Posts Tagged ‘reading’

Today’s date

attached to four names

I don’t recognize.

And I wonder

about names

attached to headstones,

about futures

attached to children

along with memories.

And these are people

who will only be remembered if

they fall under these circumstances-

if they had children,

if they are a character in someone’s story.

We remember historical figures

and celebrities

because of their national renown,

but who remembers

the little people

with their names printed

small

in newsprint?

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Here’s my problem with people ‘reading’ people: People aren’t concepts. They aren’t finished books- they’re stories that are constantly being edited.

The next time I bring something to a party, I’m gonna’ make sure it’s something people will actually eat! This came about because I went to a little study session after school today, and it was suggested that people bring food. I didn’t bring anything because “bring a dish” events like this take me back to Halloween parties, cast parties, and poetry readings.

First there were the two cast parties I went to last year (being an active participant in my school’s theater program). Both times I brought variations on brownies. And both times people hardly ate any of what I brought. Why? Do I look like a druggy? or that kid who would spike mouth-wateringly delicious chocolate desserts with cannabis? I’m not. Let me assure you.

For the poetry reading I attended (which wasn’t actually limited to just poetry, it was a class of students, including myself, reading examples of their writing) I decided to make EVEN BETTER brownies, which is to say FUNFETTI BROWNIES– where you have the rich, fudgy goodness of brownies lying underneath a layer of soft, sweet and colorful funfetti cake. Thanks to all my friends who ate the funfetti brownies and said they were delicious. Double thanks to those who did so without my pestering them.

But perhaps the MOST insulting thing that happened, is when I prepared a cake especially for a Halloween party I went to earlier this year. I spent hours, with help, mixing the cake, dying it festive colors, marbling it, preparing icing and decorating the cake with candy bar gravestones and marshmallow ghosts. No one ate it. I was livid.

I guess what I can take from this experience is: make your food look more appetizing.

And to all those who didn’t eat the cake or the brownies, THEY WERE FRACKING DELICIOUS (JOKES ON YOU)!

A few things I’ve learned from other poets and my own experience:

  • Experiment with form and style– try new things, and find which fits best with which poem. There’s also nothing wrong with trying to emulate one of your favorite poet’s style.
  • Verb your nouns– “lip”, “trash”, and “access” are examples of this.
  • Drop your articles– avoid use of “the” and “a” as much as possible
  • Concrete conquers flowers– concrete descriptions are far more interesting and adaptable than vague adjectives- they are much more visual and give more meaning to your words, as well as making what you’re saying more understandable for readers. Adjectives should be used sparingly.
  • Writer’s Block happens– do whatever you think will get rid of it.
  •  Read your finished poems out loud– reading out loud allows you to check for mistakes, and printing  physical copy before hand and reading that is always a good idea.
  • Have someone else read your poems– readers rarely have the luxury of being able to ask the poet what he or she means, you can leave the meaning of your poems up to interpretation, but you want to make your main message as clear as possible so no one pulls a conclusion out of left field.
  • “It’s the poet’s job to know everything.”– whether it be anatomy, mathematical terminology, or various plants, a poet should refine his or her knowledge of many, many subjects
  • There’s poetry in EVERYTHING– from the most mundane tasks to the grandest events, famous poets have covered both, as well as many things in between.

So,

this is what it’s like

to be incomplete.

I sit in a corner,

wedged between bricks.

I revel in nostalgic moments

of applause, lights,

all for reading words written by somebody else.

The words I wrote

struck people silent–

I was preaching to a room of statues.

Back then my legs were trembling

from anxiety.

At least then

I was feeling something.

Now

I am a garden slug,

tired of the luxury

of remaining hidden

between two slabs of stone.

Is it my silence which has trapped me

in this objective state?

If I were brilliant,

would things be different?

If I were to stand and talk

would there be listeners? or

would I be rejected

for saying too much.

Then, would the corner

(that vampiric cavern)

be a comfort

to patch the hole

reopened in me?