See everyone at 1:30 today (Monday) in our P.E. building paradise.   I'll try to bring a little something of a treat or to drink.  NON ALCOHOLIC. :)  Feel free to bring a little something if you're inspired to do so, but only if inspired.

I'll also leave you/ us time to browse each other's portfolios and maybe comment in them during the class period as well.

Your reading time of 2-4 minutes maximum allows for you to read a couple of poems, or maybe just one longer one.  After four minutes a giant hook comes out and you are swept up and devoured by gorgeous poetry dragons. We can also take time to look through each other's portfolios today.

And I will check off notebooks in the back :) So bring those as well. 

Remember when you go up there…  to say your name, introduce your poem, read slowly, and don't just run off with self-conscious relief after the last line.  Allow the poem to strike the gong, to ring… then allow us to applaud, appreciate your poem, appreciate you. Then you can make your escape. :)

I'll leave this blog up in perpetuity— a way for you to share work and reading suggestions, arrange other writing groups, alert each other about local events or poets/ websites you found… all of it.

And please don't forget the wonderful Red Wheelbarrow launch event (book available) this Wednesday evening, 6-8 PM in the Fireside room, Campus Center.  Refreshments served; come read your work from the magazine and celebrate with others.  Awards given out!  I already know that two people from our class won some kind of award, just saying — top secret—determined by an outside judge. But it could have been any of you. :)

Have appreciated each of you immensely. If I still owe you a conference (there are a couple of you :) — hold me to it.  Or ask for feedback on the blog. Don't be a stranger.  You know where my office is and you've got my e-mail address.

Thanks for inspiring me this quarter with your passion for poetry and your talent and sense of community/ support for one another. Bravo.

Your Truly,

—Ken

A response to Paul's elegy poem

Reading Paul's elegy poem, It made me think of my own relationship with Adam as well as my perspective of that day. Any comments are appreciated. Thank you.

Adam

You handed me a white rose,

Your tanned hand decorated in Sponge Bob Band-Aids

A pride in your green eyes when I noticed no blemishes

You introduced me to your mother

And we shared a root beer float.

When you saw me again,

You held my hair back,

As I threw up

Embarrassment was met with a hug

That murmured

“I’ll never let you go.”

You were the only visitor

Who admired the beauty

Of my slanted, off kilter home of blue bottle memories.

Who crawled inside the entrance

 An optimistic gaze missing

The potato chip texture of chapped lips,

The glint of fat lenses

Magnifying the two brown orifices of sadness,

You made me see the beauty of looking through the royal blue lens

Our hands almost touching.

You were a hummingbird that the teachers ushered out of the public classroom

But I could still

Hear the buzz of your name

Catch A glimpse of you in a garden of talking daffodils

Spring was ending,

My arms craved to give you a hug that murmured,

“I’ll never let you go…”

But you were already gone.

Blue bottle fantasies smashed against my skull:

Agin’ and  lovin’ and growin’ together

Fightin’ and compromisin’ and livin’ together.

Now just a cruel joke,

A glittering mess,

Glinting mischievously, like your eyes used to…

My anger boiled on the scorching griddle black top

My classmates, Hypocrites, 

Only appreciating your Portland Vibe For a moment,

Before discussing more important matters of mani-pedis and pool parties.

Only one of your true friends spoke that day...

The other two chose to let their grief simmer in silence.

I Remember [Elegy to Adam]

//Here's my "I Remember" poem that ended up being an Elegy. Just thought I would put the version that is going in my portfolio on here as well.//
_________________________________________________________________________________

I Remember…

- Elegy to Adam Glover August 2, 1995 - April 19, 2008 -

I remember back in Seventh Grade my friend

Messy brown hair as wild as brush

I remember how his eyes at times flashed with pure zest for life

or times when they were as mischievous as a fox

Our interests though, as I recall, merely circled one another

like planets orbiting the same warm sun

somehow never converging no matter how much we tried

I especially remember that cold spring morning

fresh after the seasonal break

The unease I could not place

as I was called away from physical education

I remember the naivety of my hypothesis

and the bitter pang of the truth

I remember that moment when I was distraught beyond words

to learn that my friend had died only days before…

I remember the day of his memorial

The heat that seared the mountainside

I remember saying a few words at the service

My body trembling from nerves as my skin furiously baked

I remember how people thanked me for my courage

Even if my words were not at their peak on that day

And so I must remember him

Time and time again

No matter how many times I put him to rest

So that I can do his spirit true justice

So I can always remember to cherish this life

to not waste my potential within its span

In the end my words

Are but an invocation

To revive his spirit from within

As long as I remember...

What I've Learned About Poetry

Poetry, you are a minor enjoyment
something that I can pull out of my pocket
and dwindle on your flat face
more enjoyment comes w/ less expectations

Poetry you are also a drag
as serious and unbudging
as a stone
when taken seriously

Once I tried to be a great poet
and it just beat my head
My body got stuck
But now my hand moves freely

Are you truly something meaningful?
Now, you are a minor enjoyment

Moving this "Community of Poets" to a Starbucks?

This has been such a great class! So wonderful, that I wanted to suggest something.

How do some of you feel about continuing this experience of sharing our work, getting feedback, and enjoying each other's company, through a writer's group?

 We could meet once a month over the summer and then (because fall is usually a crazy quarter) once before the fall quarter and then during fall break. If any of you are interested,  you can email shartinasanchez@yahoo.com

Either way, I have learned so much from all of you, and I will truly miss all of you!

Sorry I missed you all

sorry I missed you guys on Wednesday. Today astrologically is LoveFest day! I love you guys! You have all inspired me in your own ways. It has been a pleasure being in class with you all. I will see you at the final. Can't wait to hear what each of you read.

My Culture is Not Your Couture

Bleaching the brown to blonde,

And the black to white.

It is the assimilation into a world

That sees curls and dreads

As nappy

And dark skin

As ugly and dirty.

But you!

You altering your hair,

Thickening your lips

With fillers and liner,

Wearing durags

And bindis

And henna

Down to your wrist.

That is the appropriation

Of an ethnicity

And a race

And a culture

That you and society

Don’t deem appropriate

In the first place.

The Truth of Poetry

Poetry, you are the silence in the noise

The blade of the tongue, the soul’s lucid window

You exist alike in both radiant life and dreadful death

The true record of all time, the mark of mortality

But you are also obscure, abstract, beyond comprehension

Every riddle unravels with a little lie and a little truth

Sprouting equally like siblings, comrades in arms

Until one leads the waking will astray

Within your sweet deception I saw

A nation divided, blinded by strife

A man holding out his livelihood as tribute

And a snake whose venom betrays its kindness

O Poetry, kind and cruel, who will you save?

I can see the answer burning in your solemn wastelands...

The Stranger

panting

running

mechanical

howling

constant

repetition

battle hymn

or

death knell

sediment

woodchips

shroud 
his visage

call of

enigma

beyond

torrential

traffic

Exquisite Corpse

The hooded sleeper reaps severe forests

Dry deserts, storming tall dunes

Hellish soul flashed thunderous guns

Dirty chalkboard covered in smutty jokes

Broken glass shatters, helplessly. Pumpkins.

Bloated seaweed stabs ephemeral starfish

Simultaneous Night

The purple platypus picks at the plump peach.
Unknown inferno dances in the silent moonlight.
The tall bridge rising with fog,
a pretty king winked sparkly hearts.
Soothing hands massage tender scalp,
fluorescent barge cuddling nasally marshmallow.




---
Marcie, Paul, Linus, Gabriel, Ashley, and Shartina

Exquisite Corpse

So... This turned out perfectly coherent about a certain conflict.



Brilliant anxious faith beyond the wall
Poor, hungry kids long for a chocolate
Cumbersome and stoic, spiders run into potholes
Tall blue flying men in the sky
Slowly painfully Israel above the space
Dancing glowing shadows sink into substance
Tall, looming graves wait after war

Massage Therapy Requirements

Ok, this is far from perfect,but I wantedto dosomething outside of my usualstuff, and this I think will count as a work and science poem ifI can make it work. Any help is appreciated. Tim you might be able to help me the most.

Massage Therapy Requirements

Medical terminology is dumb
We must learn inward rotation
bilateral flexion and deviation
pathologies and medications
just to help her arm that's numb

How's this for the medical charts
She points her toe when she dances
She twisted her anckle which enhances
That's planter-flexion if I must glance
Aren't I so educated and smart?

redruM

Hi, I just revamped a poem I did a couple weeks ago called, Death of a Childhood. I really loved the result and wanted to share it with all of you! Let me know what you think! :) 

redruM

I murdered her:

Prepping Vegetables

 As she sits on the white couch covered with a white sheet

Peeling onions’ skin

I wonder if she’d cry,

If I stripped her skin…

Frying up eggs In a pan,

As she burns her lungs with her cigarettes

I wonder if I should just crack her head on this beige laminate counter

It could use some color…

Drowning in scotch

Red faced

I wonder if she’ll have an appetite for bullets instead

But only breath comes out of my mouth

I will waste no words on her

My proclaimed Massa

Watching me slave away

Scrubbing the floor at two am 

With bleach and ammonia,

And a flash light

I ponder, the sentiment of Practice makes perfect

I walk into the old crime scene:

The master Bedroom

I fluff the pillows on the queen bed

Remember where my father lay on the white duvet covered with a white sheet

Kidnapped from me.

Snipping long braches that resemble her fingers

I wonder if she would scream

I stand on your unmarked grave

Worms feast on Black fur, Pink tongue—

Enough!

Slipping my tongue, mind, soul

In a paper bag of memories

I ignore her torrential tears, screams, even gun waving

Just wonder as I slip out the gate…

What freedom tastes like,

And whose soul will be poached and left wriggling upon the pyre?

The Rim

Thank you for any comments! They are greatly appreciated! :)

The Rim

Itchy black hat shields my vision

Forcing my eyes to drag a cursory glance Traveling

Up Tan Cargo Pants Drinking

In Blue and White Plaid Wincing

As even teeth glint

Dimples Wink At

Mine Until

 I meet eyes that echo The

 Shout in mine

“Beautiful!”

Botticelli’s Venus Locks cushion

My hearing

Of Sound Waves Of

Rich laughter, Strong

Voice Rippling

 Toward pink conch shell ears

 “Who are you?”

An ill-fitting uniform disguises My

Full body blush

As each inch of naked skin feels another As

Long slim fingers that mirror mine Caress

The dimples on my back Four

High tops sloppily kiss As

 We twirl in our friendly embrace

“It’s nice to see you again…”

Imported Coffee beans Perfume

Masking my nervous sweat

Smelling instead Chai

Tea Lattes,

Americanos Nuzzling

My neck for a caffeine fix

“Take a shot with me…”

My brain houses Neruda,

Cady-Stanton

Whispering of Self-Sufficiency and Romance Down

A synapse, Marvin’s singing “Only love can conquer hate…” Phobos

Freezes time in Neruda’s room:

Always Half-past a Break Up and a Quarter to Giving Up

Smoothing out my white shirt, blue coat I

 Order A Carmel Macchiato with

One ice cube in it Milk

 Steams screeching Distracting

Dull textbook reading Familiar

Chucks greet my cursory glance Dragging

 Up to eyes that echo the whisper in mine

“Beautifully Flawed…”

“Its nice to see you again…” Marvin’s crooning

“I’ve been trying to fight this feeling for so long…” The

Ice cube melts…Kissing

The rim…