Freeform Workshop

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  • Rookie Adrian Merovingian (7/18/2007 5:48:00 PM) Post reply
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    Sometimes, I go out of my way
    Or push to far over the line
    Some days I can't find the words to say
    What I want can never be mine
    Things are just not the way
    They used to be
    It's so hard accepting reality
    Thoughts are reeling in my head, I can't explain
    The way I'm feeling is mentally deranged
    though I've pryed your hooks from my lifeless skin
    It tears me up to hear you pleading
    Let me in again
    Let me in just one more time
    Face value equals nothing at all
    In the blink of an eye
    You can take the fall
    I'm chasing a memory
    Would be better off if I could let it be
    Thoughts keep comin to my head
    I'm chasing a memory
    We're living life as if anyone cared
    We are born as one
    We bleed the same
    Though the song remains unfinished
    You hear the cries
    You hear the screams
    Try to shake it out of your head
    As if never unseen
    This is a puzzle
    Never find the missing piece from me

  • Rookie Charlie O (6/24/2007 6:41:00 PM) Post reply

    The body breaks,
    and falls to peices in the tide
    it never seems like you have enough time
    but the days seem to go
    on and on and on...

    ....thats a little bit of a poem i wrote, would that be considered free form? i would love opinions on my poery, i'm just starting out and i don't really have alot of expeirience........ thank you: ]

  • Rookie Goldy Locks (6/19/2007 12:36:00 PM) Post reply

    In all of his writing, Glassco travels with his gaze in 'the rear-vision mirror, ...' For Glassco, who conversed with Catullus, Samuel Daniel, Berkely, Thomas Love Peacock, and Baudelaire, to name only a few of his venerable companions, the past is not a complete stranger. For Glassco, home is where the mind has been. And his had been to many places. He presently recalls in A Point of Sky (1964) :

    From here the only way is turning back
    To join the links of casual circles leading
    Home, or somewhere else I have been before.

    Like other travellers before him, he goes forward à reculons. He takes home with him wherever he goes.


    Memory provides reflections, not warm bodies. The past still lives, though now by similitude only, as names and images in the mind. Glassco addresses himself in The Deficit Made Flesh (1958) — it is all the poet can do. His work is to harrow up 'a new-made ghost, ' a moving image of the dead life. Past and present, image and object, expression and thought are but analogies of each other. Between them, there is a silence, a great distance, since similitude is not identity:

    And as what they are for me, here and now,
    As the translated pegs and props, characters
    In the fable of being — infinitely
    Remote: I mean, daffodils in a vase,
    Sail on the water, sunlight on the grass.

    ('Hail and Farewell')

    Such is the tension, 'the darkness and the distance, ' which all translators must experience — between speech and silence, signifier and signified. It is on this middle ground that Glassco's translation of his own vision and that of other poets come together. As a maker of elegiac word-analogies 'caught / Between silence and the failure of any words, ' Glassco was ideally suited to the invaluable, futile, and costly craft of literary translation. The following words, as justly as they can, will suggest that he practised that craft with courage and skill, with a success proportionate to the silence and distance he came to evoke and diminish.

    from Compass of the Catoptric Past: John Glassco, Translator
    by Camille R. La Bossière

  • Rookie the poet (6/13/2007 8:22:00 AM) Post reply

    hi everyone, i would like to thank those who have spent their valuable time reading my poems. i hope those who have not will stop by my page and read some of my poems. your comments are very much appreciated! ! ! Thanks everyone and have a beautiful, wonderful and nice day! ! !


  • Rookie Goldy Locks (6/6/2007 2:05:00 AM) Post reply

    footnote to Bernstein's 'Dysraphism'

    Dominion demands distraction-the circus
    ponies of the slaughter home. Braced
    by harmony, bludgeoned by decoration
    the dream surgeon hobbles three steps over, two
    steps beside. “In those days you didn't have to
    shout to come off as expressive.” One by one
    the clay feet are sanded, the sorrows remanded.
    A fleet of ferries, forever merry.*
    Show folks know that what the fighting man wants
    is to win the war and come home.

    *in italics

    Bernstein's 'Dysraphism' has a footnote teasing out etymological connections between this abstruse medical term meaning a kind of birth defect - literally a 'mis-seaming' - and the prosodic stringing (stitching) of words: 'disturbance of stress, pitch, and rhythm of speech.' The textual seaming and mis-seaming (seeming and mis-seeming?) concludes with these lines.


    A series of characteristically short, direct, discrete statements, unconnected by conjunctions of subordinate clauses, are stitched together less by discursive sense than by verbal repetition (seaming) and counterpoint (mis-seaming) .
    - English 88, Modern & Contemporary American Poetry

  • Rookie Ali Zengin (5/8/2007 2:23:00 AM) Post reply

    Those People are innocent

    Those people are black,
    And their hands, eyes, hair
    What they hold
    What they eat
    Either what they don’t eat

    Those people are slaves,
    And their tongues, lands, spouses
    Everything they own
    And their children too
    Even their future

    Those people are innocent
    Their laughs, looks, feelings
    Pearl-like teeth
    Their faces so pure as their hearts
    They are innocent, black slaves

    Ali Zengin

  • Rookie Michael Pacholski (4/28/2007 3:49:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    This is called 'Freeform Workshop'. What I figured I'd see was suggestions/assignments/challenges and poetic exercises. Not quite getting that so I'll start a challenge for anyone willing to pick up.

    1) Write down five incomplete phrases of between four to six words each. They don't have to be the first ones that come to mind, but you shouldn't take more than ten minutes. By 'incomplete' I mean that the phrase cannot form a complete idea or sentence.

    2) Once you've chosen the five phrases, you can begin writing the poem. All five phrases must be included in the poem.

    3) Once you have written a word, that word cannot be edited or deleted (exceptions are mistakes in punctuation and typos) . But you cannot go back and change a word, nor can you go back and add words.

    4) Same goes for individual lines. Once they have been written, they cannot be deleted, moved, or changed in any way. Once two consecutive lines have been written, you cannot go back to add anything between them.

    There's a peculiar form of Japanese fine art where, once the artist applies the brush to canvas, they cannot go back and change because the act of lifting and moving the brush back damages the canvas. I do this once in a while after I've edited a poem into oblivion. When Miles Davis Quintet was recording 'Kind Of Blue' Miles'd come in with these barely sketched out phrases and he'd ask the band to play and improvise, keep going and see what they could come up with.

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  • Rookie Courtney Hibbard (4/23/2007 10:17:00 PM) Post reply

    I WISH

    I wish could see your eyes and your smile everyday,

    I wish I could hear you laugh everyday,

    I wish I could feel your arms around mine everyday,

    I wish I could talk to you everyday,

    I wish I could smell your sweet smell everyday,

    I wish that that would happen everyday.

    I hope I’ll see you tomorrow,

    I hope I’ll see you next week,

    I hope I’ll see you next month,

    I hope I’ll see you next year,

    I hope I’ll see you in a decade,

    I hope I’ll see you in a century,

    I hope I’ll see you everyday.

    I’m afraid that my wishes won’t come true,

    I’m afraid I won’t see you,

    Or hear you,

    Or feel you,

    Or talk to you,

    Or smell you,

    I’m afraid I won’t ever see you again.

    Then I realize,

    It’s up to you,

    You can smile,

    You can laugh,

    You can put your arms around mine,

    You can walk up to me and talk,

    And it’s up to me to decide if I want to see you,

    I can come by tomorrow,

    Or come see you next week,

    Or come by next month,

    Or come by next year,

    Or see you in a decade,

    Or even see you in a century,

    It’s up to me and you,

    And I want to see you forever!

  • Rookie Dylan Barker (4/6/2007 5:07:00 PM) Post reply

    Would you read poems by me? i would greatly appreciate it.

  • Rookie Robert Sierra (4/5/2007 12:17:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    I'm in a canopy
    Of misery
    Repeating lines
    Of lonely rhymes
    But every word
    Seems so absurd
    So cliche
    In every way...

    This is the beginning to one of my poems, if you like it please contact me, I'm kinda new and I don't really know anyone

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    • Rookie Petra Creffield (4/22/2007 3:58:00 PM) Post reply

      i feel like i'n a walking cliche in every way.... hi welcome to poemhunter, it's kinda cool here P

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