Take a Snapshot

poetinahat · Jan 23, 2007

An idea for a poetry exercise, inspired by our Poet Laureate's Q&A:

William Haskins said:
4. Why do you write poetry?

The same reason people take photos on vacation—to keep a record of my travels.

5. How does writing poetry relate with your other writing?

I think it helps most with economy and compression of language. It helps me write more sharply, more succinctly, more visually.

The exercise: Take a poetic snapshot of where you are right now: what you see, feel, think about, anything. Make it quick and visual. Not perfect - just go.

I'll go first:

========================

Alone, writing
in a dark house
the air made sweaty
with summer-rain

crispy lids ring weary eyes
but I claw at the keyboard
half-undressed for bed

yet scrabbling letters
in a last chance to leave
some note on today
or tonight

the last click and clatter
then carriage return
and I let go the tail

the now-done day
slips, a grey fish
into black water

KTC · Jan 23, 2007

Branches, black,
rise like praying hands,
cracked and hopeful,
to a greying sky.
Winter's blanket--
a cocoon to hide
the blushing earth tones
of a dying lawn.
A pink ripening
on a dreary horizon,
the only glimmer of promised hope.

Pat~ · Jan 23, 2007

A Morning Moment

Alone, in a quiet office,
Wrapped in chenielle,
Curled up against comforting arm
of sage suede divan,
Laptop warming my lap

Thoughts in the stillness
Course down to fingertips,
Dance across blue screen

The hum of plumbing as
household awakes

a red streak in the doorway
"did you turn off my alarm?!!"
sigh,
a shattered peace

Ganesha · Jan 23, 2007

sweating
stolen moments
neck winding up
muscles tightened

money measured time
gotta go
get out
punch the clock

being late
on time

Stew21 · Jan 23, 2007

the trill
a beckoning
be what I need you to be
a calendar
and no time
chameleoning
each moment
blue for you
then green
shall i be your mother
your hero
your maiden in distress
the one who cracks the whip
or takes the lashes?

the trill - ignored
another sip of coffee.
Let them leave a message.

skelly · Jan 23, 2007

birds feed
on boards set out
sunlight on snow
blinds
typewriter taps
chair squeaks
birds twitter
ice-cold water drips from the eaves.

A. Hamilton · Jan 23, 2007

Dogbite

blood oozes from torn tissue
swollen with puss and anger
stench of fear defecated on the carpet
repels the senses
trembling dog slinks, retreats under the bed
running water muffles expletives spit onto the mirror
cold relief numbs the flair
of aggravation and pain

Rivana · Jan 23, 2007

Empty, but
for the ghosts
that came to visit me.
Last morning I was peace,
now it is tumultuous harmony.
From hours to minutes;
a life can change.
From whispers of philosophy,
to shouts
in misunderstanding, over demanding,
uncomprehending.
But,
it is quiet here.
Now, peace...
reclaims the night
and I
reclaim
my heart.

Ganesha · Jan 23, 2007

home, home at last
I tip the blood of christ
I break the host
I am laid bare
life moves slowly
relax
inhale
storms coming
so much furry
I sneeze
lay down, flesh
horizontal I can
feel the tips of my toes
remember to feel the hands
those workers, so much labor
I struggle with my life
my life
I struggle
life
struggle
I
shrug

Ganesha · Jan 23, 2007

stanzas
stacked so neatly
comas curling sweetly
bloody periods are gone missing
got dash?

poetinahat · Jan 23, 2007

step outside.
now, man!
what, you scared?
figures. can't take it.
can you?
jerk.
loser.
idiot.
shut up. you're wrong.
WRONG.

and don't ever
take it outside
again.

Rivana · Jan 24, 2007

Images without sound
play on the TV,
for some quiet company
and peace to mind.
Ice glitters
on old windows
and outside
there is snow and sun.
Cats of light
make it look late
as I gaze on a bookshelf
of memories.
Today, there is much
that needs to get done.
Tomorrow? There's even more.
There's a feeling of being
suspended in animation,
dancing on an edge,
borrowing time
and luck.
It's quite like the economy -
as long as you pretend,
things will have a good end.
Waiting for one thing,
while being cornered
by yet other events.
Like playing catch
with too many balls.
A bit of juggling,
a bit, of 'devil may care'.
Now, that's fair,
that's everywhere, and
all things haven.
Dissonance turned
to harmony.
Well done,
my prodigy.

moneyonthepage · Jan 24, 2007

White noise whirling
very little chatter
clinking of fabric and plastic,
workers have arrived
air growing still,
moments lie in wait
notification of mail, another’s distaste

Ganesha · Jan 24, 2007

his boot is on my neck
"My feeling is that you are exaggerating."
my lips imprinted with your tread
I mutter, "That's not a feeling."
"Yes it is..I feel you are..blah blah blah..."
"Anger, fear, frustration are feelings..."
His foot quivers with furry
"I am angry, now that's a feeling!" I said.
my left ear has turned red
He repeated his statement
his whole face is double and swelling
I need to run away
we exit the room and get another man to help
the facilitator says I'm being aggressive
well didn't I say I was angry,
I'm not trying to hide my emotions
or am I really feeling, these two men are obtuse?

Stew21 · Jan 24, 2007

Swallowing the bile
of the words
I can't say.
Taste of vinegar
and acid sizzles
on my tongue
while furious fingers
type out sweetness
the honey
I spoon feed you
instead of the venom
I long to spit.

Kate Thornton · Jan 24, 2007

This grey cubicle
Should be lonely and noisy
but lunchtime is still

I'm not alone though
I have my computer up
and you are all here!

kdnxdr · Jan 24, 2007

strained sinew
squeezes last drops
of energy into
an electronic mimicry
of what transpires
inside my head
tonight it's "white noise"
no picture
with unidentifiable sound

Ganesha · Jan 25, 2007

eidetic brainiac walkabout

eidetic brainiac walkabout

edietic-
I can barely
keep this word from slipping
out of my memory;
brainiac-
I can't keep this word out
of my mind
speaking of which
my mind seems to be searching
for something
like it's on an outback walkabout
I am scanning with internal violet lasers
what was that red energy
yes right there?
psychic anger hot spot
a conflict unresolved
it waits, I breath
static auraic furry moving out
I felt righteous
in my little box
furiously molding anger putty
I can't live there
want to move to safer ground
an island of cool breezes
placid turquoise water
dazzling white sand
too hot, cool down
Antarctic
ancient blue ice
emperor penguins flying
through the depths
I lie at the bottom
of the end of the world
under magnetic storms of light
too much
overwhelmed
I am laying
on a bed of wheat
freshly cut
the sweet scent tickles my nose
sneezing, allergic
stop
you brainiac

A. Hamilton · Jan 25, 2007

I just have to stop and interject something here. Ganesha, that was a stunning read. Incredibly beautiful.

Ok, carryon.

Kate Thornton · Jan 25, 2007

Teleconference
What language is it in now?
It's all Greek to me

Maybe the email
Will clarify the memos
that still don't make sense

Engineering change
I never told them I was
qualified for this

Don't look at the clock
as the day goes fast and slow
tomorrow's payday

dclary · Jan 25, 2007

I am in a box.
frying in emitted light.
dying by fluorescence.

I am in a crate.
square and straight
and grey as death.

I am in a hole
filled with paper
and pens
and broken mice with metallic tails.

Ganesha · Jan 25, 2007

he was in the woods
knife and rifle
his companions
report over scanner
someone in the woods with rifle
police dispatched

he was in the woods
moving under ancient pine
light flickering out a code
a rustling sound spun him around

he was in the woods
someone in uniform rushed
toward him
his friend knife cut
rifle dropped onto snow pack

he was in court
forty years in a mental ward
blood was spilled
that day in the woods

he is in a lock down
blood of my blood
child of my ancestral line
grandchild of my favorite Uncle
who I pray to every-night

all was lost with crimson
on snow
his diagnosis -schizophrenia
what did my Uncle's grandson see?

Billytwice · Jan 25, 2007

I sit quietly, alone
Before this modern god
Cyclops, killer of conversation
And thief of my spare time

The copper pipes contract and creak
As the heating times itself off
But it's not the chill night air
Sending shivers up my spine

For I have glimpsed the future;
Where machines are hungry masters
And we will have to feed them
Slitting our bellies - online

Ganesha · Jan 26, 2007

soup going all day in the slow cooker
scent floating into my nose
I suppose, I like this

wine drifting through my veins
my mouth smarting
pain easing off, I like this

paint smudged on clothes
worrying color out from under fingernails
I know I like this

I am at a place in my life
where I need to settle down and behave
shit- I know I don't like this

frigid temperatures freeze
tears on the hungry homeless faces
I know I hate this

pondering the 'why' of our lives
wishing I could be beyond suffering
I know I want this

so far from paradise
liberation of mind or spirit
can I say I hate that?

Kate Thornton · Jan 26, 2007

disinfectant smell
the walls are a pleasant puke
waiting at Kaiser

My doctor smiling
I wish he could speak English
anyway he's nice

What has hapened here?
Why am I growing these things?
Ugly lumps are me

No more bandaid now
snip it off and sew it up
you won't feel a thing

But why was it there?
I know I grew it - so what
where did it come from?

Where is my smooth skin
What happened to my body
once taut now a blob

I go home again
Have some hot tea and lie down
remember my youth

That Grisabella
(I too was beautiful then)
has nothing on me

Take a Snapshot

say it loud

Stand in the Place Where You Live

Luftmensch Emeritus, A.D.D.

con·ver·sa·tion·al·ist

Kickin it old school, posers beware

here for a minute...catch me?

Walks in the shades.

con·ver·sa·tion·al·ist

con·ver·sa·tion·al·ist

say it loud

Walks in the shades.

con·ver·sa·tion·al·ist

Still Happy to be Here. Or Anywhere

One of the most important people in the world

con·ver·sa·tion·al·ist

here for a minute...catch me?

Still Happy to be Here. Or Anywhere

Unabashed Mercenary

con·ver·sa·tion·al·ist

con·ver·sa·tion·al·ist

Still Happy to be Here. Or Anywhere