Draft 2, week11

Mike Tyson and the Boy

Gap in teeth like brains

Before input.

Output: blood and salt,

Stitches and bruises.

Input: Bashing skulls and scuttle thrashings,

engaged, butted, skin rupture

and tearing from beady eyes and

vanquished heart, ripe for love

like a lobe for a pearl.

Who wouldn't scream with an eagle's urgency?

Beak vice-gripping, carnivorous, thirsty.

Reunited? Unrequited.

The piece lies gnarled and hard

as a sports novelty

in a trophy case

in Montgomery Inn

in Cincinnnati, Ohio.

Strangely humorous among so many gloves, ball, bats, jerseys,

never to mesh with said head again.

Not far from this showcase was a budding swimmer

fluttering up, down, up, down, a butterfly

with chlorinated eyes,

then BAM! Like Lloyd Christmas on vacation

from ever looking the same.

One, two, three counts and it's out.

A shard of loose tooth like a candy chunk,

instructor surveying,

goggles unflinching.

How did he find it?

Bobbing for apples

in a sea of chemical imbalances.

Flippers united,

in an unflappable urgency

to reunite halves of a biter in a mouth

so wanting.

Doctor jaws suggests a calcium cradle

while the boy waits to see

how many years it will take

to live his smile down.

An anticipated appointment replenishes

his shiny whites like glaciers newly bonded.

Draft 1, week 10

Stuck on Candyball Island

There's a tenderness in every stump,
an omnipotence of rainforest proportions,
a sweetness on the tongue of a thousand heaving
breasts.

The vaporous granite rolls like high-tide.
it wants to let you in but
Rejects All Penetration.

Rushing with fortitude,
a narcoleptic precariousness
shaves away all bright matter.
No orange, no rabbit-fucking red.

Calisthenics, week 9

From last week's "Pass the books" exercise:

Earth of Woman

One night she burnt her leg on the exhaust
of a mountain
of impatience.

Today the scab funnels coolness into our cheeks,
shifting like thoughts
that can't find a way
to be said.

Things crumbled. Naturally.

But what if the soft eyes opened?
If they, too, lived in a wood
where she ruled
violent and angry.

"Pick that shit up," she might say.
"Go on, Crackhead."
She might forget her mother tongue
quickly,
like the sweat of Vietnam,
constant as hunger,
while we mate improbably as you do.

"I eat, I shit, just like you," she might say.
"The tomatoes will smell like rat if you don't eat them soon."

I never fail to be amazed by her earthiness
though I am truly a godfather to the giant
red bushes which will descend in a thundering
halo of darkness and purification.

God says remember, god says don't give up,
God says
give up.

Imitation Post, week 9

Ilya Kaminsky's "Paul Celan"
He writes towards your mouth
with his fingers.

In the lamplight he sees mud, wind bitten trees,
he sees grass still surviving this hour, page

stern as a burnt field:
Light was. Salvation

he whispers. The words leave the taste of soil
on his lips.

Darren Delfosse's "Morning Buds"

She paints down your nose
with her breasts.

In the morning fog she envisions earth's crust,
fried eggs, she smiles at honeydews floating in seascapes, bed

hard as a stern lecture:
Sex was. Seduction

she breathes. The language moistens the lipstick,
pouty and sublime.

Sign Inventory, week 9

for "Mock Orange" by Louise Glück

•   The piece ends with two questions in the final stanza.
• The third stanza is enclosed by dashes and is the only stanza that does not contain a complete sentence.
• There is a sexual “union” in the third stanza and a “fusion” of “question” and “answer” in stanza four.
• No one is named in the text. The only characters are “I,” “you,” and “the man.”
• “Hate” is repeated three times in the beginning of stanza two.
• The first line seems to be insisting on the cause of trouble: “It is not the moon, I tell you.”
• The first stanza repeats “It is” and the last stanza repeats “How can I.”
• “The scent of mock orange” is the only smell in the work and also contains its title.
• The sound “mounts” and divides. This parallels the “paralyzing body” and the “cry that escapes.”
• The piece is largely personal and local, but ends with “world.”

Free write, week 9

Put it on ice and have another shrimp on the barbie says the gap-toothed youngster. Always yapping,
saying something that someone else just said.
Speak easy. No. Just speak
Stupid.
I'm tired I'm tried I'm tired I'm-

No we can't do it.
I don't learn that way.
I need my crutch my band-aid my mother.
I'm softer than my dad and he's softer than his.

How did we get to be so dumb?
When did we give up?
Why are we allowed to?

Hold on--we must take the necessary precautions to condition ourselves to be suitably able to address any such situation that may arise as such per district mandatory orders on a strict delivery for immediate action upon command or punitive actions can and will be taken if compliance is not provided with a smile.

It's too hard.
I don't get it.
Get what?
All of it.
What part?
All parts.
Really?
Yes.
How can I help you?
This is stupid.

Pedagogy Forum, week 9

In response to Dr. Davidson's question about what type of poet we are, compact or long-winded, I have analyzed my tendencies. I find that I usually write shorter poems in my initial drafts. However, as I edit my work, I tend to write a bit more. It seems that when I take a second look, there's more that I need to explore. My goal is to try and write a few longer pieces on my first try. I find that I tend to cut myself off if something doesn't sound quite right, and feel that this constriction may be limiting my creative faculties. Therefore, in my free write this week I'm going to let the faucet flow...

Response to C. Yarbrough's Pedagogy forum week 9, week 9

I agree 100% that not all students are college material. We need to adopt a European model for schooling. Or at least a program that takes lessons from the ever-increasing number of countries that are doing a better job than us. Why isn't this happening? Why isn't it obvious? Most of the countries that have higher test scores offer a vocational path for those students who are not "college material." If we instituted a consistent, national vocational program, we would have for more students graduating with an education that really matters to them. We would also increase our skilled labor work force, which is on the decline. Furthermore, many of these students would be making more money than if they went to a four-year college and would boost the economy with the added revenue. I struggle to find a downside here.

Junkyard quote, week 9

"What are panhandlers gonna do when we go to a paperless money system?" -Chris Yarbrough

Junkyard quotes 1-3, week 9

"I had my tooth knocked out by a dildo-bazooka." -Johnny Knoxville on Late Night


"Always forgive your enemies - nothing annoys them so much." -Oscar Wilde

"Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time." -Steven Wright

Free write, week 8

Here is my experimentation with exercise 4: "Lexical accretion (or the piling up of similar words)" in Writing Poetry, p. 208. I borrowed the title of Mike Doughty's song "Busting Up a Starbucks."

Busting up a Starbucks with a white-frothed shovel
I up-end an Espresso-shotted double.
Busting up a Starbucks into a million tiny little
pieces, coffee grinds spilling, spackiling wall like
feces. Busting up a Starbucks, all the Mexican
Java Joe. Entrails of bitter sugar-seeking begonias
as heat-seeking missiles splash out aromas.
Busting up a Starbucks with cash in clip. Tall, grande,
ala mode, searing hard-cracked hands with sweet finger jars of
tips.

Sign Inventory Post, week 8

In reference to Robert Creeley's "I Know a Man," Contemporary American Poetry, p. 218

• The word "said" is abbreviated "sd" once in each stanza, except the third. It is also the only word abbreviated in the work, besides "yr" for "your."
• "I" is repeated three times in stanza 1 and nowhere else in the piece. "I" is also used in reference to the dominance of conversation in stanza 1: "because I am/always talking,"
• "John" is the only name referenced in the poem. "John" is also "not his [John's] name."
• "John" and "I" are the only capitalizations besides the first letter of the first word. The word "christ" is not capitalized.
• The work moves from points of view: from "I' in stanza 1, to "his" in stanza 2, to "we" in stanza 3, to "he" and "yr" in stanza 4. Oddly,the piece ends with the only 2nd-person perspective throughout. It is the only time the other passenger speaks.
• The whole piece is one, run-on sentence.
• The Lord's name is used twice, once in each of the last two stanzas, in reference to a "big car" and his "sake." Both are used in vain, neither is capitalized, and both are in answer to to a question of "darkness" that "surrounds."
• The characters in the work are entirely anonymous aside from Christ, who is only referred to in abstraction.
• The word "surrounds" is enjambed at the syllable break and is the only hyphenated word.
• The solution to the problem of the "darkness" is purchasing a "goddamn big car." Similarly, "drive" is the offered solution to the first speaker's dilemma.

Improvisation, week 8

"Drops in the Bucket" by Kay Ryan, Contemporary American Poetry, p. 533:

At first
each drop
makes its
own pock
against the tin.
In time
there is a
thin lacquer
which is
layered and
relayered
till there's
a quantity
of water
with its
own skin
and sense
of purpose,
shocked at
each new violation
of its surface.

"Insult" by Darren Delfosse

In the beginning
each harsh
word creates
a small
indentation.
After a while
there is pooled
medley of
verbal lacerations,
like paper clip cuts
in a desk,
till there's a rash
formation layered
upon the skin
with a wickedness
all its own.
And it seeps,
and seeps,
until the skin
forgets who it was
and becomes
its own mutated
insult.

Calisthenics, week 8

Here's the product of playing with the idea of my death, courtesy of "Imagining the unimaginable," ex. 2, p. 203, Writing Poetry:

It will be simple.
In an armchair in a living room.
People will gasp.
Maybe even scream.
But they all will have seen it coming.

There's an old clock ticking and the television is on.
Somebody's in the kitchen
cooking. Probably the wife,
maybe my sister,
amidst conversation on politicians and how much
they suck.

I will maintain a wry smile and bear a button-up collared shirt,
non-distinct in color, probably plaid.
A Christmas tree will adorn the room,
lights flashing--on, off, on, off...

And a baby will laugh at a colorful toy,
while batting at it
in her playpen.

Junkyard quote 4, week 8

"Arentisnobie & Ritch" -from a t-shirt

Response to week 8: Rachel D. Jones' Pedagogy Forum, week 8

I'm glad to see that colleagues are having success at with poetry activities in the classroom. It's interesting how sometimes the ideas you develop on-the-fly become the most engaging for students. The art of poetry lends itself to creativity and it only makes sense that when you are creative in developing an activity, the students can sense it. A lack of thinking through every aspect of an activity causes the teacher to know less about what to expect, and often what happens is a pleasant surprise. I believe that the open-ended nature of your questions made the activity more fun. I think students naturally like poetry; it's when we bog it down with too many terms and technicalities, that we end up with disenchanted students.

Pedagogy Forum, week 8

After attending the Billy Collins reading, I was struck with his originality, and fresh, witty commentary. His ability to read with intention was also impressive. His voice was generally flat, but with the slightest inflection, he made his musings more interesting. It was clear that he's been doing readings for a while.

I was also struck by the various reactions to his performance. Most students were impressed, while some considered him too "safe." While it may be true that Collins doesn't tackle very controversial topics, he is undoubtedly a rare talent. And while popularity doesn't necessarily equal quality (see Justin Bieber or Katy Perry), Collins satisfies the harshest critics and poetic ignoramuses alike. He is great for the art because he exemplifies how influential it can be. Even if budding poets realize that they most likely can't make a living writing poetry, the potential for touching others is definitely inspiring.

Junkyard quotes 1-3, week 8

“Made in China but made by Korean people.” -from a sign in a picture I saw on the web

"A poem is a naked person... Some people say that I am a poet." -Bob Dylan


"Courage is a kind of salvation." -Plato

Pedagogy forum, week 7

I tried the calisthenics exercise I borrowed from Writing Poetry on “writing the absurd” on my class this past week. It was engaging because 6,7,8^th graders can especially relate to the comedy in making outlandish connections. I received many depictions of people eating strange things, inanimate objects doing strange things, and animals going crazy. Younger people are ideal for fostering ideas. Using them as a springboard, I came up with my own animal piece.

Not only were my students excited about participating in this strange writing exercise, it carried into the next lesson. I found that by referencing the fun we had being strange, I got more interest in the structure of grammatical teaching.

Free write, week 7

At the Parks

Sniffing like Padres

a locomotive transplant

ducks undercover in streets of mayhem.

Whoever was a miscreant down under

saw the canopies of forever come down.

Who art thou that crept from a four leaf clover

when the dawn of sibilance

holds a cacophony over water?

I shalt not know the Clydesdale

that ushers a whinny

afore stomping the ashes of her

mangled brethren.

Who caught it before its last utter?

Better left unsaid

Said somebody blowing glass profusely.

The song sharpens the gloss of my lipstick

when random thoughts calculate

the misfortunes

of a tirade of little butterfingers.

Calisthenics, week 7

Here is a shot at exercise 8 “Suspensions and reverberations” from Writing Poetry, p. 215.

Caught

Stretched like putty, putty outstretched

snaps back to what you did you said you wouldn’t do

It’s like something you catched.

Again and again, a gain has yet been made

It’s what you said you said you wouldn’t do that’s what you said.

Out with a buddy, stretched like silly putty

Now you wind up hungover and sludged in your bed.

Sign Inventory, week 7

"The Asians Dying," W.S. Merwin, Contemporary American Poetry, p. 259

• There is no punctuation in the work.
• Negative language is consistent throughout. Examples: "destroyed," "darkness," "Nothing," "Nor," "dead," "pointless," "disappear," "pain," "Death," "no."
• "Forever" and "Nothing" are juxtaposed as the only word in line 3 and the first word of line 4.
• "The possessors" are specifically addressed in the first and last stanzas and are described as being followed by ash "Forever" and being "everywhere."
• "Death" is the only capitalized word within a line.
• "Forever" and "Remains" are the only two one-word lines.
• Nature scenes are created in each stanza and related to death in some way: Stanza 1- forests destroyed; stanza 2- rain in the eyes of "the dead;" stanza 3- "nights disappear;" stanza 4- "possessors[...]under Death" are like "smoke," "thin flames."
• The last words of the final two lines are "past" and "future," each of which ends in a kind of nothingness.
• There are two failed attempts at making sound: 1. Rain- "pointless sound;" 2. "paper bells/ Calling to nothing living."
• Oxymorons of light and darkness are repeated throughout: "ghosts [...] make a new twilight," "Death their star," "thin flames with no light." 

Imitation Post, week 7

"Because You Asked About the Line Between Prose and Poetry," Howard Nemerov, Contemporary American Poetry, p. 122

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

"Transfiguration," Darren Delfosse

Droplets were disseminating in a frenzied sheet
That while you yearned turned into nails of divinity
Trending a barely perceptible nuance
From pure aqua to nine, inched, and menacing.

There was a time when you really couldn't see
How they froze from something pure to something ugly.

Response to JPhillips wk 7, Pedagogy Forum, week 7

Generally speaking, I agree that writing should be fun and that if you drone on, you're only hurting yourself. I was a a little confused, however, when you said that you "make the mistake" of grading the "quality" and "flavor of the language." Why is that a mistake? It seems that you value the quality over anything else. It's hard to grade merely on "flavor," however. Many students may have a flair for interesting language, but are lacking when it comes to conventions or organization. In fact, this seems more common with more creative writers. Oftentimes, creativity gets in the way of convention, just as rules get in the way of ingenuity. I am still learning how to enjoy the art of ALL writing. You reminded me just how easy it is to forget.

Junkyard quotes (1-4), week 7

"Our Sundays are better than Dairy Queen's!" -Methodist church sign in Athens, GA.
"You shut your mouth when you're talking to me!" -friend quoting a movie (I think).
"I got the truck out, but it was a butt-puckering ride." -friend telling story about driving truck down slope not intended for trucks without 4-wheel drive.
"I don't believe in God."/"It doesn't matter. He believes in you." -Edmond/Priest exchange in The Count of Monte Cristo.