#11

Dreamless

My hands are shaking.
My eyes are half shut.
Delirium flows through my veins
and sloshes around in my head.

Something is holding me here
in this state of consciousness.
I have knelt at the feet of my
sleepless specter.

I pleaded for some relief.
For she is the one who-
prohibits me to sleep.

She's dressed in white.
Her form is squared.
Every night her head is there beside mine.

And she whispers...
"You mustn't sleep dear one.
There's far too much you have left undone."

So, when I wrote this poem I had gotten the idea from Parks blog page. The idea is that my bed is talking to me. However, I did tend to want it to seem like the subconscious as well. I would really appreciate any feedback given now that I am able to discuss what I was going for. Also, any suggestions for a better title. It was Wishes for Dreams which was horrible, but I really don't like this new one either. I don't know I'm running out of ideas. Thanks!

#10

Where's Middle Ground?

Tonight as I sat down to write yet another poem, I found myself stuck. Stuck in the same place I have been for quite sometime. Right there between not mysterious enough and too abstract. Let me explain. Last semester my work did not contain any elements of surprise. My poetry was too forward and this was very well noted. So I have tried and tried to work on this. But it seems now, that my mysterious is too mysterious. I can't seem to find that middle ground. I have been told that this is what every writer struggles with when first starting out. Finding your middle ground. So if any of you have any suggestions on how to do this please let me know. :)

#9

Learning to Write a Sonnet

The sonnet form is old and full of dust
And yet I want to learn to write one well.
To learn new forms and grow is quite a must,
But I will learn it quickly, I can tell.

So I sit today, with pen in hand,
Composing three new quatrains with a rhyme.
The rhythm flows like wind at my command.
The A-B-A-B form consumes my time.

But I am not done until there's fourteen lines.
One ending couplet, after three quatrains.
I've tried to write this new form several times.
The effort's huge; I have to rack my brain.

But I persist, my fourteen lines now done.
I wrote my poem; my sonnet work is won.

~Denise Rodgers

I found this sonnet while I was researching others. I found a lot of humor in it, as it is exactly how I feel when composing my own work. So I decided to share with all of you. Enjoy!

#8

I really enjoyed reading The Good Thief by Marie Howe. It really showed that an artist can keep their own style in tact, even when they use many different forms. I can respect that and aspire to do that myself by the end of the semester. Right now, I tend to go for really short lines and usually a three or four lined stanza. I find it hard to stay away from rhyme and can only assume that's because my earliest readings of poetry rhymed. So I have it etched in my mind that poetry is supposed to have some element of rhyme. Howe did a nice job of keeping a nice rhythm without using rhyme and when she did use rhyme she did so gracefully. I really admire an artist that can use so many different techniques without losing their particular style.
Just a side note- Did anyone else notice that she used the word muddy in several of her pieces?

#7

The Beast

When I ask her what it sounds like
she says it grunts, drools,

it's hunched over and grinning.
When I ask her who it is, shes says it's her.

When I look her in the eye and ask, is it talking
to me now? Is it the beast talking when you talk?

She thinks for a minute, and says, no, it's curled up.
She's talking, but it's watching her.

Later that night, I make love for hours.
I forget my name, where my arms are, what

my tongue is doing. I think I must have cried out
unimaginable things and I think of my sister

in the next room, laying on her back, blinking in the dark.
The next morning, we make coffee and talk about the beast again.

My sister is rinsing out her cup when she turns
and says, slowly, it's male you know.

She looks surprised.

~Marie Howe

After our discussion in class, I went back through Howe's poems and found that my new favorite is indeed this one. I like the imagery used. You can see the beast hanging over the both of them. I also like the tone of this piece. You can feel the mystery and almost fear that the beast holds over these sisters. Although there were many good poems in The Good Thief, this one stands out the most to me.

#6

Disheartened

In the corner
she sits, her hair
tasseled like a
child's, clouds fall in-
to her eyes, gloom
has found its path
like the posture
of un-watered
flowers, she sits.


I decided to try my hand at syllabic verse. I had fun doing it! Hope you guys enjoy. Any suggestions are welcomed as always. ; )

#5

Disturbed

My eyes are reddened
by blood-vines that threaten
to seize the visions
of my youth.

My limbs are weighted
and much devastated
from the endurance
of the day.

My mind has weakened
it feels misunderstood
and knows it could use
a few dreams.

Lying in my bed
waiting for sleep to come
but a force holds me
here tonight.

There's a voice that
whisper's thoughts into my head.
I fear it's the voice-
of my bed?


Insomniac

I might be.
I lie awake for hours
wishing for dreams,
the peace to come.

But the thoughts I have
run rapidly through
the thoughts I've had.

Silence is my wish
but even when I think
that I have obtained it
my mind says it's so,

the thoughts start over again.
I have come to a conclusion
about my sleepless nights...

It's the mattress
in which I lay
that causes my distress.

Talking to me at night
with its soft whispers.

I went a little crazy with this assignment. I couldn't pick one, so I posted both of them.