Poetic Sputtering... to a halt.

Last poetry battle and my word is NEEDS

Needs watering, the flowers,
Keep up the appearances,
What would they think,
Should they see the real you?

Elimy's first word was YOU. I thought it was fitting to bring things around full circle. This poem is about the masks people wear to pretend they're someone else. It's been fun messing about with these little daily poems. Maybe again sometime in the future?

Poemastic Fantastic

My word is YOU

You, with the dog eyed soul,
And watery eyes,
You, with the heart of coal,
And transparent lies.

Elimy's word is LIES.

Poetry-Schmoetry

Today's word is BLUE

Blue cheeks spread on cold pale flesh,
Your face is victim to the cold,
Wild white wind is winter fresh,
Your gloves, your hands, have warmth, to hold.

Elimy's word is HOLD. Happy birthday Elimy!

Poetrology 101

Because I was at work and because I was at a party, and becuase I was drunk and tired when I got home I didn't do a poem yesterday. That means this is the second one today! Woo, go me! My word is "Flight".

Flight for flightless birds I wish
could take to skies in herds to fish
for dreams to feed their hearts with hope
enough to bring the world awake, to stir you from your coma.

Elimy's word is COMA. Yes I know, this poem is more like five lines squashed into four, but whatever.

Poemisms Continued

Today's word: Perfection

Perfection is a collection of the hues of gray,
The scope that stifles and chokes us of what we feel,
A flaw is a splash of raw colour a much more vibrant display,
More beautiful, much more colourful, and infinitely more real.

Thanks Elimy, your word is: REAL

Poetramatic Attack!

My poem battle number 3. Elimy has set me up with the word "Hierarchy".

Hierarchy of shoes and dresses,
Plastic dolls and pop princesses,
This soulless dream, to make a buck,
You need to learn to bend your knees and suck.

Whether metaphorical or literal, I think the message in this poem is pretty clear, although I'm sure my methods may be slightly objectionable. ;)

Elimy's word is: SUCK
Ha, ha, ha. This is fun.

PS: What typo?

More Poemetrics

Elimy's got me writing a poem begining with the word "Underpants"

Underpants fold, roll and tumble in the dryer,
Fresh for the cold winter's day,
Nothing could be more comfortable.

Elimy's word is: COMFORTABLE

Poetry Battle

I'm battling Elimy (http://elimy.blogspot.com/) in the fine art of poetry and this is my response to her poem titled "Love".

Rules:
1) Each poem must begin with the final word of the poem of the person before.
2) Each poem can only be two to four lines long (although line length will not be standardized).
3) Cliches are punishable by death.
4) Poems must be relevant... no A-grade baloney.
5) No personal attacks on the other poet.

Bread:

Bread, bread, the stuff in your head,
Pickled in brain-juice, all soggy and red,
And the mould that is growing and eating your head,
Will scrape at your skull until you're deceased.

Elimy's word is: Deceased.

Things people do for attention

This is the motivation for a lot of my writings of late. What will people do before people will pay attention to them? What will they have to do before people stop to help? It's mostly pretty gloomy stuff, but it's really allowed me to explore characters on an individual level. I just feel like I need to work with this idea through the different situations before I hit one that fits. Maybe this is a good style/theme for me, as I'm not usually the centre of attention. I'm not usually one to talk about my problems and live with my emotions so close to the surface. I usually find that the impression this gives is that I'm quite level-headed, quite regular, balanced, and all that. I figure most of these ideas come from assumptions. I think lots of things I don't say. I'm one of those people who thinks a lot before saying things. Most of the time, anyway. I calculate words. I decide what I want to share about myself. I'm reserved, if you could put just one word to me. What will I do for attention? I honestly don't know. Sometimes I feel like the way I articulate myself is a show in which I manipulate people to see me a certain way, but I know I couldn't be that devious on a conscious level. Maybe all I want, as a writer, and as a person too, I guess, is for people to listen to me. I don't know.

First week back at uni

Just a bit of general housekeeping. I am back at Curtin for my second year of Creative Writing/Literary and Cultural Studies. I'm studying poetry and short fiction this semester, as well as some literary and cultural stuff, including a course on popular music. I get to do a presentation on Fight Club at the end of the semester, which I'm really psyched about, and as I get back into the rhythm of things I'm picking up the pen a bit more frequently, and trying to read through a couple of novels when I can. I have been reading "The War in Heaven" by David Zindell, which is absolutely fantastic, but it's not something you can read in snapshots, like on a bus or on your lunchbreak. So I've put that aside for the time being (hopefully not for too long this time!) and instead I've picked up another of Chuck Palahniuk's novels, Survivor.

I've read Fight Club, and I'm about forty pages into Survivor, and I must say that I'm drawn to this man's knack for writing prose. He writes "differently" to your average New Your Best-Seller, and I think that really makes a difference, and really makes his writing pop out. In studying the more minute techniques of narrative, I hope that I can follow Chuck towards this path of literary originality. I know it sounds ironic, trying to achieve originality through the following of others. But I think it works for me. I'd like to think my stories can offer something different to my readers.

This difference, however, has its downfalls. You see, when people read, they expect to be entertained, and the conundrum lies with reverting expectations and still remaining entertaining and compelling. I think people look for generic hooks and tropes, and when they're not there, or portrayed differently, it is harder for the reader to accept the story as it is, or fully understand what I, as the author have tried to do. At the moment, I'm really trying to push my prose into a metaphoric state. I tried to get my latest story "Painting Flames on Runaway Trains" to pace itself like that of a runaway train, gathering momentum until the penultimate crash.

I'm not entirely sure how to approach my next project. I've just been running through ideas before I go to bed, jotting down the core themes I'd like to get at, and how I could approach them. So far, all I can say is that it's about an astronaut that is abandoned on the surface of Mars and left to contemplate his abandonment without a soul to communicate with.

My poetry tutor, Brian Dibble, said in my first class that poetry was metaphorical, but prose is metonymical. Maybe it's just me, but I think the metaphoric and metonymic natures of either two forms are interchangeable. I prefer my poetry to be grounded in the real world, whereas I like to give my prose metaphoric qualities, particularly in the rhythms of the sentences I use. Repetition, patterns, words that roll off the tongue like poetry, without actually being poetry. I like to get inside the heads of characters, to explore into what makes them tickin my prose. I like to stand back and observe things as they are in my poetry. I like to think that playing around with these two art forms has taught me a lot, and ultimately, unlocked my ability to tap into ideas I previously thought impossible. My first story was a gothic horror, it goes through the usual themes and expresses things that have been expressed over and over again. I like to think I can move on to more interesting, deeper stuff. I only hope it will be read and enjoyed as it is.

So, yeah, my first week has been good, nothing outstanding, going to try to get on top of my homework tonight and ready myself for week two. I don't know what this Mars story will end up like, but as a writer, and as a person, I like to think that life is flexible. You can bend it and conform it to your will, and likewise, it can be so warped that you won't know what the future will hold for you, whether it be a year or a month or a day. Things just are the way they are and you've got to just run with it and hope you end up where you want, or somewhere just as good.