Each month, write a new collection.
Cold, cool breezes constantly rewind my mood to a calm collectiveness.
That's a quick one, but that's great!
Lol. I thought you said to make it quick in the video, Mr. Brantingham. Lol
Did I? Anyway, nothing wrong with a quick one. Some of the best poems are!!
You did, for reals. Watch the vid, and you'll see what I mean. It was like a suggestion to keep it minimal and not get too carried away. Thats good to know. Sometimes I feel like my poems always have to be a certain length to get my point/experience across. It's a box i've put myself in that I'm attempting to escape, even if its only for one random poem at a time. Its tough though, I like my box ;-)
you once again fell into the box of multi-word poetry
For some reason, the outside in the morning thing was not happening for me today so instead, I composed a tribute to you, O my brother.MASTER OF THE FORMSI am the wizard of a literation incantation.I spread my arms and speak my promptsAnd fifty poems instantly are spawned.Where you write one, I am the meta-poet, man!With fifty incarnations of the same idea, fifty iterations of idealsFetal representations born within my brainSprung fully-formed like children of the godsArrayed in digital mirrors. Viral-replicating concepts, self-aware.I am the wizard of a literation nexus,Willing word-warriors drawn to me across the seasBy wires and electricity. Magnetic personality.They slay for me. They say for meFifty inaugurations of those contemplations that I have conceived,Far-flung conceits employed from the depths of my imagination.And with my tongue and microphone condone investigation,Indictments, and etymological estimations. I am the wizard of a literation templeAnd student acolytes I send against a culture bentOn implosion and denial, infantile infatuation with ignoranceAnd a romance with stubbornly reductive reasoning.My priests make war upon the servants of the void,Assault the canons of indifferenceKnowing that in death their spirits live to haunt my enemiesTheir characters and syllables echoing across the bloody fieldsOf forever.For me,The Wizard of a Literation
Wow, I'm really flattered. That's a cool poem and you're using the poetic device too!!
Awww, brotherly love
Mr. Brantingham, your brother should be a street rapper lol
Yeah, Mark's got a ton of talent.
Yes I love the cadence of this work
what a great character! he's like the Gandalf of poetics! YOU SHALL WRITE...
cross the boardwalksink my toes deepin the cool sandthe western skywinks throughthe waveswait as theraking machinemows the sandclean and smoothfresh for thenew daywalk slowlydig new stepsin the flat sandflip the hooddig my handsin the pouchas the windblows my facethe fragranceof the oceanassaults meI dip my feetin the waves mypant legs soak upthe salty sea
I haven't figured out a title yet. I'm trying to avoid the word morning. I'm still not too good or too fond of titles (I wrote poems for over 30 years and only put titles to a few).
I think "Cross the Boardwalk" works well to capture the mood and even help to create a metaphorical sense.
I like that. I was thinking along those lines.
The Roving Bovine Alarm ClockSnuggled in our sleeping bagsThe dawn fast approachingThe rythmic babble of the riverBeckoning us to wakeThen came the crash and clamorSounds of destruction were nearWe peeked though the zipperReady to defend our campPicnic tables were toppledAnd ice chests were scatteredDrowning in a sea of cowsTrampling through our siteSleepy men with arms wavingTrying to shoo the beastsWhy were there cows in the campground?What a way to wake up
Fantastic. This might work well for tomorrow prompt too. The next part of the story!
love the cows in the campground. Grandpa used to shoo the bears from the campground at Yosemite. Of course that was 100 years ago (wait it almost was 100 years ago, it was in the 20s).
"roving bovine" and "downing in a sea of cows" -- priceless
also "rhythmic babble" and "picnic tables were toppled".you have a great ear
You flatter me! Believe it or not, before 9 poems ago, I had never written a single one. And for that matter, had zero desire to do so. But, I can't resist a challenge... so here I am. I'm thinking of sticking with the deep memory theme for the whole month. Then the collection can be a "memoir of an 8 year old girl" what do you think?
I think you have a lot of potential, the best professor in California, and one hell of a pseudonym!
Ah, Mark. Yeah, Molly Cool yes. I can think of a couple of good chapbook publishers for it too.
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I saw a sheepherder’s trailer at dawnnear the freeway parked next to a dusty flock over two hundred strong flanked by a skinny black dog… watching, waiting for his man to begin the day… the way sheepherders do.To me it’s a mystery on dry yellow grass waiting for time to pass… watching the flock near the freeway haze in a dry yellow daze flying past in my mindthe way commuters do
I love the oddness of this moment. It reminds me of Murray Thomas's Cow's on the Freeway.
Building strengthForaging for foodThe caterpillar climbsThe trunkto the outer reachesseeking the greenleafy foliagefrom which it will build strengthOne long line downwardeating rhythmicallysystematicallytwo long linesmaking a patternalong the leafy surfacecurving the shapeof its mouth and bodyEating and building strengthFor the mighty metamorphosesA cocoon for the little worm totransform into beauty with wingsFlying away from the morning dawnAnd tasting the breaking of the delicious day
It's really hard to write a poem you're not in, but you captured the moment man!
it's dark as hell at5 am, or rather a bit before 5and it's cold -- sharp cold which is confusingbecause this is Los Angeles.i stagger up, i try to drink some coffee.i know it will be hot later when the sunrises so i pile jacket on top of sweater on top of sweateron top of sleeveless shirt. i put bags in the cold car. i put my coffee in the cold car.i drive to the train station with the seat warmer on though my husbandhassles me about this choice when hehears about it later.i go stand on the platform and it'scold there too, but the guy whois an actor who teaches where i teachintroduces himself and he begins imitatingthe gestures of everyone waiting for the train.he has hot sun energy despite the darkness and i shiver at him wondering where that powercomes from when all i can do is remember -- regret --that i left my coffee when i parked the car.i wish i could sip and consider the actorbecause he's really good and i know already ==though it will take years -- that I will write about himand this unseasonable moment/
Oh I love how you bring the poem around at the end. That's great!
Thanks John! -- btw I'm loving everyone else's work on here, but because I'm on an ancient computer, every time i comment i have to prove i'm not a robot (or am I???) which makes doing the comments tough. So YAY everybody! :-D
I am a robot and this poem makes me shiver
Blue, blueYou belong to meYour sapphire sprayFalls on my faceYour great green armsWrap all around meI rest in your gray gripSpectacular seaYou belong to me.
That's great! I love the use of language here!
I really like this, both how you personalize it with the bookend refrains and how you use various color images creating a sort of montage effect in a very concise poem that feels big. It's almost perplexing when you look back and see how short it is.