(2/3/2008 7:36:00 PM)
just write how you feel
it doesnt need to ryme
or make perfect sence
just write how u feel
-hav a look at my poem-
comment them plz [3
(2/1/2008 9:56:00 AM)
Ok so now lemme give my uncles and aunts and brothers and sisters a little hint how to improve your poems.......
*First of all don't make the line too long make it short and easy to understand.
*Try to rhyme as much as possible, but don't rhyme nonsense....
If you are no good at rhyming you can try it this way..Suppose you wanna rhyme the word 'way' then start to rhyme with the first letters for example
Do it like this and you're bound to find the word you're looking for...
Well try this 2 techniques i am sure you poetry will improve a lot....
(1/30/2008 4:13:00 PM)
If there was a 'Reading Poetry' forum, would have posted it there. This place is close enough...
What I Love About Fiction
Turning each page, how fast
they pile up in your left hand,
how your progress is marked
by a bookmark’s steady march
through leaves. And poetry, the opposite:
how slowly you move from poem
to poem, how long it takes
to read one slender volume,
how each night you turn only one
or two pages, carefully,
and then sleep,
like learning to love a skinny
and complicated girl.
(1/28/2008 6:51:00 AM)
The 5 Basic Ankhs of Poetry
Mrs. Onubogu who was probably my favourite Literature in English teacher of
many years ago at FGC Jos, used to throw many proverbs using imageries around
the ‘oja’ flute which is a common musical instrument used in Igboland. One
particular one she always said was that it is 'easy to blow the oja, but it is an
exceptionally difficult task to make music with it that is good enough for ancestral
ears.' Over the years Mrs. Onubogu’s sayings have come to sink into my head. I
believe poetry is an oja flute: the task of producing a few poems as opposed to
chapters of prosaic works like novels appears simple, but the catch is actually
producing good poems of distinct pedigree and quality. This has always been the
challenge of poetry. That is why the poems of Okigbo live in sacred Muse. I suspect
my old pal and egbon, Victor “Vano” Okigbo his nephew (son of late Pius) , who is
also an exceptionally gifted poet never really took the path seriously because he
probably would have been a diehard perfectionist to be able to walk with his
own shadow separate from Christopher’s.
A young Nigerian writer by the name Isaac Ogezi, wrote an article some time ago
that got me thinking about this matter. This was further given motion from inertia
after reading the beautiful one on rhyme by another writer Emman Shehu
(Chairman ANA, Abuja) .
On serious analysis one can then say that because of its shortness or brevity, a
poem's every word, line, rhyme pattern etc carry more weight, and must be
chosen with great care. I always remind nyself of 5 basic ankhs to help me choose
wisely. You may benefit from them too.
Focus: Narrow it down! Grandiose themes like 'love' and 'injustice' need to be
pruned down to manageable sizes because of pathos, excitement, and basic
emotional pull. What sort of love, what kind of injustice?
Content: Write around your Theme. Is your poem about love? Then try not
to make the word 'love' an overemphasized currency inside the poem! (What
a bland word it has become, after all...) Instead, describe the precise
feeling, build a metaphor, write around the idea of love to get through to the
core of what you're trying to evoke.
Expression: Stick to ideas and not emotional expression. Poetry is more than
a venting of feelings (that's what a diary is for!) . Put some intellectual
distance between yourself and the subject matter of your poetry.
Rhymes: Ditch it if it messes your flow. Maya Angelou was never a stickler for
it- look at where it got her. Don't rhyme for the sake of rhyming. New poets
tend to think they can get away with less-than-perfect rhymes, and/or
rhymes divorced from meter. Not so! Stick to free verse unless you're
prepared to work very hard at mastering formal poetry. I rhyme because of
my inherent love for floetry but I am a Poet not a Floet!
Edit: The realm of the Muse has its ‘visitations’ too. It must undergo many
revisions in order to shine or before leaving the nursery as Maiwada is wont
to say. In Kaduna Writers’ League Sumaila, Diego and I have always
emphasized the strength of edited works. That is why Friday John Abba will
always remind all that once the work becomes public, the writer dies. So a
good critique should be taken in good faith. Forgive your editor if he turns
out to be a literary Ombudsman. Don't be afraid of scrapping whole verses, or
cutting everything down to a few good lines and rebuilding - this is a
necessary part of the process of producing great poetry or becoming a
Wordsbody in the tent of Molara Wood
(1/20/2008 11:23:00 PM)
| Read 1 reply
how could truth be truth if someone on a higher level of truth has his truth, ,
is truth not compleate?
(1/16/2008 11:27:00 PM)
26jan01, flying west
yesterday a year ago was the last time my sister spoke to her children
isn't it homeopathic, the ocean now?
dilutions of her first daughter diluted
the sparkling house
28jan01, my sister's house, Seattle
so what are we to make of the whole disappearing?
but there are still the girls' books and notes and keychains lit with dust,
and dust is just skin so I wonder—
are they here in the dust
in the paper this morning—
a partial list of what-was-found
in two days they're burying all unidentified remains
into a common grave
my mother is trying to paint again
the bird outside the window doesn't take off but gets caught in the branches
and the sky's all tangled, too, reluctant to get bright
even claire's hair is getting light
Catherine Barnett | Into Perfect Spheres Such Holes Are Pierced
May 2004 Alice James Books
'These heart-breaking poems of an all too human life stay as absolute as the determined craft which made them. There is finally neither irony nor simple despair in what they record. Rather, it is the far deeper response of witness, of recognizing what must be acknowledged and of having the courage and the care to say so.'
“If death could be undone by love—that deathless human wish—if death could be undone by formidable mindfulness and immaculate craft, these poems would revive the dead. The miracle they do work is nearly of that scale: they forge, and forge on our behalf, a model of the soul.”
(1/15/2008 6:46:00 AM)
first is to be myself, the poetry is in the nature, all we see and all we touch. i phink to write poetry is to observe all phings.
Vikram Aarella - The Poem Shooter
(1/14/2008 12:27:00 PM)
how r u people today
(1/13/2008 10:40:00 PM)
Am I too much hurt
Am I too much pain
Is this the naked reality
Is this the right track, operating in the right conscience
Break the spoils
Race of illusions
Too much loving
Too much hurting
Tears falling like the snow
Slowly damaging my inner ego
Did I lose
Will I win
Some day, fright night
Dark path, lonely white
Cars flying, trains playing around
Those are the machines playing in my mind
Revolution, evolution, realization
Baby, oh baby, these fears I'm swallowing
An elemental race
Causing my emotions to beg for a second chance
Fear corrupting a child in the playground
The devil is creaming inside thee
Treasure chest, completely found
A box with plagues within a killing spree
Cold rough, warm tough
This pain is elemental
This pain is paradoxical
Laugh to the senseless bluff
A beat buried in my mind
A scar painted in my timeless clock
How do I educate myself
From this patience of ignorance
Pale face within a warm embrace
Touch the heart, escape with the strife
Am empty brain left in vain
In the world, filled with shame
Oh baby please, guide my arrow
That pierces every heart with incomplete perfection
And hurts so bad you'll never cry
Until it is...
(1/12/2008 6:09:00 AM)
| Read 1 reply
hi all. i've always loved poetry and today i have written my first poem. please read and give me some feedback which will help me improve further. thank you.
The clock is ticking
The seconds pass
I see out the window
Tiny raindrops in puddles
Birds spread their wings to touch the grey violet clouds
Sometimes I see a flock of birds, it's beautiful
I wrap myself
Its cold but my heart is melting
As I sip hot tea
I start to wonder about you
I wonder who you are
And where you are
What are you doing in this moment?
While I'm writing a poem about you
I wonder how we will meet
Through a friend, family, at a wedding?
I don't have the answers, just the questions
But I know that when you come into my life,
The angels will sing that you're the one
I've been waiting for
My soul will want to mate
With your soul
God will whisper that you're the answer
To my prayers.
After all that I have been through,
All the poor choices I have made,
All the betrayal and heart breaks that have come my way
I have healed my wounds and fought my demons
Knowing that you would come along
If I didn't go through the hard times
I probably would never have known you
My bitter trials was truly a blessing in disguise
For without it I would have never known
You're truly a gift from Above.
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