Creative Wiritng Club: Week Two

Today in CWC, as well as writing up our poems neatly (in felt tip on coloured paper), we also wrote Haikus.

Normal poetry is one thing, but Haikus? This was a challenge. We had three themes - Nature, Summer, and School. They all had to be positive, so no 'School sucks' Haikus. Here are mine:

Nature

Feathery fingers

Quiet whispers in your ear

Invisible friend

 

Summer

A golden flower

honeyed drops of bright pollen

scatter to the earth

 

 

School

Avid learners

wise teachers, sharing knowledge

A place of worship

Although Haikus really aren't my thing, I was pretty chuffed with how these turned out. Though maybe most people wouldn't consider school as a place of worship!

Creative Writing Club: Week One

I recently started going to the Creative Writing Club at the school I work at. I have started writing again but I thought I needed more inspiration if I was going to keep it up. Not to mention, I want to make myself known in the English department. My aspiration is to work my way up from TA to library assistant or similar, hence why I also did Year 9 Books and Beyond, a reading challenge. I also don't want to let my Creative Writing degree go to waste.

I'm not the only TA at CWC but most of the other attendees are Year 9 or below, a big change from University where I felt like a toddler doodling with crayons while everyone wrote masterpieces. This week, as it was so sunny, we went outside to the grass bank to write about summer.

Our task was to split our page into boxes and write about the five senses in an imaginative way.

Here are some of my lines:

Sight
The sun winks off car windscreens, like light off ocean waves.
Students are scattered across the field amongst sprinklings of daises and clovers.

Touch

The warm breeze brushes through my hair like a lovers caress.

Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun, the damp of the waterlogged earth creeps through the fabric of my dress.

Sound
Children's playful cheers are carried across the valley on the wind, so carefree after the captivity of school.

Smell
The air is warm and thick, bristling with ozone, bringing with it the threat of an early storm.
Fresh cut grass infuses the air as hundreds of people decide, as if connected, to mow their scraggly lawns.

Taste
My mouth is parched and the sheer azure of the sky makes me crave the cool splash of water.

After we wrote our lines we went around and shared them, 'magpie-ing' from each other, which meant nabbing the best lines other people wrote. Lots of the students had some really unique lines; I could never have written like that at their age, so I was thoroughly impressed.

We returned to the classroom and used our lines to write a poem. I baulked at the idea as poetry really isn't my thing, but I gave it a go anyway.

From the sea
over the hills
across the moors
it ruffles the emerald leaves of trees
ripples the delicate glass of ponds
helps the young birds take their first flight
With it follows
cut grass
fresh fields
greasy burgers,
the scents of summer come early.
Warm and demanding
it forces them out of
coats
jumpers
and scarves.
It pulls at skirts
tugs at shirts.
Runs its fingers through hair,
gentle as a lover,
as constant as a mother.
The wind brings the change
yet, he himself, is constant.
Never ending,
never leaving.

I didn't think it was too bad. Next time we'll be writing them up neat to put them on display in the corridor. In conclusion, CWC was enjoyable and I'm looking forward to going again!

Poets in the Spotlight - Poetry Competition

I just entered a writing competition for poetry; and I don't even like poetry! But I thought I should probably enter something and this didn't have any entry fees which is always nice. The competition is called Poets in the Spotlight by United Press:

Poets In The Spotlight (Closing Date: 26th April 2013)

There's a £100 prize to the winner of our latest free poetry competition - and you have three chances to win.

As well as choosing one winner we are going to publish the best of the rest in a brand new book.

The title of the competition is Poets In The Spotlight, but your entry doesn't have to be a poem on a fixed subject - you can let your imagination run free!

Your entry must be something you haven't sent to us before.

You can submit up to three poems of no more than 25 lines (including blank lines) and 160 words each.

You can enter online via our online submission form, or by post to:

Poets In The Spotlight, United Press Ltd, Admail 3735, London, EC1B 1JB (Just make sure you include your full name and address on your entry).

I just Googled 'poetry competitions' and that's what came up. There is a chance of being published which is what I'm most interested in. There was another competition from Poetic Republic where after you entered a piece you had to judge the others. It sounded good but I wasn't sure if I'd really have the time to do it, what with my dissertation due soon and all. Now I have to play the waiting game, and hope that I win, or at least get acknowledged.  

Before Christmas I entered a BBC Radio 4 competition and I think the results of that are in March, so fingers crossed! 

Sci-Fi Poetry III

This is the third and final Sci-Fi cut-up poem I have, and I think it is my most descriptive one. Have a read and tell me what you think.

They went in search of the new land

left behind jewelled heights

past empty

streets

houses

cars

They were watched without ever being seen

They would meet with the discovery of a new landscape

A future.

Transparent indigo lakes advance over the beaches,

red pink skyline with a light white sun,

forests unfolding down dark stone mountains,

and birds sang of the hope

of those who came.

Read the other two as well: Sci-Fi Poetry I and Sci-Fi Poetry II

Sci-Fi Poetry II

Another Sci-Fi cut-up poem. Not my favourite but still worth a mention.

UFOs

A zigzag trail across white roads

of an unknown city

a metallic shadow on the street

Cars standing on a pavement

outside of town

as though evacuation.

It came by day

and found the discovery of

blonde,

instructor,

authoritarian,

dictator?

Men. 

Take another look at the first Sci-Fi cut-up poem.

Sci-Fi Poetry I

In Sci-Fi and Fantasy we were given two poems by Jeremy Reed. I really don't like poetry but I thought I'd try it out again. But, instead of writing my own from scratch, I'd borrow some of Reed's lines.

Cut-Ups.

Like I did back in first year for Oversized, and like David Bowie used to do for his songs. I cut up the two poems and then used the lines I liked best and made them into a brand new poem. Actually, I made three. But I'll post them separately. So here is the first one.

Two mannequins

caked in blood

silent

depressed

rusting

scattered over the streets

of the deserted town

Almost expecting a last speech before absolute silence.

The signposted city

No one here.

Poetry of Earth - The Rookery

I have a confession, I only chose my Writing and the Environment module because it didn't have any assessed presentations. It was between this and Writing and the World and well, Writing and World had a presentation as part of its assignments and I found out recently it's a 10 minute long, individual presentation and that would have killed me! Anyway, I didn't expect to enjoy Writing and the Environment because I don't really care for all this global warming business and I'm not exactly a nature freak or outdoorsie person - give me a hotel over camping any day! But I'm actually feeling rather inspired, by the books not the lecturer, he's a bit tedious. 

So, today I have been writing a couple of poems not only inspired by the environment but also Roger Deakin's Wildwood: A Journey Through Trees. I'm not really very good at poems, what I did to create these poems was 'cut ups'. This means getting a text, cutting it all up and rearranging it into something new. David Bowie used to do this all the time, which explains some of his crazy lyrics. I have done this before this time last year for my Creativity module, it is called Oversized. Don't worry, I didn't cut up my whole book, I just underlined, in pencil, my favourite words and phrases, and I have come up with 4 poems, some better than others. Here is one of my favourite ones: 

The Rookery

Thousands of ancient trees,

their dark constellation of nests

Echoing the greater

rude harmony

of sweet thunder,

a crescendo of cawing

Lyrical blackcaps and lesser whitethroats,

the sweetness of robins

are dead, hollow, or rotten

Metallic splendour

Bright blind

Rook-black

Their ribs the leading of stained-glass windows

Tracery of veins in their wings

Hoisted home

as misty sun, rising fast

set the lichened ash trunks on fire

back to their Black Castle.

St Catherine's Hill

For my module Writing and the Environment we went on a field trip to St Catherine's Hill in Winchester to be inspired by nature.To be honest, it was just really cold and really muddy, not the two most inspiring things. But I did come up with this poem based on the wildlife of the hill and it's a little bit surreal.

What I Saw on St Catherine's Hill 

Butterflies of marbled white

rock roses down the chalk hill.

Blue skylarks and the rough hawk's bit 

is to drop worts on the 

autumn lady's tresses

while Argus Brown watches

eyes bright

doing the Devil's bit.

Scabious pyramidal cowslip 

disgusts the Shetland sheep 

greater than knapweed or thyme.

Avoiding chaos in the kidney vetch

a small skipper of a frog hugs an orchid 

the shape of a horse's shoe.

For I Will Consider My Dog J.D.

This is a poem inspired by Christopher Smart's 'For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry'. This was a quick task we had to do in class and I did my own version based on my dog J.D.

 For I Will Consider My Dog J.D.

For I will consider my dog J.D.

For he is the pest that destroys our house

For he can chew anything to pieces in minutes

For nothing is safe from his tiny jaws

For he has eaten the last puzzle piece

For he licked a hole in the expensive cardigan

For he chewed through many electrical cables

For his hunger is never satisfied

For he is small but his appetite huge

For he stands low but his bark is high

For his ears are large yet he never listens

For he is J.D. and that’s just who he is.

The Lady of Shalott

The next couple of posts are going to be a story I wrote nearly two years ago; but it's too long to do as one post so I shall break it up into exciting 'chapters'. This is just a teaser blog though, to get you all excited about the story!

So, this was a task set over the summer between year 12 and year 13. We had to write a short story inspired by the poem 'The Lady of Shalott' by Tennyson. And like normal I was the only one to actually do it. I don't mind though because I really enjoyed writing it. In the end I made it into a book, dedicated it to my father, and gave it to him for his birthday. My story is a modern twist on this classic poem, but sticks very close to the original narrative. I hope you're getting excited for this!

In case you haven't read the poem here it is (it's quite long!) :

The Lady of Shalott

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott. 

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Meat

This is a poem that I had to write in my Creative Voice module. We had to be inspired by some sort of image and these were the things I was inspired by:

Firstly, Francis Bacon's 'Head Surrounded by Sides of Beef'.

Then Lady Gaga's Meat Dress popped into my head.

The 'It's a Band-saw' scene from Sherlock Holmes just finished the idea off!

Seeing these images you'll understand how I came up with this poem.

Meat

The meat that is turning,

grinding and churning.

Hooks that dangle

The meat that will mangle

They hang in the shadow

pig, sheep and fat cow

Juicy and dripping

some parts still weeping.

The cleaving and slicing,

the chopping and dicing.

Guts, heart and liver

Do give a shiver.

The smell of it ripens,

The look of it frightens.

And then, a slice from the saw 

you're living no more.

Learning Japanese

This is a short poem, more a jumble of words really, that was inspired by my sister's Japanese flashcard poster things. While visiting my sister at University, she had many sheets of paper with lots of Japanese characters on them, and underneath their English translation. However, two Japanese characters together may make a new word, and these words she had written on in felt tip. It was those words that make this poem:

Learning Japanese

Film Photo Music

Marriage Schedule

Job Drive Commence

Exam Interview to Pass

Regrettable

Prepare Consult Contract Inform

Special Express

Engine Care Warn

Healthy Fine Famous and Kind

Convenient

Park Number

Practice Study Research and Question

Politics Economy History

Liberty

Femmes Damnées

This is the second part of this week's Poetry task. For this task we had to read 'Femmes Damnées', or 'Damned Women', by Charles Baudelaire. Now, this poem is all in French, and although I did a year of French I have no idea what any of it meant. But for this task that did not matter so much. After reading the poem - and probably pronouncing it all wrong - we had to then write what we thought it said or our own version, keeping with the theme of damned women. I found this a tricky task as I am now used to writing and reading sonnets that I don't know how to write a normal poem with no set rules. So, it oddly rhymes and has a strange rhythm to it, but it will have to do for now; I may come back to it.
Firstly, here's Baudelaire's French version:


Femmes damnées

Comme un bétail pensif sur le sable couchées,
Elles tournent leurs yeux vers l'horizon des mers,
Et leurs pieds se cherchent et leurs mains rapprochées
Ont de douces langueurs et des frissons amers.

Les unes, coeurs épris des longues confidences,
Dans le fond des bosquets où jasent les ruisseaux,
Vont épelant l'amour des craintives enfances
Et creusent le bois vert des jeunes arbrisseaux;

D'autres, comme des soeurs, marchent lentes et graves
À travers les rochers pleins d'apparitions,
Où saint Antoine a vu surgir comme des laves
Les seins nus et pourprés de ses tentations;

II en est, aux lueurs des résines croulantes,
Qui dans le creux muet des vieux antres païens
T'appellent au secours de leurs fièvres hurlantes,
Ô Bacchus, endormeur des remords anciens!

Et d'autres, dont la gorge aime les scapulaires,
Qui, recélant un fouet sous leurs longs vêtements,
Mêlent, dans le bois sombre et les nuits solitaires,
L'écume du plaisir aux larmes des tourments.

Ô vierges, ô démons, ô monstres, ô martyres,
De la réalité grands esprits contempteurs,
Chercheuses d'infini dévotes et satyres,
Tantôt pleines de cris, tantôt pleines de pleurs,

Vous que dans votre enfer mon âme a poursuivies,
Pauvres soeurs, je vous aime autant que je vous plains,
Pour vos mornes douleurs, vos soifs inassouvies,
Et les urnes d'amour dont vos grands coeurs sont pleins
— Charles Baudelaire

And here's my version:

Femmes Damnées

Their pale laps in which they languish,

Their profound and perfumed scent

Is hypnotising and caressing,

These are not innocent.

They are trouble and are tempting,

They feign naivety and simplicity,

The young voyager with not return

Across those horizons and back to home.

Artists, singers and merchants

All will meet the grave,

Those travellers that have ambitions

These temptresses will then stave.

Those who lure men from the loving light

And hand them silent pains,

They must endeavour this ancient remorse

To call out wicked names.

Sculptures that create the perfect beauty

Are neither safe from their wild wrath,

They are prone to fits of jealousy

And decay and destruction follow in their path.

O Virgin, O Demon, O Monster, O Martyr,

Those great spirits of contempt,

These are what they really are

Under their shadowy cloaks of deceit.

To follow their spirit is damning as hell,

Though to blame them would be cruel

They were born depraved and immoral

Just don’t become their willing fool.

 How was it?

Opening the Cage

This week we had two tasks for Poetry, but I shall post them serparately. This first one was to read 'Opening the Cage' by Edwin Morgan, here's what it is:

Opening the Cage: 14 Variations on 14 Words
"I have nothing to say and I am saying it and that is poetry." — John Cage

I have to say poetry and is that nothing and am I saying it
I am and I have poetry to say and is that nothing saying it
I am nothing and I have poetry to say and that is saying it
I that am saying poetry have nothing and it is I and to say
And I say that I am to have poetry and saying it is nothing
I am poetry and nothing and saying it is to say that I have
To have nothing is poetry and I am saying that and I say it
Poetry is saying I have nothing and I am to say that and it
Saying nothing I am poetry and I have to say that and it is
It is and I am and I have poetry saying say that to nothing
It is saying poetry to nothing and I say I have and am that
Poetry is saying I have it and I am nothing and to say that
And that nothing is poetry I am saying and I have to say it
Saying poetry is nothing and to that I say I am and have it

 

So what we had to do was write our own 14 word sentence and replicate this style. Now, our lecturer didn't say what we were about to do so my sentence wasn't that interesting; in fact it was totally mundane! It is a sentence about what I was going to do after my lecture. So here is my version: 

I Will Be Going To Town Later To Buy Some Things That I Need

I will be going to town later to buy some things that I need

Going to town I will be later some things that I need to buy

To town I need to buy some things that I will be going later

Later to town I will be going buy some things that I need to

Some things that I need to town I will be going later to buy

Buy things later that I need to be going to some town I will

Town to be going later I will some need to that I buy things

I need to buy some things that to town I later will be going

Will I be going to some town later to buy things that I need

Some town I will be later need to buy things that I going to

I later will be going to some town to buy things that I need

To buy some things later I need going to town that I will be

Some going to town will later I be need to buy things that I

I will be going to town later to buy some things that I need

What do you think?