled,
Bee smirched. And when fuddled,
like many of us, Bee labored, Bee reaved.
He behaved as well as any Bee can have.
Bee never lied. Bee never lated.
And despite the fact Bee took, Bee also stowed.
In love, Bee seiged. Bee seeched.
Bee moaned, Bee sighed himself,
Bee gat with his Beloved.
And because Bee tokened summer
(the one season we all, like Bee, must lieve)
Bee also dazzled.
In Julie Larios’s poem “What Bee Did,” the poet develops the character of Bee with her clever wordplay. Relying on those words in the English language that use the prefix be- (bedevil, belated, bemoan, beseech, etc. ), Larios tells a story of Bee, initially an insect that merely buzzes but then a creature that has a complete life of its own. She takes those words and separates the prefix from the root, using the root as a word in itself. Searching for poems dealing with language, I discovered this poem in The Best American Poetry: 2007. I am a person who loves words and playing with them. Words and the ways in which they are formed interest me. Not only does Larios’ poem have fun with words, but it also gives life to them. As an exercise, I would like you to do what Julie Larios did. Breathe life into words. In order to do this, you may have to brainstorm or research prefixed words. Choose one or more prefixes and the words that go with them and use them to create a character like Bee or tell a story. Like Larios’ poem, it doesn’t have to make complete sense. For instance, you may want to focus on words that use “pro-” (propel, provide, propose, pronunciate) or words that use “fore-” (forehead, foresee, foreshadow, foreclose). Other examples of prefixes include “sub-,” “ant-/anti-,” “dis-,” and “ana-.” Good luck!
Mixed Emotions
by Jamie Nelson
I feel so diffident in your presence,
Your confident playfulness drips all over me
You played with me like a little boy
Would play . . . You have spiraled my emotions
I sit here speechless . . . First you smelled my hair.
I looked at your little soft body
Your innocence concealed by others
But blaring loud in my ears as the
80's music further enticed my need for
summer love
Your weariness shows in your dark
Puppy eyes . . . your life, your experience
your hurt, carefully put away. I reach out to you
To embrace you, to let you know I care
More than anyone ever could. I touch your
soft skin. Our bodies fit perfectly as we embrace
Like two perfectly crafted puzzle pieces.
If only I could kiss you passionately,
Without hesitation. Without any of the thoughts
of entangled relationships.
Our hearts both contain so much complexity
Our pasts sickly warped . . .
But the noise of the silent summer
Molds our problems into one shared love. It seems that to you it
is all so superficial, and it saddens me to
know I love you from the deepest hole in my
Heart. You are beautiful, innocent, my little
Boy. We long to play, frolic, and never grow up.
Yet we are drawn together by our soft lips craving for
fulfillment. Longing to be held and loved . . . But do you
Really feel more, do you hold that capacity to love
As deeply as I do? . . . No you are just a little boy, but I am
Just as innocent, so maybe you do love me
As I love you. Your summer love. I crave your
Innocence. Your pillow lips still linger on my neck
You have made me feel so giggly and bubbly inside
Perhaps I don't have to grow up. Perhaps this hope
That you have given me can last a few months, or until
we see each other once again. I feel so happy, so passionate,
so optimistic. How could you do that to me? What
An incredible aura you give off. But perhaps I interpret your
Flirtatious gestures as more than they are. But you kept me to
yourself. You took authority and told the swarming boys
around me to leave me alone . . . For I belonged to you
That's what you said. Your little hand dangled in the air,
waiting for me to come to your side. Yes, you indicated
your need for me, but there is that chance that you
wish for something in the shallow waters. But whatever my contortions
of your feelings may be, you've allowed me to dream of love once again.
But the fear of hurt lies in the background, as I know
You aren't strong, confusion lurks in your soft eyes.
Despite your problems, I love you and you have made
me feel truly overwhelmed. Truly happy. Truly full of
Wholeness and love. Let's snuggle. Smile with me
Tickle me and make me
Giggle!
Prompt:
I found this poem by browsing the Internet. After reading the poem, it made me think of high school and my first love. Since the class deals with young adults, i felt this poem was a perfect choice. I now want you to remember the days when you first fell in love and write a poem reflecting your feelings.
"Phenomenal Woman" by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Prompt:
In "Phenomenal Woman", Maya Angelou talks about the interior standard for beauty and self worth.She enjoys writing poems that many women can relate to. This poem was lead to focus on the inside beauty of a woman according to Angelou. I found this poem was going on her website and reading most of her poems. When I was in high school, i was so focused on my personal apperarance. I wanted the world to know how beautiful i was. I would judge people based on their apperarance and not their character. Now as an adult i tend to focus on the inside beauty of my self and others. I love to get to know people from their character and not the way they look. Tell me what a Phenomental person means to you? What makes you a phenomental person _________
Daddy Fell into the Pond
a poem by Alfred Noyes
Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And then there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Then
Daddy fell into the pond!
And everyone's face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He's crawling out of the duckweed!" Click!
Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft,
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
Oh, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond
When
Daddy Fell into the pond!
Prompt:
In the poem Daddy Fell into the Pond is really a funny poem. I found this poem under children poem on google. This poems expressing a time when kids are bored with nothing to do but sit outside and look into the sky. Then when the a bloomper occurs when their dad fells into the pond out of nowhere. It takes me back when I was a kid with nothing to do on a boring Sunday evening wishing to have some fun.So I would like to ask you to write a poem about an hilarious experience that occured out of nowhere and it was very funny. Make sure to tell about the setting clearly. For example you can start the poem with "Looking up into the sky_______ or "Seating in my boring class ____________. You can choose either one.....
Howl by Allen Ginsberg (excerpt)
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind;
In this post-Vietnam tribute to the shortcomings of our government, Allen Ginsberg vividly describes the aftermath of a war whose veterans become forgotten. This is by far my favorite poem. I am fascinated by the 60’s; its people and events. Think about a time period that you are either very interested in, or know a lot about, and write a descriptive poem about a person or event from that period. Try to use as much vivid language as possible. If it helps, you may begin your poem with “It was a time of _____________ and __________;” You could pick out two major descriptions of this time period and use them to begin the poem. Good Luck!
A Poem By Natasha Trethewey:
Titled-Graveyard Blues
It rained the whole time we were laying her down;
Rained from church to grave when we put her down.
The suck of mud at our feet was a hollow sound.
When the preacher called out I held up my hand;
When he called for a witness I raised my hand-
Death stops the body's work, the soul's a journeyman.
The sun came out when I turned to walk away-My back to my mother, leavin her where she lay.
The road going home was pocked with holes.
That home-going road's always full of holes;
Though we slow down, time's wheel still rolls.
I wonder now among names of the dead: My mother's name, stone pillow for my head.
In this poem by Natasha Trethewey, a local writer, she describes the day that she barried her mother and the way he made her feel. She describes herself walking away from her mother's grave and the rainy weather. She also describes the bumpy road on the way home.Now I want you to write a poem about losing someone close to you. Describe the day, the weather, possible what you wore and the emotions you were feeling. You may start the poem with "The day I lost my ______ it made me _____." If that does not work, then create you own starting point.
-Brittney Penton
“Leaves of Grass” by Walt Whitman
*An exert from the first edition
I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuffed with the stuff that is coarse, and stuffed with the stuff that is fine,
One of the great nations, the nation of many nations-the smallest the same
and the largest the same,
A southerner soon a northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable,
A Yankee bound my own way…ready for trade…my joints
the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth,
A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deerskin leggings,
A boatman over the lakes or bays or along the coasts…a Hoosier, a Badger, a Buckeye,
A Louisianian or Georgian, a poke-easy form sandhills and pines,
At home on Canadian snowshoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland,
A home in the fleet of iceboats, sailing with the rest and tacking,
At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine or the Texan Ranch,
Comrade of Californians…comrade of free northwesterners, loving their big proportions,
Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen-comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat;
A learner with the simplist, a teacher of the thoughtfulest,
A novice beginning experient of myriads of seasons,
Of every hue and trade and rank, of every caste and religion,
Not merely of the New World but of African Europe or Asia…a wandering savage,
A farmer, mechanic, or artist…a gentleman, sailor, lover or quaker,
A prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician or priest.
This exert from “Leaves of Grass” by Walt Whitman speaks of a contradictory nature. I fell in love with Walt Whitman in my English Literature class. This exert speaks to me because I also am full of contradictions. One moment I am confident, the next unsure. I am asking you to write a poem in response to this exert from the “Leaves of Grass.” I would like you to write of your contradictories that make and create the unique person you are, from the places you live, to the habits you break or take, and etc. You can start your poem with “I am of _____ and ____, of the _______ as much as the ______.” Your poem does not have to follow the format of “The Leaves of Grass,” just as long as you express your unique contradictions.
Poem by Emily Dickinson:
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
In this poem, Emily Dickinson describes books as entrances into different worlds. She describes books in unconventional terms, comparing them to ships and chariots to show the many possibilities books hold. I want you to write a poem describing something precious to you, like Dickinson's books, in an unconventional way. Your poem should include similes and metaphors.
Shayla Graves
Eng 418
Carter
April 20,2008
Spell to Banish A Pimple
by John Agard
Get back pimple
get back to where you belong
Get back to never-never land
and I hope you stay there long
Get back pimple
get back to where you belong
How dare you take up residence
in the middle of my face
I never offere you a place
beside my dimple
Get back pimple
get back to where you belong
Get packing pimple
I banish you to outer space
If only life was that simple
Spell to banish a pimple is about a pimple that makes an uninvited appearance on someone's face. The speaker wants this annoying pimple to go back to where ever it came from.
Prompt:Im sure that everyone has had the pleasure of encountering an unpleasant event or an uninvited person and I know that this can be a very annoying situation when you are forced to deal with it. I would like for you to think about a time, event, or person that you have encountered at some point in your life and write a poem. You may consider beginning your poem as follows:"Go away_______,You are_______" You can fill in the first blank with the person or event that comes to mind and fill in the second blank with the way you feel at the moment when this person or event occurs. for example Go away headache, YOu are ruining my evening......
Regina Renot
Eng 418; Response to “Cheaper than Therapy”
Dr. Bucky
April 24, 2008
“On Demanding Days”
I don’t always take baths, most of the time I take showers
But on a particularly demanding day,
I love to take a hot steamy bath
First I run the water, and pull the shower curtains back
I make sure the water is hot, almost unbearably hot
And when the tub is a quarter full,
I pour bath salts into the running water
I watch as the color dissolves into the water and then the salts
It is time
I undress and slip into the water
And I do nothing at all
I enjoy this moment alone, this hot steamy bath
Because in that moment
I think of nothing at all
Occasionally I will drink wine with my bath
But mostly it is me and the water
My mind clears,
My body relaxes
And when the water begins to get cold
I then think tomorrow is a new day.
Thanks to Amy Dozier for the prompt!
My Response to the Prompt:
The quiet, long-suffering ones, the
Wealthy and the poor of the faith falling,
Slowly at first, then like grains of sand,
Pouring down into the other side of the
Hourglass, till there aren’t any grains left.
Sell your grandmother’s jewelry, hide in the
Basement, or betray your kind, if you can,
And live for another week.
Wrap the remains of your tattered shirt
Around your feet for shoes, and run when
he calls you to line.
Trade your scrap of bread for information
Of your wife, and do not weep when
You learn she is dead.
Burn your fellow men and women
And go smiling into the death chambers.
The multitude perished and the world wept
Too late, while those with the numbers
Live on, anguished cries haunting our
Feather-pillowed sleep.
Special thanks to Tiffany!
Poetry Response
Tiffany Lane
Thanks to Shayla Graves for the prompt!!!!
Be Gone! Be Gone!
You flame engulfed saliva slide
Return to your home,
Your germ infested haven
I do not have time to
Nurture my defenses.
Go Away! You snot and phlegm
Resevoir, trying to cloud my brain.
Papers are due, Exams are approaching.
You are BANISHED from my body!
Be Gone! Be Gone!
You slimy sickening sinus infection!
"Your Last Night on Earth"
by Eric Foster
I held your hand on your last night on Earth
And poured my words out over you like a filthy tide of sorrows.
It was too late, you were already dead.
There would never again be time to sing
Time to laugh
Time to apologize.
I never said "I Love You,"
There had never been time
You were dead for so long.
I walked through the waste that night
Where our shattered life ended.
But I saw no blinding light,
No benevolent angel on wing.
I found no more time,
Only the smell of death lingering on you like a disease.
No longer can I call you Father
This is all you are.
Dust in the forgetful kingdom of death.
Thanks to Brittney P. for the prompt.
Thanks for the prompt Kaniesha aka as Nikki.
"Good Life"
Seating in my boring class, I sometimes drift
Away and image life in the
Fast lane
No responsibilities
No papers to write
No reading novels
Just doing the things I love to do.
Talking on the phone
Sleeping
Being with my family
And just wondering through life without a care in the world
No one to answer to
Partying until the sun comes up without worrying about the things that are
Due soon reality hints and Im back
in that boring class looking
At my watch wondering about the things i have due for my next class.
Shayla Graves
Eng 418
Carter
23 April 2008
What My Name Means
My name is not Shayla
It is a combination of happiness, pride, and love
It is a ray of sunshine brightly beaming
I am the colors on the rainbow
The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow
My name is not Shayla
I’m accomplished, radiant, and vibrant
I am the blood that comes streaming down
I am the river of tears falling from heaven’s gates
I am the words that spread across the page
I am LIFE!!
Special thanks to Joe!
Amy Dozier
Carter
April 23, 2008
ENG 418
“Giraffes”
The height of a giraffe is overwhelming
But the animal itself is quite nice
The mane is soft and fluffy
So I really hope none of them ever get lice
The tongue is thin and black
Made for eating leaves
And the neck is stretched long
To get the leaves from tall trees
Their bodies are spotted in pattern
To hide from predators in the jungle
To accidentally hurt a giraffe
Would sure be a bungle
Toys-R-Us uses your face
For everything they sell
You must be a great animal
Just as long as you don’t smell
*Thanks to Amanda Kinnison for the prompt
*With special thanks to Shayla Graves for the prompt and inspiration.
---------------------
Unwanted Reason
Get back, Reason! Get back!
Go back to your hole of rationality.
How dare you show yourself unto me?
What gall! What audacity!
Get back, Reason! Get back!
I don’t need you to make sense of things.
I don’t want to think things through.
Get back, Reason! Get back!
Back with your actualities, realities, and moralities
Back with your logic, judgment, and logical judgment
Get back, you beast, you vile fiend
You insane sense of sanity, you convoluted carrier of conclusion
Get back to where you belong
And no, I wouldn’t rather write my paper than check Facebook
No, I wouldn’t rather read the chapter than do absolutely nothing at all
And yes, I know it doesn’t make sense because it doesn’t have to
So get back Reason
Go back to where you belong
And wait to say “I told you so”
As I work endlessly at 3:00 in the morning to finish a paper
That should have, could have, and would have been done already
If I had just listened to you.
Stressed
When I feel stressed I feel as though it’s a test
I put on a smile and attempt to do my best.
I’ll wear my favorite green shirt and a big smile
Even though the thoughts in my head are running wild.
When I feel stressed I paint my toenails red
Homework flashes my mind but I stay in bed instead.
The fridge is not off limits to ice cream and pies
Friends’ frantically worry about me but I just feed them all lies.
When I feel stressed I shop, shop, and shop some more
Sometimes I just exercise until my legs are sore.
I may dye my hair some strange color right before cutting it off
Maybe next time, I think I’ll just go and play some golf.
-Nyka Barganier
Thanks to Amy Dozier
Thanks to Tiffany Lane for the prompt!
"Mona Lisa Smiled"
by Amanda Kinnison
It was a time of rebirth and revival.
A time of Leonardo da Vinci:
A true Renaissance Man.
Mona Lisa smiled and watched
As time marched forward.
Through the visions of intellectual men: Michelangelo, Machiavelli, and Martin Luther.
North, South, East, West- nothing left untouched.
Mona Lisa watched with a pleasant gaze,
And she smiled.
Raphael's angels surfaced from the depths of mastery.
Their small but sure wings helped them through.
Titian's brilliance emerged from a previous surrounding darkness.
And again, Mona Lisa smiled
And approved.
Trista Haynes
Poetry Response to the poem Growltiger's Last Stand written by T.S. Eliot
"The Cat and the Rat"
He sat quietly in the corner
Far away from danger, he thought
But the cat had already eyed him
The rat, his pray, he sought
Slowly the cat moved closer
Thinking finally, food at last
Not knowing what the rat was thinking
This meal would be his last
The rat had known what would be his fate
He had prepared himself for the worse
This cat had taken many others
So he knew he had to rehearse
Up all night and asleep all day
He'd memorized his routine
He knew when to run and where to hide
The cat didn't recognize his scheme
He lunged and swung his paw with grace
This rat will be mine he said
I've eaten all your friends and family
In just a few moments you'll be dead
The rat moved quickly and he thought
This animal is very clever
His cleverness won't last for long
For I will surely have him for dinner
The rat plunged and hit his target
Finally, he thought, victory
He jumped down and walked away
This rat had just made history
A scream was heard throughout the land
The cat knew his defeat
Rat went and bragged to all he knew
One who cannot see, cannot eat!!!
Thanks for the poem Mary!!
When I feel stress I just go out and buy a dress.
Stress is an expensive mess!
I stress because I always try to do my best and refuse to settle for anything Less!
Lord, I pray that I will do my best on this assigned test!
I need to go to a Funk Feast!
Than I can get a good night rest.
Man, Forget it!
I'm about to move out West!
Design me a nice and cozy lil nest.
Just to get away from all these pest!
But, you know the rest, I'm STILL STRESS!!!!!!
Thank you Amy Dozier!!
Thank you thaynes :p
Only the Night to Keep Us
By: Mary Gruenberg
Luminescence of laughter all around us…
And yet we stood alone.
Entwined within each other,
Our thoughts, hopes, and dreams were one.
As the presents had been given,
And the laughter slowly died,
I had nothing to give you,
Nothing fit, for the Yuletide.
We hadn’t known each other more than a night… after all.
Fingers laced together,
I felt your warmth against my back.
There was nothing to it really,
I was just in the mood to cuddle.
But, as goodbyes had been uttered,
Much to me surprise,
We went to kiss,
And both missed!
My that was quite a surprise, each aiming for cheek, and getting lips.
They ooohed and ahhhed,
All our friends.
They thought it was cute,
And ya know, I think it was.
And on that night,
Mistletoe above us,
Something had clicked,
And it all felt right.
Even though it took me a year to actually say yes… heh…
“Comedy and Tragedy” by Joseph Tenney
I have two mouths.
I have two noses, four ears, and four eyes.
If you ask me a question you will get two answers.
If you tell me something I’ll remember it differently.
Don’t even try to give me a task, because with four arms and two trains of thought you’ll only get a big fat mess.
I’m happy and sad, I’m lonely and crowded, I’m sympathetic and uncaring, I’m optimistic and hopeless.
But I’m also a person.....well, two people.
If you hurt me I get hurt twice.
If you wink at me I’ll blink.
If you hold my hand I might hug you.
If you push me down I’ll hit the ground and have to pick myself up twice.
Thanks to Regina for the prompt! ;)
Brittney Penton
25 April 2008
YA Literature
Dr. Carter
This is my original poem inspired by the Prompt that was given by Amanda Kinison
My Crazy Bloodhound
I love the curve of his tail,
The sound of his bark,
The way he wines for me when it is after dark.
I love his big droopy ears,
And his big muddy feet,
And the way his eyes light up when he sees me.
I love his shiny coat,
And the way he is always sniffing for rabbits,
I am not sure he has not picked up a bad habit.
I love the way he makes me happy when I am sad,
And even the way he sometimes makes me mad.
I love the way he talks to me when eh is ready to eat,
And the way he made my husband feel when they first got to meet.
I love the way he tries to swim at the River with his best friend Beau,
And the first time he jumped out the boat, Lord he almost drowned,
His name is Junior and he is my crazy Bloodhound.
Thanks Amanda for you great prompt!!!
Post a Comment
<< Home