Monday, December 06, 2004
Let’s Write Another Poem
Last school visit done and dusted. A clear run to Christmas.
The children’s book to finish and the Mighty Molecules CD.
Of course, things are bound to crop up. My Mum’s coming to visit for one thing. And we’re in the process of looking for and buying a flat in Brighton. This is for our old age. Although if 106 doesn’t qualify for old age I don’t know what does.
Meanwhile, why don’t we write another poem?
Think of something that you once said goodbye to. (Note – something not someone).
Make a list of that object’s attributes.
Think about the process of losing, leaving, throwing away or even selling that object. How did you feel about it?
Finally, remembering that poetry is more about rhythm than rhyme – lay it out on the page. Tinker with it a while. Then when you’re happy with it – post it below in the comments.
Examples
Farewell Ted, no more to sit upon the bed
Grinning at me, giving me the paw with your one good arm…
Farewell hi-fidelity stereo. I didn’t want to buy the i-pod but… farewell scratchy albums, and red-wine-stained covers…
Good luck!
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6 comments:
Surely a bungalow is preferable to a flat
though they are more expensive
No stairs to climb with arthritic kneecaps creaking
A rosey garden to weed
and a space for the deckchair and the cat.
Goodbye old trainers
You kept my feet dry
and added a little bounce
But now you must go
into the big black sack of oblivion
I should be kind
and put you out to pasture
in the shoe rack
beneath the stairs
now that you are falling apart
But I am being strong
and besides
You are beginning to smell
by Henry Unhinged
Syl - did you remove that? And if so why? Just wondering...
I had to go to school. It was 1957, and there was a law.
And when I returned home I saw that my wonderful doll,
my beautiful doll with the bubble-cut hair and the silver and pink ball-gown,
my doll that I kept on a shelf in the corner because she was too beautiful to play with... was gone,
given to a stray cousin from Miami.
My mother said she knew I wouldn't mind because I never played with her.
That winter when we repaid their visit with one of our own, I saw a bare foot sticking out from under my cousin's bed.
I pulled and there was my doll.
She was stripped naked,
with blue ink circles on her most private parts.
I picked her up and held her close to me. I wanted to wash her and wrap her in a blanket,
But my cousin grabbed her and threw her across the room, and I couldn't do anything about it but stand there.
I never told her good-by until just this minute.
C.K.
I did remove it, Roger...
I love poetry, but my words in "ink"
stink.
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