Answer this list of kooky questions. Going through my many papers, I rediscovered this book, Transforming grief and loss through writing by Susan Zimmerman. In Chapter 11 The Power of Poetry, she explains an exercise by poet Georgia Heard which goes like this:
Do this quickly, capturing the first thoughts you have. Read what you have written. Take your time, close your eyes and visualise the images you have collected. Using these ideas and inspiration, craft a little, or long, poem of your own. Remember, there is no right or wrong, only a string of words that create meaning for you.
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The view from here
Life humming, s t r e t c h e d o u t like a distant drone, monotone constant defining. Sounds like it feels, boxes you in, beyond your control. Reflections s t r e t c h o u t in the dark like dream twitchings, wisps of whispers to visit another day... Or never. Beyond your control, like the missing piece of an almost finished puzzle. By Tina Pech 2020 We have tried our hands at haiku, cento, cinquain and acrostic. Now warm your ink with a Nonet. Follow the guide from http://www.thewritersgreenhouse.co.uk/index.htm
Images speak a thousand words, so they say. A rich history of universal symbols guide us daily, often subconsciously. Time for some intuitive storytelling, what is the message of this card? Don’t guess it, feel it.
Make a list of all the things you did that you wouldn't have done if isolation 2020 never happened.
As we continue our exploration of playful wordsmithing, it's time to discover and dabble in a little poetry. Chinese portrait – if I was…
Cento I am currently enjoying a 3 week free poetry course with www.futurelearn.com and through this discovered a new type of poem called a cento, also known as a collage or patchwork poem. A cento is made with lines from other poems to create a new poem. It is like a form of appropriation and because we are quoting only one line at a time, we are not infringing copyright. There are surely many ways to go about it; however, we will experiment with a short two-line cento.
Cinquain
This is a little poem of five lines (from French, cinq = 5) from what I have discovered there are a few different ways to write a cinquain. The following format focuses on a central theme, matching tenses and point of view and specific numbers of syllables per line as below:
Follow the pattern or instructions to make your own cinquains. Which do you prefer? My breath is challenged by the pace of the world,
as if it's following suite or falling into step beside it... enough to leave me panting, gasping for air. And yet, my breath is nothing like that. It is surprisingly calm, with the occasional deep sigh and accompanying shoulder shrug. There is something grounding and reassuring in this reposed rhythm. It is the only thing I am absolutely sure of... I will continue to breathe. I cannot not breathe. No matter how erratic the world may be, I will continue to breathe.
Sentier n.m
From Latin semitarius * Chemin étroit dans la nature, qui ne laisse passage qu'aux piétons. * Littéraire. Voie que l'on suit pour atteindre un but : Les sentiers de la gloire. Walkabout My boots aren't magic But my feet feel the call of earths energy Everywhere, There are traces of those who have walked before me. Different continents, places, paths, trails, tracks. Everywhere, There is movement. What lies just beneath the surface? Invisible highways, dreaming tracks, Passage for pilgrims The via domitia Wise natives Curious explorers endings and beginnings Thousands of kilometres Stretching over time and space My boots aren't magic my feet simply follow their own gypsy path Finding their mythology Testing their song lines Creating their Personal legend Carving a mud map Over this ancient land. My singing eye
Dances to the din Of dizzy dandelions, Wishes colliding On the tapestry Of life. I am solitude and stillness.
I am half full not half empty. I am bubbles floating in the sunlight. I am the knowing smile in the corner of a mouth. I am not materialistic but I always want more... I am the moving sounds of the buskers violin in the subway. I am the crisp mountain air when you can see your breath. I am the autumn leaves falling from the branches, stained with colour. I am the tear of emotion rolling down a cheek. I am... |
AuthorFor me, it seems there is not much difference between wondering and wandering. It has always helped me find inspiration. Creative dabbling is good for the soul, I couldn't imagine life without it and often surprise myself by what I come up with. Archives
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