Forgotten Things

Well, here’s the story:

My family has had many computers; surprisingly, most of them we acquired free of cost from various friends, relatives, or Church members (just one of the perks of being a ‘Pastor’s Kid’, A.K.A. ‘PK’). As a result, we eventually found ourselves with a random plethora of monitors, keyboards and towers in various states of functionality. As each used desktop met its timely end and was replaced, documents began to decay within the software of each discarded laptop or tower. Our barn turned into a graveyard of leftover technology as my father repetitively promised to a) fix, b)trash, or c)back-up documents from the various repositories. This never actually occurred…

Until now, that is! An ancient tower has been re-animated in our home office and its documents sorted through. I discovered two pieces of writing headed with my name and dating back to early 2010. Oddly enough, I have no recollection of ever writing them–I have come to the conclusion that they must have been created in a trance-like state which I instantly forgot in the aftermath of my brain-hurricane. With a minimal bit of editing, I judge them acceptable enough to be shared!

So without further delay, I present a long-forgotten sonnet and a poor, forsaken tercet. Judges, ready your score-cards!

Sonnet

A picture may be worth a thousand words,

So let me paint a picture here for you.

The holly tree, alive with shrieking birds,

Who also line the fence, made of bamboo

 

Their feathers shining black, their cries are harsh.

Do not, do not; their screeches seem to say.

Do not do what? Replies from nearby marsh.

Where minks and snakes do listen through the day.

 

If rocks, it’s said, could shout the maker’s name,

Would not they try and halt this odd melee?

This sour song has far and wide earned fame,

As watchers wish to halt our slow decay.

 

For it is us, the watchers, who bear the brunt

Of our completely ridiculous, beloved government.

(c) 2010 Marie KR

A little cryptic, perhaps, but since I cannot remember writing it, I’m afraid I can shed little light upon the point.

Tercet

When something that you love has gone away,

A haunt, a tree, a friend, a cloud, a thought,

You feel that you’ve wandered far astray.

 

And if you turn around, and hope, and run,

Stretch out your hand and try to catch the past,

You may be wrapped in memories again.

 

It’s what you wish, but no, it cannot be.

You find the fading shapes of times long gone,

But fading shapes are all that you can see.

(c) 2010 Marie KR

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The Penultimate Post…AKA Crazy Sixes

Day 15:

Yes, I know there was no new post yesterday, and I apologize. I actually did write one, finished it around 12:30 this morning, but then fell asleep before I could write a post to go with it. In my defense, before writing it I worked for 7 hours straight at the restaurant so it’s admirable that I even managed to finish the poem.

Anyway, this is a Sestina; the half-cousin thrice removed of the Villanelle. The Sestina has six stanzas of six lines and a final stanza of 3 lines. There are six different words which are repeated at the end of each line in different patterns per stanza. It’s a little confusing, but I had a special template-thing to help me figure out which line/word goes where. It’s very fun to write, yet again, and I find the template to be more like helpful guidelines than restrictions. Enjoy!

Oily Smoke and Orange Zest

I watch as he slowly peels the orange

and its skin falls in lopsided rings

carved out by the nail of his finger.

They tumble into the ashy fireplace

and in its heat the edge curls,

the same peppery color as our old cat

So the cat

stares down at the orange

where it lies in empty curls.

High above an echo rings

down the hollow tunnel of our fireplace,

as against the table I tap my finger

And I wave my shaking finger

toward the old grey cat

as it spits into the fireplace

and stares up at the flames glowing orange

in twists and loops and rings,

at the smoke which rises on the air in thin curls.

In the heat my partner’s dark hair curls

and he winds it around his finger

so that it lies on his scalp in lovely rings.

Still the old weathered cat,

with his tongue a soft peachy orange,

tastes the fruit we left in the fireplace.

My great-grandfather built that fireplace

surrounded by stone and wood shaving curls

and munching a plump new orange,

band-aids on every finger

from angering the cat,

whose fur back then still showed patterned rings 

And on my hands are many rings

which I plan to drop in the fireplace

or throw at the grouchy cat

on the rug where he always curls,

one at whom I can point the finger

when someone steals my juicy orange.

So flees the cat when the doorbell rings

and I leave my orange lying above the fireplace

while sickly smoke curls between my fingers.

 

(c) 2011 Marie KR

PS: I’m going to be leaving my blog for a little while in order to have time to create my final anthology. I’ll be selecting my favorites from these 2 weeks of blogging, revising, and binding them in a book of their own. I’ll make sure I post a good-bye poem before I do that, though!

Enough to Make my Voice Shake

Day 14:

Two whole weeks, success!

So tonight I overcame a little of my stage fright by reading at a small open-mic night at a cute local pizza place. I probably would not have done it if a friend hadn’t called me out on the microphone and made me read…it was my first time reading in front of an actual audience of people who I didn’t know, and during the first time my voice was shaking and I felt myself blushing. I sat and watched for a while, then gathered enough courage to return and recite the other two which I had brought. They seemed to go down nicely, and I’m quite proud of myself.

Anyway, today I tried a little Villanelle writing! The Villanelle is a unique, structured poetry form with a rhyme sequence ABA for 5 stanzas with the final being ABAA. There are two repeating lines, a common theme, and some of the best are in iambic pentameter (groan/ eyeroll) but I did it, and it was fun, and this is what came out of it!

Insignificance

The world is large and in it I feel small,

How can the cosmos deign to notice me?

A spider slowly creeping ‘cross the wall.

The cloak of stars, it swallows up my call,

My tiny call which sounds more of a plea.

The world is large and in it I feel small.

And I know not if I exist at all,

A grain of salt within the tossing sea.

A spider slowly creeping ‘cross the wall.

It feels that if I let go I shall fall,

Fall, into the wildly tossed debris.

The world is large and in it I feel small.

The movements of this whirling earth enthrall,

Imagine yet how fragile life can be.

A spider slowly creeping ‘cross the wall.

So here before me hills and canyons sprawl,

And their destruction I shall never see.

The world is large and in it I feel small,

A spider slowly creeping ‘cross the wall.

 

(c) 2011 Marie KR

Asian Form Poetry

Day 7:

So my HIP teacher handed me an article about a poetry journal called Canadian Zen Haiku, and suggested I submit something. The journal only submits Asian poetry forms (Haiku, Senryu, Tanka, Renga, Japanese form poetry). I decided, why not, and looked up how to write Tanka. This is what I found:

Like haiku, its shorter cousin, tanka usually is well-grounded in concrete images but also is infused with a lyric intensity and intimacy that comes from the direct expression of emotions, as well as from implication, suggestion, and nuance…The tanka aesthetic is broad and all-encompassing. You can write on virtually any subject and express your thoughts and feelings explicitly.

Tanka is a 5-line poem which can be composed in 5-7-5-7-7 form or free-verse, so I chose free-verse.

Tanka traditionally has no title, but this piece was inspired by my experiences cliff-jumping on the St. Lawrence River with my family. Finding yourself suddenly in the middle of a breath-stealing nothingness is mind-blowing, and certainly makes you feel a bit different afterwards…

Untitled

long summers spent awaiting

the turnaround point where

we are recreated

leaping into sunlight

and letting go

 

(c) 2011 Marie KR

Oh Caaaanadaaaa…

Day 5:

Good morning! Well, after inspiration played hide-and-seek for a while today, I gave up and decided to try out one of those cheap online idea-generators. An interesting experience, though I don’t think I’ll do it again sometime. Anyway, I found this interesting site:

http://www.jrobertlennon.com/articles/poemideagenerator/

And it gave me the following prompt:

Create some chaos around Canada in light verse

Which is just so contrary to my natural style and tone that I decided to give it a try! Please forgive the bad rhymes, overdone stereotypes, and potentially offensive references. If it helps at all, I’m Canadian, and proud of it, eh!

État D’urgence de

If Canada was in peril

I honestly wonder if still

they’d seem so kind and friendly to

the foreigners who’re passing through.

If Russia turned the nukes on them,

the Soviets they’d not condemn.

Suicide bombers from Iraq

would not make their smiles balk.

AIDS disease from Africa

does not concern Nova Scotia.

If Iceland took their General out,

they’d ask, “Hey neighbour, what’s that a-boot?”

If the apocalypse was on-going

the hockey whistles would keep blowing.

If Argentina picked a fight,

Canada would be so polite.

If war began with North Korea,

they’d find no guns in Manitoba.

And if USA marched Northward-way,

we’d hear, “Welcome to Canada, eh!”

 

(c) 2011 Marie KR