Poetry
I, too, dislike it.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one dis-
covers in
it, after all, a place for the genuine.
by Marianne Moore
{Read the first (original, long) version here.}
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2007
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December
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- Day 31: Resolution
- Day 30: Credit where it's due
- Day 29: Experimental poets
- Day 28: Donald Revell
- Day 27: Found poetry
- Day 26: Ghazal
- Day 25: Gift
- Day 24: Constructing memories
- Day 23: Humor
- Day 22: Borrowing from favorites
- Day 21: Daily rituals
- Day 20: NOT about the event
- Day 19: Ekphrasis
- Day 18: Haiku
- Day 17: Animals
- Day 16: Going back
- Day 15: Words, words, words
- Day 14: A note to you
- Day 13: Enjambment
- Day 12: Prose poem
- Day 11: Juxtaposing images
- Day 10: Poetry websites
- Day 9: Myths and fairy tales
- Day 8: Object fetish
- Day 7: Memory
- Day 6: Maybe the first ever postcard poem*
- Day 5: Acrostics
- Day 4: Billy Collins, animated
- Day 3: Where you carry them
- Day 2: Music as inspiration
- Day 1
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December
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5 comments:
Here's mine:
Speaking of Genuine
Sometimes
when I am most genuine
I am a teenager again
with my idealism & periodic pimples,
disdain for conformity,
and my juvenile sneakers.
What often comes out as a gut response
is so egocentric
that I balk at myself.
And my Velcro
hightop Vans don’t really help
make me feel mature when they squeak
as I march my 3-year-old to his room for a break
when I know I’m the one that needs
some “time out.”
I took some time this week to revise a poem I wrote a decade ago.
Writing Lessons
sad sad very very bad
black black I am mad
mad mad I pist off,
I miss him in the Light
it becomes dark slam
I will allwas remembr
--Colton, age 9
He stands blonde, 4’2
and tough like silly
putty and when he says he is
pissed off, twenty-eight eyes check me,
giggle carefully, blush.
The tilting of my hair asks how
did this come from this boy
who bounces all the wrong time,
and when I almost know I ask
“What is this place?”
He says, “My grandpa’s casket”
and waits for me
to say good job,
to say you can sit down now,
Next?
But I remember
(I was nine too, then, pissed and waiting praise)
and answer, “I will too, yes.”
My poem for today is an erasure poem. I took the conclusion from Nate Oman's recent Dialogue article on authority and played with it a bit. It struck me, as a read it, as being somewhat poetic. So I started fiddling with it. I took nearly every word that's more than 5 letters long and created this poem out of them, adding a bit of punctuation (I know it's weird, but I'm just playing...):
Conclusion:
Church doctrine, the central and
Under-analyzed concept of Mormon discussion
Offering possible interpretations for
Mormon practices, history.
Accordingly, church doctrine
Is necessarily interpretive, contestable?
Neither a perfect reflection nor
Completely theological.
Nevertheless, church doctrine
Concludes covenants, divine involvement, & production
Participation justifying church doctrine and
Authority.
Furthermore, church doctrine is
What Mormons with obligations follow blindly:
They Believe claims
Latter-day Saints are absolute, limitless
Your arguments ignore church doctrine,
And contest continued allegiance
to Authority
However conceptual
Authority:
Seriously,
Accordingly,
Limited.
So blind am I
To what others see,
I would the Healer
Succor me.
His spittle on my
Sinking soul--
To lift me high,
To make me whole.
No gift for me,
No easy path; will I
Endlessly lack
What others hath?
Seeking
answers
Finding
disillusionment,
disdain,
revulsion,
preaching,
pain,
guilt,
suffering,
stupidity,
ignorance,
innocence,
vulnerability,
empathy...
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