Monthly Archives: February 2015

Poetry 201 Assignment 9: Landscape, Found Poetry, and Enumeration

 

009

 

Okay, I completed assignment 9 in which I needed to write a Found poem about ‘landscape’ and include some enumeration (a list). Found poetry I learned is when you gather a collage of words like cutting them from a newspaper and then use those words in a poem.Other poets were much more creative than I by arranging theirs’ in a crossword pattern to illustrate the concepts of their poems. This took me a long time and I probably overdid it. The picture above illustrates the collage of words I used for this poem.

Forever Changing Landscape

From one century to another and one lifetime to the next generation,

The earth’s multi-faceted landscape is forever changing.

From the warm weather of spring to the humid days of summer,

And then transforming from the colorful fall season to snow white winter.

The land of earth is continuously transforming as moving time is a steady constant

While the passing seasons and the world itself are inconsistent variants.

 An enchanted traveler might see the view shift gradually or with sudden surprise

As if surrounded by the deep darkness of night when bursts a glorious sunrise.

For traveling through America is like mentally picking up the vast pieces

 Of a larger than life picture perfect puzzle as each state represents just a speck.

Whether touring by bus, car, cycle, or by riding on the river;

Or perhaps take to the trails by looping around the lakes

In an ambitious and challenging hiking adventure,

An unexpected surprise may meet your wondrous eyes

While you journey from the dawn of morning until the dusk of night.

Ranging from the hot, sandy deserts of Arizona to the north shore of wintry Alaska

And from the mountains of Wyoming to the fields and farms of Kansas and Nebraska;

The land, rivers, forests, and mountains do not remain stale and stagnant.

Instead they all steadily flow by your passenger window; moving, colorful and dynamic.

Even when traveling from one brightly lit up city to yet another,

You may expect to view similar, towering skyscrapers

And perhaps be in reverent awe of their architecture.

However, experiencing the sights and sounds of New York City’s Broadway

Does not compare to walking along the shoreline of San Francisco Bay.

And if one should venture around the world while soul-searching,

The sights of historic Greece would greatly defer from the Eastern Caribbean.

In such travels what peace of mind, new hope, and good delight

May inspire one to adopt new and fresh perspectives on life.

When one chooses to embark on an unknown and great journey;

May it be an exceptional journey to never forget but linger and echo in memory.

Friday Verse Journal Psalms 8:3-4

 

Pics from Camera 2-8-2015 242

Oops, one day late again but I felt a deep desire to make an entry in my Friday Verse Journal. One of the things that I so enjoy doing is gazing at the night time sky but I must admit with a very cold winter upon us, I don’t feel like standing outside for very long at all. However with the help of the Stellarium app on my kindle fire, I have been able to capture some images with my camera phone without ever leaving my house. The Stellarium app helps me to find and identify planets, a variety of stars, nebulas, and even galaxies. I have had a lot of fun using it. Also while doing so, I am reminded how small and very tiny I am in this humongous universe. I am so thankful to realize that God is so loving and so mindful of me.

Psalms 8:3-4 (Holy Bible New International Version):

“When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them? Human beings that you care for them?”

Poetry 201 Assignment 8: Drawer, Ode and Apostrophe

 

017

I am running a bit late but here is my assignment 8. Today I needed to write about a drawer in my house as if it were speaking to me. I needed to include apostrophes which, as I understand, are expressions and exclamations which can allude to a range of emotions. So after much thought I gave it a try and here is my latest poetic creation from the heart of my memories and my silly imagination. I hope you enjoy reading this and perhaps you will to go find your very own memory drawer.

Ode to a Drawer of Memories

As I pondered what to write about and which drawer should I peek in and see,

My eyes became glued to a certain small dresser that seemed to speak and beckon me:

“I am the most interesting drawer you’ll find for deep inside I keep many memories.

And they are not just your memories as you will soon see

That you will discover and find hiding inside of me.

Come, be brave and take a look now; Come and you shall see.”

So I wandered over while knocking over a pile of books

And yes I dared to even chance to indulge a hesitant look.

The first find was my baby book kept inside of a fading pink box

And inside it were cards, photos and many notes written by mom.

“Look on this page! You were born at 6:55 pm

And your mother thought you were such a precious gem.

Here it says you only weighed four pounds;

You may have been little but you sure could make a loud sound.”

You were baptized in February The following year

And both your grandmothers thought you were such a dear.

Oh look here, your mother thought you looked like your dad.

Hey! Perhaps instead of lass, you should have been a lad?

You lived in a town called Friendship at the age of two

And soon you had a sister to always love you.

Of course that was followed by a few more;

A brother, another sister and together that made four.”

Laying down the baby book I dug further to explore

Wondering what else was hiding in my memory drawer.

I found a red Webster’s New World Dictionary copyrighted in 1990,

“You don’t even remember having that; I can tell, I can see.”

I then found several colorful art prints;

One still kept in a frame but the other wasn’t.

One picture of a girl pushing her sister in an old buggy

And the other of two girls sitting on a bench like young ladies.

“You remember that day you found these treasured items

In that store downtown; in the Arts and Crafts Emporium.

Ah! I see the glint in your eye, you enjoyed visiting that place.

It is a shame another business took that space.”

Going deeper into the drawer, I found an old pair of glasses tinted in light rose,

“I can see in your eyes that you remember wearing those

As well as the painful headache you had one night

Because the prescription in them was not right.”

Going still further I discovered crayon drawings and sheets of construction paper,

“Pink, white, or purple, which was your favorite color?

Do you remember how you tried to color so fine

And stay so meticulously inside the lines?”

Next was a cassette tape of children’s hymns,

“You tried so hard to sing but often were out of tune.

Remember coaxing the children to sing, God is so Good;

A favorite melody from your own childhood?

And you still have your old boom box that you bought with pride

Which is in your kitchen now sitting up high.

Speaking of music, remember how your grandmother was pleased

To see you play her piano but not always striking the right keys?

She was as delighted as she could be

To hear you strum, Consider the Lilies.

Lastly I found some pens and other odds and ends,

“When did all this cluttering begin? And when will it end?”

So tired now, I quietly closed my overwhelming memory drawer,

“Please come back for I am not done! I have so much more.”

What a late night of mixed and blessed memories was in store

All due to this assigned poem and my memory drawer.

Poetry 201 Assignment 7: Fingers, Prose Poetry, and Assonance

 

046

Continuing in my poetry class, I was asked to write a piece of prose poetry in which the poem looks like prose but can you see the poetry within? It includes the subject of fingers and a technique known as assonance in which a repeating vowel sound is used. Can you determine what repeating vowel sound I used throughout this poem?  I hope you enjoy reading it.

Fingers on the Keyboard

Fingers floating and sliding along the plastic keys as I tried to remember the last melody. When was it that I struck a key followed by another and another? I plucked C, B, G, E, and sometimes D. Such a mystery as the last time keeps escaping me. When did I last take a seat with content upon a piano bench and played a tune with such gentle sweet ease? However now, I no longer have my grandmother’s piano, you see. Instead I have this electronic keyboard for simple melodies and that seemed just right for me.  Such a lifetime ago it was when my fingers danced gingerly and with subtle familiarity caressing and pressing those musical keys. Oh those sweet notes, the ebony and the ivory playing alternately and creating a sweet sounding melody.  When struck together they resonate in pleasing and lingering harmony. Although admittedly when oft my unpracticed fingers did glide over the black and white keys one may hear unmistakable disharmony. Many memories reside in me playing but constantly dismaying at the clash of keys in off-tuned melodies. I am not as talented as I would like to be to play this fine musical instrument; this assortment of black and white vibrating keys. Melody and harmony are too much for me and their mastery has too often eluded me.  So my fingers became still and my keyboard became silent; as quiet as can be. It serves now only as a tangible memory of my younger days when I would strive so determinedly to play a simple and sweet melody.

Poetry 201 Assignment 6 Hero(ine), Ballad, and Anaphora/Epistrophe

 

014

Yep, I am still in that poetry class and we are on week 2 now. In this assignment I was to write a ballad (a story that can be set to music) about a hero or a heroine. The hero could be a real life figure or a fictional character. I decided on a fictional character being influenced by Cinderella. Additionally, the ballad needed to have a repeated phrase I the beginning or the ending.  I had a lot of fun writing this rather fairy tale ballad and I hope you enjoy it.

The Ballad of Cindy Cinders Cinderina

Cindy Cinders was a young, freckled heroine

Who tried to be as dainty and pristine

As a floating, dancing ballerina.

 Famed with the surname of Cinderina,

She eagerly enrolled and took a hopeful chance

To learn how to swing, tap, and slow dance.

She tried to waltz, ballet, and a bit of do-si-do

But too often stepped upon her partner’s toes.

Oh dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina;

Yes, dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina.

She then tried to walk so poised, serene and

As proper as a princess or a queen.

But her formal frock was much too long

And she tripped breaking her high-heeled thongs.

Not one to give up her lofty dream too soon so instead

She quietly held up high her swelled and freckled head.

Cindy Cinders dated a young, dashing and heroic prince

Who of her fine, dainty, gracefulness just wasn’t convinced.

Oh dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina;

Yes dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina.

Finally with sadness Cindy Cinders came to understand

That she could never be truly graceful or so grand

It was time she knew to alter her dream

To something she could triumphantly achieve

Deflated, tearful, and stuck in a saddened slump

Cindy Cinders sat and thought upon her favorite stump

“What good and fine thing can I possibly do

And still to myself remain ever faithfully true?”

Oh dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina;

Yes dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina.

Cindy Cinders walked and gazed in quiet serenity

Deep inside the lush forest and along the tranquil sea

She strolled across the meadows and the vast prairieland

Staring at the snowcapped mountains, majestic and grand

Then that night when the glittering stars shone so bright

Cindy Cinders arose in her bed and felt compelled to write

She couldn’t wait till morning light but had to start

Recording all the secret words buried inside her heart

Oh dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina;

Yes dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina.

Then a full week and several rainy days later

The visiting king happened to read her scribbled papers.

He was amazed and astonished to read and see

Cindy Cinders convey such loveliness and beauty

“Oh Cindy Cinders” replied the elated king,

“Your verses are delightful and so charming

Would you consider reciting your enchanting poems

For all the households of my kingdom?”

Oh dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina;

Yes dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina.

Cindy Cinders was startled and pleasantly surprised

As new tears welled and stung her pale blue eyes,

“Yes, Your Highness, I will gladly recite for the kingdom

And perhaps my verses will encourage everyone.”

So Cindy Cinders discovered inside herself a new dream

That she could truthfully and triumphantly achieve

She was crowned the Royal Princess Poet for the kingdom

Where all were enchanted by her wonderfully rhyming poems

Oh dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina;

Yes dear Cindy Cinders Cinderina.

Poetry 201 Potluck Assignment

 

183

I was given an optional assignment to share with the class a favorite poem which I did not write. Here is a poem that I have always loved from the first time I read it. Ever since then this vision of a lone bird traveling into the sunset on a solitary journey has remained forever etched in my mind. After re-reading and reconsidering this poem, I am realizing that the waterfowl’s solitary journey seems to resemble my own life path as I have been often alone to think, contemplate things, and then write about it. The writing journey is truly a personal and solitary path. And I am certainly sensing that God is indeed directing my course in life.

To a Waterfowl

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

(1794-1878)

          Whither, ‘midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,

Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

          Thy solitary way?

          Vainly the fowler’s eye

Might mark thy distant flight, to do thee wrong,

As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,

          Thy figure floats along.

          Seek’st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink

          On the chaféd ocean side?

          There is a Power, whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,—

The desert and illimitable air

          Lone wandering, but not lost.

          All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;

Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

          Though the dark night is near.

          And soon that toil shall end,

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,

And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,

          Soon, o’er thy sheltered nest.

          Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven

Hath swallowed up thy form, yet, on my heart

Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,

          And shall not soon depart.

          He, who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,

In the long way that I must trace alone,

          Will lead my steps aright.

Poetry 201 Assignment 5: Fog, Elegy, and Metaphors

 

023

In this latest poetry assignment, we were asked write about fog in an elegy which is often about an irreversible loss; like something you can never get back. And we’re to include metaphors in our writing. In contemplating this, I felt compelled to write about one of my deepest losses which often feels like a fresh wound that never heals. Just reliving this in my mind brought new and uncontrollable tears but I I felt some relief in writing about it and in that I am finally sharing this story. I have no doubt that it is God who comforts and gently helps me to remember even the most secret memories that are buried the deepest inside of me. I do have the comfort of knowing that she is safe and happy with Jesus in heaven. 

Trying to Remember

Has it really been almost five years?

Sometimes it seems longer

And yet in my moments of anguished tears

It seems yesterday, I did hear her

These past recent years have been so

Painfully empty and void

Of her sweet presence, her cheerful face

And her laughing voice.

Oh what did she last say? I sadly forgot

I am searching through the fog

Of my many memories of my childhood home

Where I was never all alone.

My blurred memories are like the many rooms

Of our two-story, century old house

Where in the years of clutter, a recollection is hidden

 like a treasure of precious gems.

She was always there spreading her love so

that there was nothing to be afraid of.

Like the scent of the freshest flowers, our house permeated

of her nurturing spirit and her gentle, soft voice.

Oh how I yearn to remember her comforting words,

Can’t I have that that wish, that one choice?

How I dream to hear her laughter and see her smiling

Once again. Oh, just one more time.

The foggy haze is still sticking and lingering in me

Not letting me remember or to see

And it won’t let me grasp what I long to know;

The last words she said on the phone.

Oh I do remember, soon Easter was coming

And I told her on the phone,

“In a few days I will see you, Mom.

In a few days I will come home.”

As we gaily chatted away, I continued,

“Mom, we’ll have a splendid Easter.

Work has granted me extra time off so

We’ll have four days together.”

But before Easter came and before

I could journey home

My mother suddenly passed away

In that big old house all alone.

She was so happy to talk to me on the phone

And joyful that I was coming to see her

Now the fog like a weakened storm has cleared

And in my mind her voice I could hear.

With an aching heart I remember my mother’s joyous tone,

 “I love you and I will see you soon.”