Peer Response 1, Post 5, Week 4 (Makeup Post)

In response to Sheila's "Free Entry Week Four":


I would suggest working on the title for this piece, even if you don't touch it until several drafts later. With a time period of five years, I don't think so much about the seconds ticking away as I do about what has (or could have) happened in that time. It seems like your poem is focused in that was as well, so go with what the poem says and maybe wait to title it until the end. I do that all the time.
I understand that this piece is about your college career, but I think that I only understand that because I know you. To an unknown reader, this looks like just a train of thought. The age of the speaker is ambiguous as well, especially at the beginning. The part about education and grandma being sick, and especially the "What is hospice?" line leads the reader to think of a fairly young speaker, but "Behind on my bills" gives way to an older voice. The end of this piece sounds a little like a personal journal entry or a Facebook status: "Two classes left! / Praying for my new job!" Exclamation marks are rarely used in poetry, and when they are, I've noticed it's usually to emphasize a painful emotion or a surprising discovery. But here it seems once again like a young girl, like at the beginning of the piece.
Overall, I think you have a good idea going. Now it's time to refine and revise it. Good luck!

Peer Review 2, Post 6, Week 2 (Makeup Post)

In response to Jenna's "Week Four - Improv Two, "Female Writer":


Right off the bat, I'm seeing a conflict in tone. The "all mile" and "country man" parts lean toward a serious, minimalist tone (although I might suggest replacing country. It's a bit too general.), but "clowns of the town" makes a strange little rhyme. It also creates a more sing-songy tone than the first half of the line.
The "cursing of sin" is another section I have trouble with. Generally, "sin" would be considered an abstraction, but in the original piece, it works because we get the very specific, unexpected image of the bonbon. In your piece, we're seeing two abstract words back to back with cursing and sin. You talk about walking next to cotton fields. Maybe take something from the field and use it to embody sin, like the little thorns (I don't remember what they're actually called. Nits?) that surround the cotton? That could be interesting to work with.
Toward the end, it gets pretty clunky. Lots of harsh consonants right next to each other make it difficult to read and understand. Also, in the original there is a very specific rhyme scheme that is absent in your piece. It's fine if that's a choice, but I didn't notice it in hers until after the first read, so I figured I would mention it just in case you wanted to work with that as well. Good draft so far!

Peer Review 1, Post 5, Week 2 (Makeup Post)

In response to Sydney's "Free-Write, Week 4":


From the very beginning, I'm noticing a lot of punctuation. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but the punctuation you chose is unusual (semicolons, dashes, etc.), and that brings some (probably) unwanted attention to it. I actually found myself tripped up by it, wondering how long each pause should be. Should a dash or semicolon pause be longer? And then the ellipsis longer than both...you get the point.
The phrase "coma packed with as much action as the wait" is confusing to me. Whose wait? The grandmother's wait to die? The son's wait for mourning? The narrator's wait to leave?
In the middle, you write "good thing his mother couldn't see this tantrum--it would kill her." But isn't that what the narrator wants? Maybe you could change it to "too bad his mother couldn't see..." which would fit with the overall tone of the piece.
I agree with Murph about choosing to write about this subject. It's difficult, but I think you've done a good job so far!

Sign Inventory, Post 10, Week 12

Start
Marin Sorescu

Often the start went wrong,
the bang wasn't loud enough
or it wasn't heard,
and the competitors, sent back again and again to their places,
covered themselves in ashes, broke
their legs and threw sand into
the spectators' eyes.

The track, the whole stadium,
was often red with blood,
the start went wrong so many times.

Once
a man with the starting-gun
out of fear of the imminent disaster
fired not into the air
but through his head.
As though by a miracle this time
all the runners won.

The death of the shot man
was hardly noticed.

Ever since, tradition demands,
whoever signals the start
puts the weapon to his forehead.

The instrument that brought in so many gold medals
has landed up with me.

Already the runners rest
their left knees on the chalk line,
their eyes have run on far ahead,
their nostrils quiver.

All they're waiting for is the bang.
It's all up to me.

-the "bang" is a recurring idea throughout the piece. It is the starting point for the race, and if no one hears it, there is a huge riot. I think this can be applied not only to the race in the poem, but to any starting point in life. The need for life to be "fair" is very prominent in today's society, and has been for a long time. People reject even scientific facts that suggest that we are not born a blank slate, thereby putting some ahead of others genetically. It's no wonder that such an obvious source of unfairness incites such behavior.

-the gun-to-forehead tradition is an interesting tradition. I don't know much about it now, but it might be worth taking a look into. I had previously thought that it was just a version of a salute, but I guess not. I did a quick Google search but it didn't turn up anything. I'll have to keep looking.

Improv 2, Post 9, Week 12

Poems of the Pope
Nicanor Parsra

I

They just elected me Pope:
I'm the most famous man in the world!


II

Now I'm at the top of the ecclesiastical profession
and I can die in peace


III

The Cardinals are angry
because I don't treat them like I used to
too solemn?
but I'm the Pope goddamn it...


IV

First thing tomorrow
I'll move into the Vatican.


V

The title of my address:
How to Succeed in the Ecclesiastical Profession


VI

Congratulations are pouring in
every newspaper in the world
has my picture on the front page

and one thing's for sure:
I look much younger than I really am


VII

Ever since I was a boy
I wanted to be Pope
why's everybody so surprised
I worked like a dog
to get what I wanted


VIII

Holy Mother of God
I forgot to bless the multitude!



Poems of Michael Jackson
Casey LaRue

I


My family is thinking of starting a band:
I'll be the most famous kid in the world!



II


Now I'm at the top of the charts
and can live without worry


III


My friends are angry
because I don't treat them like I used to
too rich?
But hell, I'm Michael Jackson...


IV


First thing tomorrow
I'll move into Neverland Ranch.


V


The title of my next song:
Thriller


VI


Sales are through the roof
every newspaper in the world
has my picture on the front page

and one thing's for sure:
I look much smoother than I really am


VII


Ever since I was a boy
I wanted to be a singer
why's everybody so impressed
I did what I loved
to get where I wanted

VIII


Holy Mother of God
I guess this is it!

Improv 1, Post 8, Week 12

At Thirty-three
Hans Magnus Enzensberger

It was all so different from what she'd expected.
Always those rusting Volkswagens.
At one time she'd almost married a baker.
First she read Hesse, then Handke.
Now often she does crosswords in bed.
With her, men take no liberties.
For years she was a Trotskyist, but in her own way.
She's never handled a ration card.
When she thinks of Kampuchea she feels quite sick.
Her last lover, the professor, always wanted her to beat him.
Greenish batik dresses, always too wide for her.
Greenflies on her Sparmannia.
Really she wanted to paint, or emigrate.
Her thesis, Class Struggles in Ulm 1500
to 1512, and References to Them in Folksong:
Grants, beginnings, and a suitcase full of notes.
Sometimes her grandmother sends her money.
Tentative dances in her bathroom, little grimaces,
cucumber juice for hours in front of the mirror.
She says, whatever happens I shan't starve.
When she weeps she looks nineteen.


At Twenty-three
Casey LaRue

It was all so different from what she'd expected.
Only one wheezing Ford for the two of them.
At one time she was almost engaged.
First she tried teaching, then writing.
Now she just tries for a paper.
Not enough men attempt to satisfy her.
One man convinced her to tithe, but she did not sing.
Her family makes sure she doesn't starve.
When she thinks of the Middle East she draws a blank.
Her last lover, the drunk, always wanted her to cry.
Blue jeans and T-shirts, the only clothes that can keep up.
She can only grow a cactus.
Really she wanted to sing, or surf.
Her major, Mass Communications with
a minor in English, her native tongue.
Grades, drafts, and a box of rejections.
Sometimes her grandmother sends her apples.
Fake ballet in the living room, a cat and a dog,
crying for hours in front of the mirror.
She says, whatever happens I will keep my heart.
When she giggles she sounds like a child.

Peer Response 2, Post 7, Week 12

In response to Emmanuel's "Free Entry, Week 12":

First of all, I'm really glad you wrote this. I agree with Tim that "The Meat Skin Lady" is engaging, but I feel like this is a more working title and could use a little refining. "Meat skin" is so specific, but "the...lady" is very vague. Maybe you could work her name into the title somehow, or get rid of her there altogether. I don't really know any example to give you, but I'm sure if you just work with it you'll come up with something.

The part about the saints rejoicing is a good idea, but it needs to be played with a bit more. When I think of saints in a church, I usually think about stained glass windows, which could be included in something like:

"Even the window saints long for their stained-glass wallets, translucent mouths watering for plain, barbecue, or salt and vinegar."

That's VERY rough, but hey--it's a start.

You write in line 16 "On the sofa, we hold hands." Since you're in a church, I would imagine a pew rather than a couch. If it's really a couch, we might need to know why it's not a pew. Another consistency comment: in the beginning, the meat skins cost a dollar, but at the end they're free. Just some things to be conscious of. Good draft!

Peer Response 1, Post 6, Week 12

In Response to Tim's "Free Entry, Week 12":

I think the subject of this piece is interesting, especially when it's studied in such a different way than we're used to seeing. However, I will say that some of the questions make it difficult for readers to not answer. I will admit that I answered the question in the first line immediately with "The objects in the way of the sound waves, duh." I then didn't want to hear you wonder about things I already knew. This is not a stab at your intelligence at all. I'm sure you know how sound waves and echoes technically work. I'm just suggesting that you take a look at the questions and make sure they can't be answered immediately and then discarded by a pretentious reader.

The next thing I would like to address begins in line three. There you mention a stubbed toe that causes you to curse near the children's section of the library. It's hard for me to imagine someone stubbing their toe in a restroom (although this might be my dense reader moment), especially a public one. I could much more easily see someone hitting their elbow or something (which plays into funny bone, humor section, etc.).

The section about Tommy and his mother is confusing to me. You talk about the yard, then Tommy's face, then an engine and upholstery. You compare Tommy (or yourself?) to a dead king, and then shift to the mother with grass behind her eyes, and end with "the want for solitude," which is not mentioned anywhere else.

I think this is a good draft, but it just needs a little refining and elaboration. Good luck!

Free Entry, Post 5, Week 12

Leaves

I love to drive over them,

aiming at a large orange or yellow frond,

my head hanging out the window

like a dog, hair-tongue

playing catch-up to my ears,

which are pricked and pointed to catch the crunch.

I stomp on them;

I like to imagine

they’re spiders, tiptoeing on

curled limbs, brown bodies

floating just off the pavement.

They skitter along the sidewalk,

tripping and tumbling with the grass

and the wind.

If the sky calls them,

they take to the air

clumsily, like balloons

only half-filled with Helium.

Gaining speed, they jump

higher and higher until they clear

the building, and there is nothing

left but a dim shadowy circle

against the sun in my squinted eyes.

Junkyard Quote 4, Post 4, Week 12

"The server understood the request, but is refusing to fulfill it."

This was an error message I got today while trying to log in to Twitter. When I hit the back button to try again, it took me to my home page, already signed in. It was really weird, but I thought it was interesting that the server sounds like it has free will and can just do whatever it feels like.

Junkyard Quote 3, Post 3, Week 12

"It's better than a fortune cookie."

I'm sure most of you remember this from last week, but I really like it. Because, in the end, what's better than a fortune cookie? Nothing. It's a little dessert with a mystery person telling you something nice. You don't have to thank them. You don't have to say anything back. You just eat a cookie and bask in fortune's glow.

Junkyard Quote 2, Post 2, Week 12

"Hairy-assed Jesus"

This quote came up in my CNF course today. A classmate had written about changing a tire. In the piece, he mentions how his pants fell down and he showed the world his hairy ass. Later in the story, he calls the lug wrench a "disproportionate crucifix," which made him a hairy-assed Jesus.

Junkyard Quote 1, Post 1, Week 12

"I'm a tree hugger, but I'm a leaf crusher."

I was talking about how most of my poems lately had been about nature, and a friend of mine called me a tree hugger. So I said this in reference to one of my pieces (which will probably be my free entry this week).

Sign Inventory, Post 10, Week 11

Self-Portrait as a Moment in 1963
Jake York

Supper's late, and my mother sprawls
before the console, half-watching Gunsmoke,

Alabama History spread before her,
though school's almost out for summer

and the chicken's almost fried
to that perfect crisp. Then it's over,

credits stamped over final stills,
and the show gives way to news,

a minute of film from Birmingham,
not an hour south, where police

are turning dogs on kids as young
as she, spraying them with hoses

until they fall, the water she isn't watching
curling like smoke in the air.

My grandmother flicks the switch
and they're gone. They eat

in quiet, each cutting a breast
or thigh into steam, forking

beans or macaroni until
the plates' blank faces shine again.

This is years before
she'd meet my father, before

I'd come to that table,
that food, that room.

There's a silence here
I want to scratch away

so I can see what's underneath,
what they don't recall.

I want to turn someone's head,
my grandfather's, maybe, or my mother's,

back toward the TV, where
the tube's still fading,

the ghost of that scene
on the edge of that room.

I want someone there to see
and remember, so I can leave

and go back into the future,
not history. Not yet.



-This poem uses the scene of the police spraying the kids with fire hoses to symbolize something bigger that the family isn't talking about (hence shutting off the TV). Once the television is off, though, there still remains the ghost of the image on the screen, just like whatever it is they're not saying stays in their heads.

-York uses the word "that" quite a bit in this piece. He uses it to bring specificity to the scene as well as to relate to the reader with general concepts. Specificity example: "the ghost of that scene / on the edge of that room." Generalization example: "and the chicken's almost fried / to that perfect crisp."

- It is interesting that he chose to call this a self-portrait, although he is not actually in the scene. He wants to be a part of it so that he can manipulate the details to get more out of it, but he can't. I would have to do much more research to offer an explanation for this, but I still thought it was worth bringing up.

Improv 2, Post 9, Week 11

To a Poor Old Woman
William Carlos Williams

munching a plum on 
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand

They taste good to her
They taste good 
to her. They taste
good to her

You can see it by
the way she gives herself
to the one half
sucked out in her hand

Comforted
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air
They taste good to her

To a Sweet Old Dog

Casey LaRue

chewing his leg on

the floor his fluffy tail

wrapped around his body

It feels good to him

It feels good

to him. It feels

good to him

You can see it by

the way he licks his nose

and smiles at me

when he takes a break to breathe

Relieved

a peace of flealess fur

seeming to speak through his eyes

It feels good to him

Improv 1, Post 8, Week 11

Narcissus incomparabilis
Jake York

Lean down, lean down
while the light's abducted,
its last skirts caught
then torn through the trees.
Keep your own eye still
so no one catches you.
When it's gone, it's everywhere--
air a memory of light,
incident turned ambient,
and it never takes long
for this nacre to grow
over each absence or intruder
and become the world.
Lean down now,
creel of starlight and mood,
and reflect again
your inherited light.
World may ripple--
pearl scale, pebble, bone--
behind all memory,
may ghost you, stranger,
where you don't belong.
But lean down now,
as memory hardens
its incomparable light.
Don't let the sun
set on you again.


Caladium bicolor
Casey LaRue

Lie to me, lie to me
while your shape's endearing
like someone's hand reaching
for their own sagging heart.
Keep your leaves to yourself,
your own hand reaching for your heart.
When you're here, you spread like paint,
your deceptive name
brushing my skin,
and it never takes long
for someone to know they've touched you,
all your toxic parts
sitting undisturbed
while my cells are on fire.
Lie to me now,
fox and rabbit leaf,
and let your endearing shapes
lure someone else.
Georgia will turn redder
as the cooling clay soothes the skin,
but lie to me now,
as beauty ignites curiosity,
stretching my fingers to you again.

Peer Response 2, Post 7, Week 11

In response to Brandy's "Improv 2 Week 11":


The first stanza in this piece is definitely striking, especially with all the repetition. I would suggest slightly reworking it to even out the sound of it for the reader. Something like, "I am on the wrong side,
of the road,
of town,
I am in the wrong,
in the unfamiliar."
This gets everything repeated two times and it reads a little more easily (in my opinion).
You talk a lot about color in this piece, more than you talk about yin and yang. I would either change the title or work to incorporate it a little more throughout the piece. I know that you mention two men who are opposite, but I would still like to see more of the yin/yang aspect. I was originally drawn to this draft because of the title, so if that's what you choose to change, then I think you should explore that concept in another draft. It doesn't have to be about murder or people or anything in particular. Just objects that seem totally different but in the end are the same.

Peer Response 1, Post 6, Week 11

In response to Emmanuel's "Improvisation 1, Week 11":

This is a pretty dark piece, I must say, but it's very interesting. I think this is about a girl who died from domestic abuse. If that's wrong, disregard most of what I say in this comment.
In the first stanza, you wrote "...a ring / that was slipped on her finger / at one time till death did her / and the husband apart."
I know you're trying to get across to us that this is her wedding ring, but if you're going to use the idea of "until death do you part," there needs to be something shocking or unexpected with it. Did she know it would happen? If the husband killed her (which is what I think based on the draft), then he "did them part." That could be an interesting angle to look at.
One part that struck me as awkward was the end of the fist stanza: "The dirt now lay around / and under her nails, in her nostrils, / wiped upon her face marks the date." You have two verbs in this sentence (lay and marks) and they are in two different tenses. Either get rid of one or add another subject to smooth this portion out.
Be careful of brand names. Band-Aid is an actual brand. If you don't want to talk about a specific brand, you should use "bandages" instead. Also, the word "gauge" seems like it should be "gauze," and "unhealable" is awkward and sounds a little more juvenile than the rest of the piece.
If I were you, I would get rid of the couplet at the end. I know it was part of the original piece, but an improvisation doesn't have to match up exactly. If something doesn't work for your draft, you have the freedom to get rid of it altogether. I think this is a good draft so far. Looking forward to seeing what you do with it from here.

Free Entry, Post 5, Week 12

Fall (This is just a working title. Suggestions would be appreciated.)

And in the end of summer,
all the greedy trees
have crammed too many leaves
onto their branches,
flaunting like monochromatic peacocks.
The leaves turn
yellow, orange, red,
warning the trees to stop
and be satisfied,
but they keep
snatching, stocking, sprouting,
until they lose their grip on
the first leaf.
Swirling down some unseen drain,
the leaf spins until it rests
and blends with the dead grass.
the perennial willows weep along
as a child does when his mother,
in an effort to save a single falling cookie,
drops the entire dozen,
burning her hand
and standing the entire winter,
hand in mouth,
blinking back tears.

Junkyard Quote 4, Post 4, Week 11

"...and lose these Death-handles."

This is from Metalocalypse. I don't remember the rest of the quote, but it's not important. I just thought the idea of "death handles" instead of love handles was interesting.

Junkyard Quote 3, Post 3, Week 11

"And we think we're so open-minded, until we get there. And then we're like, 'Whoa. We're not.'"

I was on the escalator in the mall and these two guys were behind me. They were dressed in bright, rebellious colors with beanies and big thick glasses. It was interesting to overhear them having their tiny revelation.

Junkyard Quote 2, Post 2, Week 11

"I don't need your help. I can die on my own."

I was arguing with my boyfriend about video games when I said this. He kept trying to help me, but every time I would do what he said, I would die. So I told him to leave me alone. It didn't go over so well, but it got me a junkyard quote.

Junkyard Quote 1, Post 1, Week 11

"The only thing Chinese about me is I enjoy a good duck. And I cough with my mouth open."

I was waiting at the bus stop today and a guy walked up talking extremely loudly. It was echoing in the tiny glass box and giving me a headache. He proceeded to tell his friends to go to the airport where they would see Asian people coughing with mouths uncovered and being generally "unhygenic," as he called it.

Sign Catalogue, Post 10, Week 10

Picnic, Lightning
Billy Collins

"My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three."
                                                                                                                                         Lolita


It is possible to be struck by a meteor
or a single-engine plane
while reading in a chair at home.
Safes drop from rooftops
and flatten the odd pedestrian
mostly within the panels of the comics,
but still, we know it is possible,
as well as the flash of summer lightning,
the thermos toppling over,
spilling on the grass.

And we know the message
can be delivered from within.
The heart, no valentine,
decides to quit after lunch,
the power shut off like a switch,
or a tiny dark ship is unmoored
into the flow of the body's rivers,
the brain a monastery,
defenseless on the shore.

This is what I think about
when I shovel compost
into a wheelbarrow,
and when I fill the long flower boxes,
then press into rows
the limp roots of red impatiens--
the instant hand of Death
always ready to burst forth
from the sleeve of his voluminous cloak.

Then the soil is full of marvels,
bits of leaf like flakes off a fresco,
red-brown pine needles, a beetle quick
to burrow back under the loam.
Then the wheelbarrow is a wilder blue,
the clouds a brighter white,

and all I hear is the rasp of the steel edge
against a round stone,
the small plants singing
with lifted faces, and the click
of the sundial
as one hour sweeps into the next.



-Uses a quote at the beginning to set the scene
-implies bloodshed with the toppling, spilling thermos
-likens the circulatory system to electricity
-shoveling compost is a lot like digging a grave, which fits the theme of death
-shows a shift in thought with "then"
-uses alliteration: "bits of leaf like flakes off a fresco"
-ends on a much lighter note than he began

Improv 2, Post 9, Week 10

Bonsai
Billy Collins

All it takes is one to throw a room
completely out of whack.

Over by the window
it looks hundreds of yards away,

a lone stark gesture of wood
on that distant cliff of a table.

Up close, it draws you in,
cuts everything down to its size.

Look at it from the doorway,
and the world dilates and bloats.

The button lying next to it
is now a earl wheel,

the book of matches is a raft,
and the coffee cup a cistern

to catch the same rain
that moistens its small plot of dark, mossy earth.

For it even carries its own weather,
leaning away from a fierce wind

that somehow blows
through the calm tropics of this room.

The way it bends inland at the elbow
makes me want to inch my way

to the very top of its spiky greenery,
hold onto for dear life

and watch the sea storm rage,
hoping for a tiny whale to appear.

I want to see her plunging forward
through the troughs,

tunneling under the foam and spindrift
on her annual, thousand-mile journey.


Fountain
Casey LaRue

All it takes is one to fill and swell
an entire room.

Over on the end table
its light bends through the flow

and dances on the lampshade
next to a long-burnt bulb.

Up close, its water sounds like an audience softly clapping,
blinking and choking

and smiling they nod,
each sending silent love to their children.

As the actors rush out
for the curtain call,

They join hands and bow,
Looking at their parents' faces in the tile.

Improv 1, Post 8, Week 10

Journal (First 13 lines)
Billy Collins

Ledger of the head's transactions,
log of the body's voyage,
it rides all day in a raincoat pocket,
ready to admit any droplet of thought,
nut of a maxim,
narrowest squint of an observation.

It goes with me
to a gallery where I open it to record
a note on red and the birthplace of Corot,
into the tube of an airplane
so I can take down the high dictation of clouds,
or on a hike in the woods where a young hawk
might suddenly fly between its covers.



Wallet
Casey LaRue

Swaddler of the hand's transactions,
divider of the magnet strips,
it rides all day in the back wool pocket,
ready to shear off twenty any moment,
display the family,
provide a name if the face is lost.

It goes with him
to a gas station where he unfolds it to buy
Newport Cadillacs and a brown Bic,
into the booth at the steakhouse
so he can keep his mistress hungry
or to the tailor where the fabric threatens
to lose it in the folds.

Peer Response 2, Post 7, Week 10

In Response to Kamau's "Improv 2 Week 10":


I really like what you did with the beginning of this poem. The clothesline image is really great. The rest of the piece seemed to rely too much on the original. I think after that section you could branch off and create your own piece.
I would also like to see more interesting places in your draft. Where can the light go that dark can't? Nowhere really. When you think about it, light is futile because everything returns to darkness eventually. Maybe you could bring the piece back around that way and refer to the original piece, maybe ending with a quote.

Peer Response 1, Post 6, Week 10

In response to Brandy's "Free Entry 1 Week 10"

I agree with Tim on "mouth-cave." To better match your surrounding language, you could use "oral cave" or "oral cavity" (or something different and much better haha).

I was also going to talk about giving us the rest of her body. You might try staying away from the breasts, vagina, etc.--anything that is usually associated with sex. It could be a challenge to describe her and the feelings that she invokes using unusual areas.

I also kind of want to hear her voice, to get an idea of the things that the speaker wants to hear so badly so that we feel that too. I'm not sure about any other drafts to include this in, but I think you have a good start with this!

Free Entry, Post 5, Week 10

Bristling

With our feet
cemented in plastic,
we are stuck too close to each other.
If we only had arms
we would push and scratch
until (if we had lungs) we could
      breathe.

Dangling like wingless bats
from a yellow ceiling,
we flex and stretch together,
our hurl spines working with gravity.

When we are drawn
across the ground,
we play capsized soccer,
and head with the ball
toward the enormous goal.

*I feel like I've got a long way to go with this. This is literally the first draft. My boyfriend is still sweeping right now, but I can't think of anything else to put. Suggestions on where to go with this would be appreciated!

Junkyard Quote 4, Post 4, Week 10

"Get those absurdist minds rockin'."

This one I found while looking back through some old notebooks. If I'm not mistaken, I think Brooke Parks said this one.

Junkyard Quote 3, Post 3, Week 10

"Tim O'Brien is my spirit animal."

I wrote an O'Brien-inspired CNF piece for another class, and we held a workshop on it. They told me to channel him more, and then somehow out of the ensuing conversation, we decided he should be my spirit animal.

Junkyard Quote 2, Post 2, Week 10

"The choir lofts are falling off the walls."

I was watching "Life After People," a series about what will happen to our major cities when there are no more humans, and they went into a church that has been abandoned for years to compare the decay, and the guy talking said this, which I thought was such a sad image that I had to remember it.

Junkyard Quote 1, Post 1, Week 10

16. Neil Gaiman: On feedback...
When people tell you something's wrong or doesn't work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong.I was on stumbleupon.com and I found a list of 25 quotes for writers. I thought this one was interesting based on our class.

Peer Response 2, Post 7, Week 9

In response to Sheila's "Improv 1, Week 9"


This is a well-done first draft of an improv piece. I think you have some good beginnings here.
What I would suggest is that you take what you've done here and elaborate on it. Improv pieces don't have to be in the exact same format as the original work. Substituting nouns and verbs can be a good generative device, but I think now is the time to start branching it out. You could start with the obvious theme of Thanksgiving. Where did it come from? What sort of feelings (besides thankfulness) does it evoke? What does the weather feel like? What (besides turkey) do you eat? The first stanza is a little contradicting, with the words "involuntary chores" and "preoccupation," the Thanksgiving aspect is contrasted sharply. You could take that approach if you wanted, but it would be pretty dark to talk about forced thankfulness due to a holiday. Good luck!

Peer Response 1, Post 6, Week 9

In Response to Brandy's "Improv 2 Week 9"


At the beginning of the piece, you write "The cafe is / bustling," which is a little cliche. You might try skipping that and just diving right in:
In the cafe,
menus cover
etc. Also, the phrase "possible prospects" is redundant. Prospects implies possibility. So we could turn this into "prospective (somethings)." I would recommend putting a period at the end of the first stanza to avoid an awkward sentence. There are several other places I would recommend this, like "tasseled like a / child's" and "as she / waits for the chime."
The last stanza is a little confusing to me. Who is the person in white? And why is she anticipating their arrival so much? And what is the chime? I want to know more!

Junkyard Quote 4, Post 5, Week 9

"Here, I've got the skin in my bag."

I don't remember the exact circumstances of this one, but I think it was something to do with food. There are countless ways to use this sentence, and it would be interesting to see where they took me.

Junkyard Quote 3, Post 4, Week 9

"I can pull them out and move them as I want to...at least till they lose their sticky."

CNF again. She was talking about how she organizes  her notes for projects with sticky notes.

Junkyard Quote 2, Post 3, Week 9

"Hiding will be seen as an act of aggression."

From one of the early scenes in the new Battlefield 3. I just think it's crazy that something so clearly defensive can be twisted to be "aggressive."

Junkyard Quote 1, Post 2, Week 9

"I would just like to point out that most people consider the dalai lama a moral person. And he is NOT a vegetarian."

I was walking to my car after class today behind two guys and a girl. They were talking about how the United States is using money to save animals that it could be using to save people. As they parted ways, one of the guys shook his cane at the other two and called this out to them.

Free Entry, Post 1, Week 9

I would like to write of this wilderness--
the sun, the birds, the lake, the frogs,
and the landscape that should be photographed.
But what of this panoramic paradise
has not been fleshed out to obesity,
meditated on with enough ink
to fill this lake at night?

I long for the city--
more than the cars and dogs and lights.
I ache for the leak between
my bathroom floor and living room ceiling.
I yearn for the sound of my neighbor's telephone
ringing incessantly, no one or machine
to answer bill collectors, relatives,
and customers looking to burn some green.

I love my almost-green walls--
looming above my faux-hardwood floor,
the single chip in the center
revealing its laminate bones.

I am at home in my two-story box--
electricity, running water, delivery...
and when I die, I hope my casket
is free of silly things like flowers and air
so I may rest in peace.

Sign Catalogue, Post 10, Week 8

Pearls
Leopold Sedar Senghor

White pearls,
Slow droplets,
Droplets of fresh milk,
Lights fleeing along telegraph lines,
Along the long monotonous gray days!
Where are you going?

To which paradise? Which paradise?
The first lights of my childhood
Never found again...


- Repetition is used with "droplets" and "Which paradise?"
- Use of questions to draw the reader in
- Metaphor
- Varied punctuation
- Creates a distinct voice

Improv 2, Post 9, Week 8

The Sound of Birds at Noon
Dahlia Ravikovitch

This chirping
is not in the lease malicious.
They sing without giving us a though
and they are as many
as the seed of Abraham.
They have a life of their own,
they fly without thinking.
Some are rare, some common,
but every wing is grace.
Their hearts aren't heavy,
even when they peck at a worm.
Perhaps they're light-headed.
The heavens were given to them
to rule over day and night
and when they touch a branch,
the branch too is theirs.
This chirping is entirely free of malice.
Over the years
it even seems to have
a note of compassion.


The Sound of Wolves at Nightfall
Casey LaRue

This howling
is not in the least malicious.
They feed without giving us a thought
and they form together
like families and clans.
They have a hunger of their own,
they feed without thinking.
Some are wild, some tame,
but every paw is cunning.
Their hearts love
enough to see their young raised.
Perhaps they're lonely.
The forests were given to them
to watch over especially by night
and when they sing to the moon,
the moon too is theirs.
This howling is entirely free of malice.
Over the years
it even seems to have
a twinge of pain.

Improv 1, Post 8, Week 8

In the Ashtray
Vasko Popa

A tiny sun
With yellow tobacco hair
Is burning out in the ashtray

The blood of cheap lipstick suckles
The dead stumps of stubs

Beheaded sticks yearn
For sulphur crowns

Blue roans of ash whinny
Arrested in their prancing

A huge hand
With a burning eye in its palm
Lurks on the horizon


In the Jewelry Box
Casey LaRue

A tiny elephant
With red ruby eyes
Is mud bathing in the jewelry box

The gold of a formal pin stabs
Itself in the back

Empty rings yearn
For fingers to strangle

Clasps cast about in the dark
Looking for a link to complete them

A bare body
With holes and limbs to fill
Lurks beyond the mirror

Peer Response 2, Post 7, Week 8

In response to Emmanuel's Free Entry:


Okay, so I'll admit my church attendance has been less than perfect. In fact, I don't really go to church. But in an attempt to give you feedback from all audiences, I'm going to try not to sound ignorant. Here we go.
First, I'm not a huge fan of lines like "He stands" or "she sits" or "he waits." Although I'm guilty of it too, lately I've tried to concentrate on the more important details of the way the person stands (or sits, or whatever) and letting the reader determine the posture.
Another thing I'm working on is taking out unnecessary phrases. I think you could lose "as he is" from the second line and just go with "burdened by the cross / upon his back.
Here's where I become a bit of a dense reader. I think you're describing a picture of Jesus and the Apostles. It's interesting that the picture is leaning, but I want you to offer a meaning behind the leaning (ha). Is it leaning toward the traitor? Also, the question of "Is it I, Is it I" gets me. I want to know the rest of the question, and filling that in will eliminate the need for you to say "the question that bounces between them."
I'm not sure if the lady is a part of the picture or an actual person, and I'm not sure we need to know, but I'm confused about the importance of the red. It seems like the color should stand for something the way you keep referring to it. As of now I'm attributing it to Jesus's blood? The personification of the piano is good, but nothing is ever done with it. It's kind of left hanging. Anyway, I hope my slightly dense comments helped somehow. Good work!

Free Write, Post 6, Week 8

For my free write, I took Jenna's suggestion/challenge and plan to loosely do this:

Free Writing Prompt - Write a list of all the words you can think of that start with "mag-". Select three of the words, using them for your 20 minute free-write. For a second list, use "tri-"


Trifecta
Triple
Triplet 
tricycle
Trifle
Tri-county
Tribunal
Tribute
Tributary
Tribe
Trick
Trickle
Tried
Tries
Trigonometry
Triangle
Trill
Trillion
Trim
Trinket
Trisha
Trio
Trip
Tripod
Triton
Trivia
Trivial


Trillions of water molecules
trickle in 
triplets along the path of the
tributary. Each drop
tries to outdo the
trivial flow of the others, 
tripping and tumbling down the river.
Trimming the shores, creating
trinkets from once-jagged stones...each
trio splashes higher than the one before.
Tripod on shore,
Trip Hanvey shoots the
trifecta of H2O.

Peer Response 1, Post 5, Week 8

In response to Sheila's free entry:


I like the intention of this piece. It's a little like the object poems we did for our calisthenics this week. In the first and second lines, though, there is a question and a seemingly unrelated dependent clause followed by a period. The second line could also be rearranged to get those difficult "l" sounds away from each other (the grass growing like a green skyline beneath).
The third line seems awkward with "not awake" thrown at the bottom. Again, try to rearrange it to make it more interesting (The cold red lever slept facing the ground).
The questions in the fourth line are confusing because there hasn't been a time set up, so we don't know to be expecting the mailman.
The word "dispatch" typically refers to something being sent out rather than received. I believe that it's okay to use plain language in poetry sometimes, and I think this would be an instance where it would work.
The last four lines shift away from the subject with no obvious reason or connection. I would work on creating something to lead the reader logically from point A to point B. Good early draft.

Junkyard Quote 4, Post 4, Week 8

"I'm too drunk to taste that chicken."

Heard this one at a party. I'm not sure that I would use it as written, but I could use it as a guideline for putting surprising things together. This one was pretty good as far as unexpected language.

Junkyard Quote 3, Post 3, Week 8

"That's how you know if you should kiss her."

I heard this in the halls of the humanities building today. The fact that it was a girl talking to a girl brings up a whole different scenario to play with as well.

Junkyard Quote 2, Post 2, Week 8

"Hearts and fortune cookies"

Someone in another class drew a heart and someone else thought it was a fortune cookie. It made me think about the similarities between the two and how it could be used for a piece. So far, I kind of like "filled with subtext like hearts / and fortune cookies."

Junkyard Quote 1, Post 1, Week 8

"I feel like I always sound like myself; it's just the self that I sound like is sometimes different."

Another from my CNF professor. I'm not sure that I would use the entire quote, but the idea is interesting. Different voices for different subjects, jargon, slang, etc. could be interesting to look at in a poem.

Sign Inventory, Post 10, Week 7

Antipsalm
Novica Tadic

Antipsalm

Disfigure me, Lord. Take pity on me.
Cover me with bumps. Reward me with boils.
In the fount of tears open a spring of pus mixed with blood.
Twist my mouth upside down. Give me a hump. Make me crooked.
Let moles burrow through my flesh. Let blood
circle my body. Let it be thus.
May all that breathes steal breath from me,
all that drinks quench its thirst in my cup.
Turn all vermin upon me.
Let my enemies gather around me
and rejoice, honoring You.

Disfigure me, Lord. Take pity on me.
Tie every guilt around my ankles.
Make me deaf with noise and delirium. Uphold me
above every tragedy.
Overpower me with dread and insomnia. Tear me up.
Open the seven seals, let out the seven beasts.
Let each one graze my monstrous brain.
Set upon me every evil, every suffering,
every misery. Every time you threaten,
point your finger at me. Thus, thus, my Lord.
let my enemies gather around me
and rejoice, honoring You.


Constantly addressing the Lord
Two stanzas
Both stanzas start and end with the same lines.
Enjambment starts halfway through the first stanza.
Constant vivid images of suffering
Consistently showing willingness to suffer in the name of the Lord.

Free Entry, Post 9, Week 7

Untitled (taking suggestions for this)
Casey LaRue

How long has he been
sitting parasitic
near your heart?
Months, or years even...
He has been growing inside you
like a repulsive fetus.
Out, damned knot! out I say!
Through the port
the constrictors sail,
binding and crushing
until the blades will dive in
your warm fleshy pool
to run out on a rail
the poisonous monster
who threatens you.
And he may one day
come for me,
but we will be ready.
My heart is too big
and my mind too sharp
to let him repeat
his Shermanic march.

Improv 2, Post 8, Week 7

Little Picture Catalogue
Novica Tadic

1

In a ghost town
dogs roam
among dead dogs

2

in a blind alley
a boy wheels the halo
of the holy mother

3

in someone's backyard
a crucified
hen

4

from the pipe of a customer
in a whorehouse
a woman's black stocking
rises like smoke

5

in the anteroom
many shoes overcoats hats gloves
but the house empty
not one human face
     to be seen

6

unknown massive gray
objects above the
waters of salvation


Little Photo Album
Casey LaRue

1

In the evening streets
cats slink
among shrub shadows

2

behind the building
a man tosses the bag
of the flies' Santa

3

in someone's home
a television and
lamp

4

from the stacks of buildings
along the horizon
evaporated chemicals
rise like clouds

5

in the corridor
strewn shoes socks
shirts skirt
but the hall is empty
of bodies only voices
      to be heard

6

unknown tiny green
objects make way for
spears of enlightenment

Improv 1, Post 7, Week 7

*Note: This is a very loose improv. By that I mean I started with the first line and wrote and then used the last line of the first stanza to prompt an ending. That's pretty much it. Hope you like it anyway.

Antipsalm
Novica Tadic

Disfigure me, Lord. Take pity on me.
Cover me with bumps. Reward me with boils.
In the fount of tears open a spring of pus mixed with blood.
Twist my mouth upside down. Give me a hump. Make me crooked.
Let moles burrow through my flesh. Let blood
circle my body. Let it be thus.
May all that breathes steal breath from me,
all that drinks quench its thirst in my cup.
Turn all vermin upon me.
Let my enemies gather around me
and rejoice, honoring You.

Disfigure me, Lord. Take pity on me.
Te every guilt around my ankles.
Make me deaf with noise and delirium. Uphold me
above every tragedy.
Overpower me with dread and insomnia. Tear me up.
Open the seven seals, let out the seven beasts.
Let each one graze my monstrous brain.
Set upon me every evil, every suffering,
every misery. Every time you threaten,
point your finger at me. Thus, thus, my Lord.
Let my enemies gather around me
and rejoice, honoring You.

Antiprose
Casey LaRue

I will break you, words. Parted at the seam
of my thoughts, I will cleave you
like Moses with the seas.
I will peek inside the letter bag and discriminate.
I will line you up. Rip one from the middle. Replace it with another
and change everything. I will not use the old, the tired, the sick,
the cliche. In Spanish, I am
la diosa de las palabras. Dos lenguas me tienen miedo.
Turn all eyes to my page.
Let my fellow speakers gather around me,
their tongues wagging with poetic praise
and phrase.

Peer Response 2, Post 6, Week 7

In response to Jenna's Free Write:

That's a great found line to work with! I'm going to have to read that book. I think you did a good job with the repetition here. Although you're repeating what you've already said, you always bring something new to the phrase, whether it's new combinations of words you've already used or introducing a new idea. Some things to think about: I can't believe you did a prose poem since I know you hate them, but I applaud the willingness to do it. In the first sentence, you use "I dreamed," but in the second sentence, when you start your improv, you used the word "dreamt." I would go ahead and make that one "dreamed" as well for continuity's sake. One phrase I'm not sure about is "I strummed my pocket watch." I'm not sure quite how this would work (because a flying foam stegosaurus is totally believable), and I'm also not sure how later the fireflies would do it. Now that I think about it, it's not that it doesn't happen, but that I don't know what you mean here well enough to picture it like I can a foam dinosaur. I hope that made sense. If not you can ask me in class and I'll try to explain better. Great work though!

Peer Response 1, Post 5, Week 7

In response to Kamau's Improv 2:

First of all, let me say this is a tough piece to improv off of. I'm trying it too and haven't come up with anything worth posting yet. I really like some of the phrases you create, like "Let your blood / fill my body." That was a really nice image. I know you're just playing around with different words, but you still need to be careful to stay away from cliches. Words like "tribulations" are exactly what someone would think of when they think of God trying them. Thank you, though, for not making it "trials and tribulations." That would have definitely been cliche. At the end, I don't think you need "yet" and "and still." Those mean the same thing, and it makes it a little redundant. Overall, I think you could work with some of the phrases in here as a jumping-off point, which is the point of the improv, so good work!

Junkyard Quote 4, Post 4, Week 7

"I won't judge. I'm the jury."

I'm not sure if I stole this quote or not. I think I heard it in a rap song, but I have no idea what song it was or who it was by. It was also really hard to understand the guy, so I don't know. If so, I like it.

Junkyard Quote 3, Post 3, Week 7

"You can have the goat, but you gotta take the gander."

This came out of my Creative Nonfiction writing group. One of the girls in my group grew up on a farm, and she was talking about when they accidentally acquired a mean-spirited goose.

Junkyard Quote 2, Post 2, Week 7

"I don't want garbage; I want sprinkles."

My friend and I got ice cream one day earlier this month and we were driving back with the windows down. We drove past a garbage truck, and my friend rolled up the window while she said that.

Junkyard Quote 1, Post 1, Week 7

"By 'round two' I mean 'square 1'."

I said this one night. I don't remember exactly what happened, but I think I messed something up and had to start over to fix it.

Free Entry, Post 5, Week 6

My free entry this week is also what I did for my calisthenics exercise. I like it for its alliteration, but I'm not so sure about it as a whole.

“We need no prompter, the puppets said proudly.”

-Miroslav Holub

“’We need no prompter,’

the puppets said proudly.”

Proudly they said this,

for other puppets need a prompter indeed.

A puppeteer, or prompter,

must punch their fist through the back

of the puppet, pinching pine lips

from the inside, playing with eyelids,

pulling limbs with the other hand.

All puppets need prompters,

all but these proud puppets

can proclaim their power

to move without muscle,

to live without life.

These prompterless puppets

proudly proclaim their proclivity

to speak without voice.

Junkyard Quote 4, Post 4, Week 6

"I like the bouncing rhythm of repetition."

I included this one because I agree. Repetition is one of my favorite devices. Mr. O'Brien was asked why he included "I remember" so much in his book What They Carried, and this is what he responded with.

Junkyard Quote 3, Post 3, Week 6

"A bullet can not only kill the enemy. It can make the enemy."

Here Mr. O'Brien was talking about how, upon entering villages, the innocent civilians came to hate them because they shot at them.

Junkyard Quote 2, Post 2, Week 6

"Puppies and claymores."

I know this isn't a full quote, but I think the juxtaposition of these two items is incredible. It's something I need to work on in my writing, and this startling but true opposition is a great example to work from.

Junkyard Quote 1, Post 1, Week 6

"Fishing with hand grenades often leads to unintentional suicide."

All of my quotes this week are from Tim O'Brien. I went to a Q and A session with him last week when he visited, and without even meaning to, he produced all kinds of quotes. This was part of a true story about a soldier in his unit that actually killed himself fishing with hand grenades.

Sign Inventory, Post 10, Week 5

When Death Came
Adam Zagajewski

I wasn't with you when death came.
The municipal hospital was your last home:
white room, cobwebs, chipped
paint, a jar of cherry preserves,
an old issue of a rotogravure, a tin fork
with a tine gone, two glasses.
In the next bed, a tailor with cancer.
You were so old the doctors thought
you'd hardly weight
in the numbers of death.
So old that the children on your street
thought you another century,
an empire slouching on the broken sidewalk.
As death came, though, youth came:
you suddenly spoke the language of childhood,
the white screen between you and the living
was the wing of a glider.
The intravenous drip muttered, a pigeon
impatiently paced on the sill.
You were taking all of yourself
from that dreary place into your death:
the dandy of eighteen, the mature thirty-year-old,
the German teacher with no truck
for indolent students, the pensioner
with his long daily walk
that may at the end have measured
the distance from earth
to heaven.
You'd regenerated yourself
for your death.
In the hall, the muffled laughter
of nurses; at the window,
sparrows fighting for crumbs.


- This piece uses a lot of enjambment.
- The repetition of phrases such as "when death came" and "so old that" emphasize certain points within the piece.
- It's interesting that he chose not to capitalize Heaven. I wonder if it was a personal choice or if he just didn't think about it.
- The idea from the first line of the narrator being absent from the death is reiterated at the end when he mentions only nurses and sparrows.
- The actions of the nurses (laughing) and sparrows (eating) reinforce the previous idea of the old man not weighting in the numbers of death.

Improv 2, Post 9, Week 5

At Daybreak
Adam Zagajewski

From the train window at daybreak,
I saw empty cities sleeping,
sprawled defenselessly on their backs
like great beasts.
Through the vast squares, only my thoughts
and a biting wind wandered;
linen flags fainted on towers,
birds started to wake in the trees,
and in the thick pelts of the parks
stray cats' eyes gleamed.
The shy light of morning, eternal
debutante, was reflected in shop windows.
Carousels, finally possessing themselves, spun
like prayer wheels on their invisible fulcrums;
gardens fumed like Warsaw's smoldering ruins.
The first van hadn't arrived yet
at the brown slaughterhouse wall.
Cities at daybreak are no one's,
and have no names.
And I, too, have no name,
dawn, the stars growing pale,
the train picking up speed.

At Midnight
Casey LaRue

From my bedroom window at midnight,
I saw empty mausoleums starving,
lids stacked crookedly across gaps
like mad hats.
Six feet under, only my soul
and a snaking worm wandered;
dampness crept in the cavities
souls started to awaken from bones,
and in the roots of the trees
water stretched to feed.
The transitive light of the moon, smiling
guardian, reached not to those depths.
Crickets, finally expressing themselves, rubbed
like twigs to create fiery songs;
plants curled like inked paper.
The first moment hadn't arrived yet
of the new and promising day.
Mausoleums at midnight are no ones yet,
but one day will have names.
And I, too, will have a name,
midnight, the stars glowing brightly,
the crickets' chorus rising.

Improv 1, Post 8, Week 5

Betrayal
Adam Zagajewski

The greatest delight, I sense,
is hidden sublimely in the act of betrayal
which can be equal only to fidelity.
To betray a woman, friends, an idea,
to see new light in the eyes
of distant shadows. But choices are
limited: other women, other
ideas, the enemies of our
long-standing friends. If only
we could encounter some quite different
otherness, settle in a country which has
no name, touch a woman before
she is born, lose our memories, meet
a God other than our own.

Stretching
Casey LaRue

The free-est feeling, I believe,
is embraced mainly in the start of the morning
which can be equal only to the night.
To stretch a back, arms, a neck,
to feel new muscles in the length
of familiar arms. But times are
limited: lying in bed, sitting
up, the moment you first
stand. If only
we could maintain some quite stretchy
state of being, lying in beds of
air and water, each limb long and
flexible, mentality malleable
and open, souls
embracing every day.

Peer Response 2, Post 7, Week 5

In response to Kamou's free entry:

This piece is very interesting. As always, I can definitely hear your voice throughout the whole thing. I agree with Pauline as far as this sounding like lyrics, and I like it. The beginning doesn't seem to have as much rhythm as the rest of the piece, but I cheated and read the last few lines first, so maybe I had some expectations already. There are points where I want to tell you to fix the grammar/spelling (this mental compass point straight), but the other half of me thinks that it works here. It wouldn't hurt to check punctuation, though, like its and it's.

Peer response 1, Post 6, Week 5

In response to Brandy's free entry:

I also don't know who Dave Pelzer is, but I searched his name on Google and found that he was a survivor of childhood abuse who is now a self-help author. That small bit of research coupled with your explanation at the end was enough for  me to understand that this was what you wished for Dave rather than the unfortunate childhood he had. I think, regardless of what he had in mind, this works as a piece that we all wish was accurate. That said, there are still errors from a technical standpoint. For example, piñatas shouldn't have an apostrophe.I like the alliteration of "bruised bodied blood," but I'm not sure it makes sense. I think you could use some commas between the "not______" sections, and I'm a little confused as to why you used "her" in the last line of the second stanza. But the basis of the piece is good. I agree with Tim that you could bring in some more detail, but overall good work.