Good, Bad, and Editing

I wrote every day
and kept the posts coming.
Some came out quite well,
some felt unbecoming.

Others helped me out,
can't take all the credit.
Now some of these poems
will be seeing edits.


November's last prompt from BlogHer: What did you learn from doing NaBloPoMo?
Some days are better than others for writing.
Sometimes forcing yourself to write can turn out well.
Vacations can make daily posting more difficult.
Vacations can make for great inspiration.
I have got to keep a more regular time for doing my writing.
It's nice to have writing friends.

Never Gets It Right

Serving as we have,

it was never our intention
to run our community.
Students will continue to exist
only if the writers experience hope.
Join us.
Come to the experience in writing.
Learn and develop with the criticism.
Know that we are no journalism department.
For every issue, feedback is provided.
Access and bring forth ideas.
Is it impossible, the reality of focusing on students?
The work is for anyone who
dirtied their hands, found a book,
or shared our community:
this community of students.

Words for this poem were found here:
Meredith College's student-run newspaper, The Herald
Issue 28.5; Date 11.2.11
"The Herald Never Gets It Right: A Letter from the Editors"
Ashleigh Phillips and Emily Gamiel, Editors

Poetry

As you many have noticed, this post is not a poem. Do not be alarmed, you are still at JP's Poetry. As part of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), there are prompts Monday through Friday all month. Today's prompt asked bloggers to discuss their secret (or not so secret) passion.

For a long while, writing poetry was my secret passion. It wasn't a huge secret, but I certainly didn't volunteer to share my poetry with many people. As a kid, I often made up little songs and loved poetry units at school. I wrote some angsty stuff during my teen years, but it wasn't all bad. As college approached, things got busier at school and I didn't do much of anything related to words during my free time. If poetry came up as an option during classwork, I always chose that form of the project. Occasionally I would submit a poem to an online contest and even had half a dozen or so published in anthologies.

College was even busier. I managed to squeeze in some semi-regular journal writing, nearly daily reading of about five pages from a personal novel, and an occasional poem writing session. I wasn't feeling totally uncreative, but there was lots of science and learning happening. Plus, I was meeting new people, helping to run campus organizations, and having all kinds of new experiences.

I graduated in May 2010 and moved in with my boyfriend. Not finding much available in the way of work gave me some free time and a flexible schedule between chores. I wrote more often and read a lot more. I've even started helping to run the alumnae book club, taken up sewing, and learned how to meal plan on a budget. I heard about National Poetry Writing Month a few days before it started, and decided I'd set up a blog to help keep me accountable. I loved it. There weren't tons of visitors, but I was sharing my creativity, meeting other poets, and learning new forms and styles. After April, I wrote regularly for a while and then let life get in the way.

I'm glad to be back for another month of regular writing and posting. Sometimes I think about collecting some of my work and publishing a book. Making a little money from it would be nice, but mostly there's something magical in seeing your work published.

Mind you, poetry isn't my only passion. I love biology, especially aquatic ecology. And I enjoy helping others learn. I even have waves of other creative pursuits: sewing, painting, cooking, and crocheting. Some days are more creative than others, but creativity is an important part of life. Creating something, even if you don't think of it as art, helps replenish the soul.

What about you, do you have a secret passion? Did you or do you keep it to yourself?

Playing With Brevity

My friend Mike put together a nice guest post for me. In it, he challenged me, and any willing reader, to try Hemmingway's six word challenge. I enjoy playing with brevity, so here are a few bits of micropoetry.




6 Words:

Couch cuddling:
a dog's perfect day.


Thermostat settings:
'parka needed'
or 'naked'


Ecology: the scientific circle of life.


Death: the inescapable eventuality of life.


Everything alive
adapts or it dies.


Love lets lovers glide like birds.


Lie down. Now a little pinch...


Five fearless fighters freed fertile fields.



10 Words:

i slipped
i ache
i laugh
really
i am embarrassed


Chop. Fry. Add spice.
Stir. Simmer. Serve.
Eat. Drink. Enjoy.


Meditation:
may I be
happy,
healthy,
peaceful,
safe,
and loved.


If you're intrigued, you can search #sixwords on twitter for lots of people trying it out. Some are quite clever.


Three Word Wednesday CCLV: adapt, glide, lie
ABC Wednesday: Letter F

Six Word Stories: Guest Post by Mike Roselli

About a week ago, I remembered a story I was told in a fiction class I took at NC State. Jessica is a friend of mine, and the topic of this particular fiction seemed like it would interest her, so closely related to poetry in it's creation. I asked if I could guest blog here and share a few writings with her and her readers, so here I am!

Our story begins at the Algonquin in Manhattan, NY. Ernest Hemmingway is having lunch with other writers one afternoon at the famous Round Table. He tells them he can write a short story in just six words. Not just a six-word sentenance, but a story with a beginning, middle, and end. A story with real characters and a plot. A story that can evoke emotion from a reader. The other writers laugh, so Hemmingway tells them to ante up ten bucks a piece; if he's wrong, he'll match their money, but if he's right, the pot is his. He wrote the following six words on a napkin, passed it around, and took home the cash:

• "For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn." - Ernest Hemmingway

Many writer's since then have taken the six-word Hemmingway challenge. Here are a few of my favorites:

• "Gown removed carelessly. Head less so." - Joss Whedon
  
• "It's behind you! Hurry before it" - Rockne S. O'Bannon
  
• "Please, this is everything, I swear." - Orson Scott Card

It's harder than it looks. In many cases, writing a six-word story feels like poetry, which is why I wanted to post it on Jessica's poetry blog. Careful diction, punctuation, word tense, and even upper or lower case letters can all evoke emotion and add subtle hints on characters and plot, while minimizing words at the same time. Often, its the words you do not use that leave the biggest impact.

Here are a few I've played with over the past week. A few were inspired by other works in culture that I am fond of. Some are funny, some are serious, and some are sad. Some don't have a beginning, middle and end, but are entertaining none the less:

• "CONFIRMD: Time Travel cannot fix typos."
  
• "Colleagues discovered deadly neurotoxin. Take credit?"
  
• "Writer for hire: Understands brevity now!"
  
• "I promise, this investment is different."
  
• "Write this down: 'Find new secretary'."
  
• "RUNAWAY DOG: ANSWERS TO "LITTLE SHIT"."

I'd like to challenge Jessica to give it a try and write a few, or to toy with the idea and it's mechanics in her poetry. I'd also like to propose the challenge to her readers. Give it a shot in the comments section!

-Mike Roselli is a graduate of the NC State Civil Engineering department. His writings about engineering can be seen on his blog at mikeroselli.net, though he bums his most creative work on other people's webpages.

Who am I?

I am more than words can describe,

yet I can't find any good words to write.

I love circles, blue, rubber duckies, and friends.

I believe in conservation education.

My poetry expresses my thoughts and wants

but can be fiction, a story I thought up once.

Hopefully I can inspire others

to love and protect the Earth Mother,

to want know more about biology,

and maybe to create their own poetry.

Write what comes out based on the prompt and just post it. 

You can always clean it up later.

Free Write Friday: Do You Know Who You Are

All that I make now is for me.

When you feel like

they all mock you,

say to yourself

that it's for you.

All of your work

is not for them.

Lost in deep thought,

all creative,

is the real you.

Not what they say.

Lost your mind yet?

No, still making

all my art. It

is part of me,

not made for you.

Lost my way once

at your prodding. 

All that I make now is for me.

Today's poem inspired by OK GO's "All Is Not Lost"

"When they say that all is lost,

all is not lost.

No, all is not lost at all."

Check out the way awesome video with Pilobolus here.
Spread Love


**1 Aug: Featured on The Bar None Group Daily online newspaper Poetry section

NaBloPoMo: August 2011

While making my way through my daily poetry reading recently, I noticed that one the bloggers was participating in NaBloPoMo. National Blog Posting Month is sponsored by BlogHer.com, a website which aggregates blogs written by and for women. NaBloPoMo was started in November 2006. Since, it has become so popular that BlogHer hosts a theme for each month of the year. Novembers still receive the most attention and hoopla.

What does this have to do with me and my poetry? I've noticed that I've not been writing or posting as much lately as I'd really like to be doing. I let summer time and vacations get me lazy. Having a goal will help keep me posting and writing daily, so I thought I'd give NaBloPoMo a shot this month. The theme for August is fiction. This doesn't mean all of my poetry has to be fiction, but the prompts provided M-F by BlogHer will be fiction related.

Wish me luck!

Typewriter's Eruption

I pulled the curtains.

When I leaned
over the typewriter,
sparks burnt round holes
in my shirt,
and fire
singed a sleeve.

I dragged the rug away
from the sparks.

In the kitchen
I filled a bucket with water
and returned to the erupting
typewriter.

The typewriter did not seem to be
flying apart,
only erupting.

On my face and hands
I felt the heat
from the caldera.

The yellow fire made
a fast, roaring noise.

The typewriter itself made
rumbling, grinding noise;

the table pitched.

Nothing seemed to require
my bucket of water.

The table surface was ruined,
of course,
but not aflame.

After twenty minutes or so,
the eruption subsided.



Words found here: The Writing Life - Annie Dillard
Prompted by The Found Poetry Review