Whilst looking for lined paper for the eldest child, I stumbled across some of my old university assignments, including a chap book of poetry for a creative writing class titled "Does Not Play Well With Others" because I am oh-so-bad-assed, you know. There were a couple passages I enjoyed. I'm also considering posting a couple of the essays as blog entries because I really enjoyed writing them, and I still enjoy reading them and I like the idea of getting feedback from those other than the one or two profs that got to mark them.
That all depends if I can find the doc files, because I sure as hell ain't typing out the hard copies.
In the meantime, I'll share a couple of the poems here. There seemed to be a common thread of disliking structured poetry.
Ours Is Poetic
Ours is not so much a matter of rhyming
More a type of word splatter running
From a mind-spigot, the very timing
Of which is most important, when one most cunning
Forgets about the trying-to-say or
Gives up on wit or random punning
If all academic falsehood is removed
The barest essence of emotion left
There still, is room for a reader to be moved
For emotion lies at the depths,
Lays a foundation for some profound thing
When left unsaid, leaves the soul bereft.
The second one was part of of an assignment to write a poem called a Sestina which has the most effed-up, convoluted structure imaginable. So like the fourth-grader that does a speech about how much they hate public speaking, I wrote a sestina about how fucking aggravating and pointless sestina-writing is.
Writing the Sestina
I'd say I've written a sestina before
but in all honesty I'd be lying
as I have never attempted a thing
so complicated as this. I must say
It is really an aerobic feat of mind
to complete. Really, if i had my way
I would choose to write this another way
and get myself into my warm bed before
I found myself giving a piece of my mind
to whoever came up with this. Lying
in my bed I could dream of what I'd say
to the creator of this silly thing.
Really now, who comes up with such a thing?
Someone who sits around and thinks of ways
to make complicated methods to say
things that could be put more simply. Before
I enjoyed poetry, I'm not lying
but writing this makes me lose my mind.
Now I'm not saying I really mind
reading the sestina and other things,
but I get to feeling like I'm lying.
Fitting words to metre a certain way
Since it seems the form comes well before
what I am actually trying to say.
Oh but what am I trying to say?
The original idea has slipped my mind.
I had a vague idea. That was well before
I got wrapped up and tangled in this thing
and my message got lost along the way.
Now exhausted, I find myself lying
on the floor, when I should be lying
in my bed. For what more could I say
on the subject, considering the way
my eyes are drooping and it seems my mind
is wandering, drifting to other things.
I should retire, and sleep before
someone finds me lying here. I don't mind
if perhaps they say I'm mad or something.
I was that way already, long before.
Copyright Andrea Lyn Cole 2006