Just a few sites I've come across that involve the poetry of more than one author/blogger. You may want to check them out.
**Poetry Thursday (which is no longer running, but you can browse the site anyway.)
**Poetry Soup
**And also, on the Exponent II blog list of links is Popcorn Popping, which has many genres of creative submissions, but you can submit a poem and hopefully they will post it so you can get feedback from (more serious) writers.
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4 comments:
Thanks for the website info. It looks very helpful. A form of poetry that fits into the postcard category is the Rune poem. They are based on an old Norse form.
A rune is chosen and a three line poem explains its meaning. They usually have some alliteration in them but are much more free than oriental forms. A poet named Jim Paul translated some that were found in an ancient mss in a monastery. His wonderful little book is titled, The Rune Poem, published by Chronicle books. I can't make the rune symbols here for you to see but here is an example:
Joy
Joy comes not to the soft,
To the untouched, complacent
With the plenty of the town.
Yew
Firm in the earth, the yew
Burns well in the fire, the joy
Of the land long in the hearth
I started doing some of them and I just make up my own rune shape to go with what I write. Here are a couple. You might want to try some.
Fire
Voracious fire, unwatched,
lunges from its cave
in tattered rags of flame.
Thunder
Thunder comes home late, drunk
shakes everyone awake
then sleeps through the storm.
Fog
Disembodied water rises
to haunt the meadow, then
sinks back to its grave in the pond.
I ended up spending almost 3 three hours reading through these sites.
Thanks for posting them!
I was struck by how similar the advice was from "professional" poets, and that prompted this little poem.
Put pen to paper,
they all say,
and keep writing.
That’s what real
writer’s do.
But I’m not sure
I’m one of them.
How can I
tell? Put pen to
paper and keep
writing.
Evening
We are a curious shape
Feet to feet
Backs to arms of the sofa
Our eyes back and forth
On the pages of our books
A blanket bridges our knees
Feet burrow under behind
Nestling
Settling
Reflection
every poem
a day
water at the tip
of a leaf
swelling with light
ready to fall
to my tongue
or onto dirt
or into an asphalt puddle
where birds shake
dust off
glimmering brown feathers
about to fly
away, only
bird calls
splashed
in the air
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