Tag Archives: poetry 201

Writing 201 Day 6: Face, Found Poetry, and Chiasmus

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 Hidden Face

In fear of being singled out,

Teased and hurt all over again,

She keeps herself safely hidden.

She felt the need to hide her face

As if in some buried disgrace.

For in memory she is still haunted

With visions of being ridiculed and taunted

During her long ago school days

Where she would fall in a familiar maze

Of classrooms, corridors, and hallways.

She often fretted and wondered

Which unkind classmate was around the next corner?

So, even today she fears that same stabbing rejection

Although longing deeply for one true friend,

She remains ever quiet; hardly speaking.

How she has learned to hide her pain

With her solemn and non-committal facial expression;

In the midst of a crowd, she cleverly blends in.

She walks around town with

Her covered head tilted down,

Never looking up, never seeing

The sweet beauty of day or the warmth of the sun.

She misses the rainbow’s arching arm

In the quiet calm after a thundering storm.

She misses the watchful eagle

Sitting high on its rocky pinnacle

And his sudden majestic dive

As he soars through the sky.

He glides over the crystal blue river

Spying a fish swimming like a quiver.

Fear and lack of self-assurance prevent

 Others from seeing her true consonance;

The unique person she is meant to be and her

True personality ever so carefully

 Buried and shielded, so mysteriously.

But oh how she desires and longs to be

A courageous and different person, so free.

But that old foe, Fear, keeps her hemmed within

A deep darkness but soon a light does penetrate in

As one fine noon day, she decides s to be brave

Determining she had a new path; a new trail to blaze.

For it had occurred to her that she indeed had the ultimate choice;

She could remain always sheltered or make known her own voice.

As finally it dawned as she was quiet and reflective

To start thinking differently; a new perspective.

She realized that in the heart of the matter

It was she who kept herself so silently sheltered;

There was no one else but

Just her own timid self

Allowing her being to be trapped

By old recollections of her past

Which robbed her of joy for today

As deep inside, her spirit withered away.

 So she promised with a hint of trepidation,

But also with a note of celebration,

 “I’ll try, I’ll try today!

 to let my face be seen; not hidden.

Oh yes, my hidden face will be seen today.”

Poetry 201 Day 3: Skin, Prose Poem, and Internal Rhyme

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A Day in the Sun

Skin; that external organ which covers my entire human body; it cleverly contains some small openings so that I can hear, taste, smell, and see. My skin is pale white and even paler under florescent light. How I sometimes do wish, I wasn’t as white as a fish. Certainly more sunshine would be good for me. Stay outdoors a little more during those sunlit hours and soak more of that sunshine into me; and let it cover my head to my feet. On a bright and beautiful day with the sunlight brightening the way, I did try to take some extra time and venture more outside. I wandered along the county road passing houses, a church, and the new high school.  I traveled to a nearby gym, walked on a track, pedaled on an exercise bike, and considered taking a swim.  Then I wandered back outside. Back into the glistening and warm sunlight which has brightened the sea blue sky. Deep inside I rejoiced as I felt gladness at this choice of spending this day outside being exposed to nature and the soothing sunshine.  I traveled along the road again at a leisurely pace and not really wanting my journey to end; there is no need to race. I heard the wind in the swaying trees and my bare skin was tantalized by the softly flowing breeze. In the spring if I am lucky enough, I might pass by a lilac bush, and oh how its aroma gives my senses such a rush. With the soft touch, my exposed skin feels the flower’s velvety coolness. Happily I tarried along the way not wanting to miss the warmth of this day.  For the sun’s reaching, transparent beams have engulfed my arms, my legs, and all of my bare skin from my head to my feet. Feeling satisfied and pleased, I think to myself, “how, I have had some warm sunshine covering me, and soon I’ll have a fine tan: I can’t wait to see.”  But lo, oh no that is not what I see. I looked into the mirror and much to my shock and horror; I am now as red as can be with my sunburned skin peeling most embarrassingly. Oh, woe is me!

Poetry 201 Assignment 10: Future, Sonnet, and Chiasmus

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Finally, I have completed my last assignment in Poetry 201. It has been an interesting and challenging two weeks. My last assignment was to write a sonnet about the future. And in this poem I was to include a chiasmus which pertains to repeating statements forwards and then backwards. Can you find my forward and backward statements?

Looking in Hope for Spring

Oh those prolonged days, ever so cold and blistery,

How long indeed shall they continue to still prevail?

As certainly every night is so utterly freezing and wintry.

I yearn and hope for spring to arrive without fail.

I glance upon my wall calendar to calculate and count

The number of months and weeks of this frigid season;

How many more of these dark days must surely amount

Before the end of snow though lovely it does glisten?

Now to stop and be ever so true and so ever kindly fair,

The loving, faithful Lord has remained always with me.

He’s gently wrapped me in saving grace showing he does care

Whether I am wide awake or sleeping ever so deep, so soundly.

Only God gives lasting hope; hope lasting is given by God only.

Encouragingly, I lift up my head; yea! My head is uplifted encouragingly.

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

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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.

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

 

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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

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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

 

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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

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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.”

Poetry 201 Assignment 4: Animal, Concrete Poetry, and Emjambment

Well, I made a try on this one and am not sure if I did it. I needed to write a poem about an animal and in the form of an animal. I also needed to incorporate a technique known as emjambment to make the poem sort of a mystery to follow. Can you follow my poem? And can you guess what animal my poem is about?

My Midnight Stalker

Deep in the night was a new moon somewhere outside my tiny bedroom.

As I lay trying to sleep I knew that a creeping creature was

Stalking

me.

                   HE

R T

A

I

L

W

AS

TAUNT

AN                                       D T

WITC                                          HING

WITH ANTICIPATION. AS HER BODY

WAS P                                             ERFECTL

Y  STILL          WI        TH             NO HINT O

F ANIMA           MATION.             HER KEEN G

N EYES                 STA                        RED WITH

INTE                                                   NT FOR

ANY SIGN                         OF MOVE

MENT. I SCRATCHED MY HEA

D AS SHE PAUSED ON M

Y BED                        AND THEN

POUNCE