I've combined two recent prompts into one long-lined poem.
Prompt #3: Consider three pieces of your life . . . You could even go crazy and mix it all up, picking one piece from different “categories.” Write a single poem about all three. Try to work from concrete pieces . . .
Prompt #4: Look for the patterns in your writing, and write a poem that breaks them. If you favor short lines, write all the way to the margin . . . use the writing prompt over to the right, the one that’s there right now and use it in the first line . . .
The random writing prompt I got was It is what it is, which ended up in the last, rather than the first, line. I've been writing in short lines, so I tried for long ones -- and then realized that Watermark is really not designed for posting long lines. Which may be why I've been writing short ones -- I'll have to think about that.
So I made the poem into an image; click it to bring up a larger version:
Below the cut: the poem in text, with broken lines...
I send you these three things: a sparrow, an autumn leaf, a squirrel. You send the squirrel back.
I send you a chickadee. You tell me: We could hurt a lot of people, if we gave ourselves license.
You send me license. I send it back, with regret. You return the regret; you refuse it. I tell you:
We have rain here. It is dreary. The garden is gloomy. Even this room, with its tokens and paintings,
with its candles, its chandeliers and Buddhas from elsewhere, even this room, is dim. The cats,
the dogs, the books in their paper bindings -- we all sleep. The prayer rugs, spread out on the floor,
are dusty and thin. You tell me I walk a dangerous line. I ask if you ever believed? You refuse
to discuss it. You hold a dying man in your arms. I hold a dying man in my arms. They waste away
in our arms. I send you a poem, a wide summer sky, a hope for the future. You keep the poem.
You send me your children, but they slip away. One is drowning now, caught in the undercurrent.
I send you a book of autographs, of photographs, of words. You send me silence. I send you a thorn,
pulled from my side. I send you cinnamon, cardamon, and salt. I send you bitter lemons. The glaciers
are melting, the plains are parched. But still each day I put out seed for the birds. I save the bits
of stale bread. I wait, I watch, for something. I ask you: What is this? You tell me: It is what it is.
that was truly amazing... it read like a classic... i couldn't get my mind totally around it,, but then,, that would be me... once again... bravo!!!
Posted by: paisley | 07 December 2007 at 02:28 PM
I liked this. (I may have to steal your idea of posting an image if I take challenge #4.) But your basic rhythm and approach to language haven't changed much. It's still recognizably an SB poem.
Posted by: Dave | 07 December 2007 at 05:18 PM
Wow! This blew ME away! Just enough narrative to empower the images... clean enough but evocative enough images to impell the narrative to the end.
Prairie Mary
Posted by: Mary Scriver | 07 December 2007 at 09:09 PM
paisley & Mary: Thank you.
Dave: You sent me back to look at it again. Despite the long lines, I've used quite a lot of short sentences and clauses, haven't I? I wonder -- does this do the same thing as line breaks?
I've always thought line breaks were so critical...
This exercise was very useful; I plan to repeat it, and look forward to your experiment, too. If you think of a better solution than the image, let me know.
Posted by: SB | 08 December 2007 at 10:51 AM
This was very powerful, very well done indeed, one of the best things I've read in ages. I must go read it again.
Posted by: Jo | 10 December 2007 at 05:58 AM
I have the same impression Paisley did - a nonverbal kind of wow! Really awesome.
Posted by: Christine | 10 December 2007 at 07:25 AM
This is beautiful, there's something mysterious about it and I love the movement in it
Posted by: Crafty Green Poet | 11 December 2007 at 09:49 AM
I love all the specifics in here. My mouth just wants to say them over and over. This reminds me of the poetic prose in A Thousand Splendid Suns. Each imgage is so delicious!.
Posted by: Linda Jacobs | 11 December 2007 at 11:34 AM
I can read this over and over and find new meanings. It feels as powerful as an acient parable.
Posted by: ...deb | 11 December 2007 at 08:20 PM
This was an excellent exercise. I love the refrain of "I send you," the alternation of long and short lines, and the surreal twists and turns this poem took. Nice job!
Posted by: Jessica | 12 December 2007 at 06:14 AM
It is what it is - nicely written!
Posted by: SweetTalkingGuy | 12 December 2007 at 10:48 AM
Yo, Jessica -- this poem doesn't have any short lines -- you must be looking at the text version, which breaks the lines because of the narrow column width; the real thing is in the image, long-lined couplets.
But you *like* the broken lines -- so I'll look at it again...
Posted by: SB | 12 December 2007 at 11:41 AM
This has a wonderfully incantatory feel to it, Sharon. The long lines support the repetitive cadences & the whole piece works most effectively read out loud. Striking & original.
Posted by: Dick | 12 December 2007 at 12:23 PM
Oh HOW I LOVE this poem....
I had the same problems with my line breaks..I can not fathom how you inserteted the text..but I admire it!
This poem just sang to me.
And we both used squirrels..and exotic ingredients..
i love kismet..a meeting of minds..
Posted by: wendy | 12 December 2007 at 12:24 PM
Really great take on both prompts! I had never even considered the effect of the medium on the format (and, for the record, I think it works better with the long lines.)
Posted by: tom | 12 December 2007 at 08:44 PM