03-24-2008, 08:41 PM | #16 |
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04-29-2008, 04:24 PM | #17 |
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Do you remember
when we said goodbye outside behind your house? Afterwards, we spent two hours trying to find these earrings. |
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04-29-2008, 04:34 PM | #18 |
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I somehow had missed this little gem of a thread. I hope you keep it up. I enjoy poetry, especially when there are no rules (does that surprise you?). I write none myself, aside from some occasional fun stuff a la Dr. Seuss.
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04-29-2008, 04:50 PM | #19 |
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The previous does have rules... it's a Japanese form called "Tanka", and outside of all the little technicalities of the form, one central component is the concept of a "turn". The poem should turn, twist, shift, somehow. The turn typically occurs in the fourth line. In this case, the "turn" is from past tense to present tense, which is meant to add an unwritten, implied emotional jolt. (Why did they say goodbye? How'd the earrings get lost? Are they saying goodbye again? Why does "he" have the earrings now?)
Last edited by Taylor514ce; 04-29-2008 at 05:09 PM. |
04-29-2008, 04:55 PM | #20 |
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down from the branches
does it timidly venture snatching the peanut Squirrel haiku, you know. |
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04-29-2008, 05:01 PM | #21 |
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A new genre! Squirrelku. Hmmm...
Code:
grey squirrels' winter dreys punctuate my morning drive |
04-29-2008, 05:49 PM | #22 |
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ah, i thought i was the only one who remembered this thread. nice to see it dusted off.
i quite like your new poem Taylor. elegant but cheeky. VR, you know Doctor Seuss is always welcome anywhere... as for squirrelku, i cannot begin to express my enthusiasm. particularly as "squirrel" is my favorite english word. if you want to know why, write it down on a piece of paper, find a french person (preferably who speaks little to no english), and ask them to pronounce it. this is my favorite game. |
04-29-2008, 05:54 PM | #23 |
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It's actually an old poem, written in 1995. I remember the year because it won an international award in Tanka. Yes, I'm unashamedly bragging. I found it again recently going through some books looking for something else.
The squirrelku, on the other hand, was spur of the moment. Grey squirrels build big nests, and in the winter when the trees have no leaves, they stand out like periods and commas on the "sentence" of a tree line. So who's up next with a squirrelku? Hey, we just mozzled a new noun! Last edited by Taylor514ce; 04-29-2008 at 05:57 PM. |
04-29-2008, 07:51 PM | #24 |
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poems
Hi, here are three from my latest book, On The Road To Dharamsala. Thanks for reading. John
Bach Each morning, in a small courtyard across the alley, a teenager walks slowly back and forth reading a schoolbook or manual, repeating phrases in rhythm with the peaceful movement of her legs through shade; she turns as a line of Bach turns, defining old ground newly, dark hair bumping gently on her cotton shirt. Chandigarh, India Kamal Kamal drunk, declaiming by his brick two-room house, one up, one under for the cows, high over the valley. He drinks his army pension, works the rest of the month with his wife and teenaged sons. “They beat me,” he tells us. “I haven't eaten in 48 hours; I have a very bad wife.” He is stronger than any of them. His wife is loving. Strange. He raves into the night for hours using practiced dramatic gestures, pausing to sing, pacing back and forth. I asked Mickey what the Hindi words meant. “It's all bullshit,” he said. Yes, Kamal is acting badly again— reproachful, indignant, angry to the point of violence, long hands pleading in the moonlight. Kamal Repents at Dawn Cross-legged on his roof, rubbing his face briskly, extending long arms, circling his wrists, Kamal surveys the valley. A devotional chorus issues from a loudspeaker below. At the solo, he begins to sing; his voice reaches and spreads throughout the settlement. Slowly, musically, suffering is forgiven; blame becomes blessing; Kamal repents. McLeod Ganj |
04-29-2008, 08:14 PM | #25 |
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04-29-2008, 10:18 PM | #26 |
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I actually found this link: http://www.scarysquirrel.org/phlinge.../mitchell.html
The whole site should appeal to squirrel enthusiasts. |
04-29-2008, 11:26 PM | #27 |
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A slice of juvenilia:
Of Silver Nations blessed by ages long for love of gold at last have fell. The seeds of self-deceit are sown with ploughs of golden metal cast, And fields of blood and woe are mown with swords forged in a golden blast. Of all who seek to find the grail, there is not one who'll live to tell, From mountains pure of basest lead no precious speck of ore to sell. Yet silver, sonorous and strong, peals long a bell of blameless past, And would that bonds of friendship were with strands of silver strong held fast, For silver as a mirror shin'd will secrets of betrayal tell. So give me not your yellow discs that usury and lies will varnish; Hang not about my neck a chain that yokes me to a dray of fools, For gold is nought but evil magic, caster of deceitful spell. In silver's truth I will be clad and wear with pride it's telltale tarnish. A metal hard and pure I need, not soft, nor fickle, for my tools. And all I ask as my reward: to hear the angels' silver bells. (It's in sonnet form, but with double length lines ) 15j Sorry for the lack squirrel imagery . I do particularly like the earring Tanka |
04-29-2008, 11:55 PM | #28 |
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Interesting rhyme scheme.
We'll overlook the lack of squirrelity ... this time. |
04-30-2008, 12:09 AM | #29 |
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Italian sonnet form:
a-b-b-a a-b-b-a forms the octet with c-d-e c-d-e forming the sestet. The octet describes a problem, and the sestet its resolution... You can't overlook this though 15j |
04-30-2008, 09:29 AM | #30 |
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i suspect i know who's responsable for that... |
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