Poetry Dare: Day 5

I had this idea for a poem in mind for awhile, and I finally had a chance to write it out.  I'm very interested in the habits we humans have in life.  One of those habits is nearly undying curiosity.  I think, sometimes, however, that this curiosity gets us into more trouble than it does to help us. This is problematic because we can never know with certainty what could have been if something had been different, and sometimes the word "if" is the worst word that can or could ever be.



If is the heaviest word in
the English language. There
is no way to whisper this
word under your breath without
finding an inundation of
emotions or memories or
colors connected like rainbows
are said to show the way
to a pot of gold.
But this word is not
heavy like change - it is
burdened by moments
that never came to be,
possibilities conditioned on
things out of your control.

Certainty is something that can't
be guaranteed, and if is too
often followed by then as though
the hypothetical could lead into
a consequence...
"If I had been there..."
"If I had done something..."
"If I had said anything, then..."
Then... then...
Then what?

The unknown takes over and
life never goes back, so please
just keep your eyes turned
towards the place to which your
toes point. Feet know that
certain ends can't be questioned - this
is why feet look like exclamation points and toes
can't curl into question marks -
forward is the best way feet embark.

If is the heaviest utterance in
the English language. It has a habit
of transforming those things which touch it
into unanswerable questions like "What if?" It
has this habit of transforming memories
into missed opportunities, and ifs
stick to themselves until we feel
buried by "whats" and "I don't knows"
are the only weapon we have to wield, but they
break like bones under plunging gravity -
falling doesn't crush us; the sudden stop
does.

Poetry Dare: Day 4

It was a good day. Movies and hanging out with friends. Somehow destiny got brought up.



And we become
what we've always been.

Truth is that chance
has little to do with where we end.

Actions speak louder than words
because voices too often go unheard.

whereas eyes acknowledge what
they've been told to see, so

destiny lies not with finding,
falling upon, or going into but

can only be because
we become what we do.

Poetry Dare: Day 3

I have absolutely no idea where this poem came from.  It began from the first two stanzas and then just kind of took on a life of its own.  I think that poetry is a state of constantly questioning the world.  The answers we get may not necessarily be the ones we want to find, but it's important that we keep questioning nonetheless.  Writing allows me that outlet, and I would encourage anyone feeling at a loss for words to pick up a pen or pencil and tell your story straight onto the lines in front of you.  After all, lines won't judge and your story is beautiful... And this rant reminds me of a poem of mine that a friend really likes, so I'd be quite lax in not including a link to that poem here.

A big thank you to anyone who has been checking out my dare/blog, and a big thank you to the person who made the dare in the first place, even if it was for the selfish reason of hearing a new poem of mine every day =D.  Consider this me saying "You're welcome."

But seriously, thank you to everyone for your support!




You've written another language for your story, drawn
a map but forgot the key.
I'm just trying to understand, so please
help me.

What does the sunset mean to you? Where
has the sunrise fallen? What
do you wake up to? Why
is your life calling?

Before you can answer who, you
have to find a reason to be. Sometimes
somethings get lost, but these answers
are too important to lose, so

don't loosen your grip. Who
are you? Where
do you want to be?
What makes you so
special? Why are you with me?

Questions, rather than answers, are
the way in which we explore the world because
answers are an end but questions are the means, so
forgive me for asking so many, but
I've got a wanderlust which feels
unquenchable.

I want to explore your eyes like they
lead me to the fountain of youth; I could
think of my fingertips as children running
through your hair like fields - there is
no end to the exploring and the adventures
on which we could embark; I'm
not even sure I'm asking for answers
anymore, but if you have some
you're willing to offer, I'd
be happy to sit and listen like
ancient mariners would stare
into the sky for guiding stars while
listening to the power of the ocean
as she gently whispered
against the sides of their craft
like the way your breath
washes across my chest.

Poetry Dare: Day 2

Today, I was thinking about the prompt that I posted on Monday.  The prompt can be found here.  In short, the prompt asks about freedom and what you think it is.  I'm still not completely sure.  For me, freedom is a tenuous idea.  I don't think there's any way to completely get 100% behind freedom all the time.  If such were the case, we'd move towards anarchy rather than the governance we have.  I think, while some may find this idea interesting, I do not.  I do not like the idea of total freedom...  Unless that freedom is bounded by some kind of responsibility.  This is where I run into a problem with current gun legislation and possible change.  It's as though we don't want to take responsibility for the actions these weapons allow people to commit.  I would love to see common sense legislation about guns, but I'm not sure it's going to happen...  If absolutely nothing else, I'd very much like to see responsible gun owners take a stand and agree that no one but the military really needs to have assault weapons.  I know that bad people exist, and I am all for being able to effectively defend oneself (this is why I study martial arts still), but there is a difference between self defense and making murder far too easy to commit.  I do not know all the facts, but I feel as though something needs to change otherwise we are simply living insane.

Anyhow, onto the poem:

What is the nature of freedom? I
am privy to the calls of coyotes at late night
moon serenades. Birds call their song in flight;
we take caps off bottles and
only dial numbers when we're drunk enough
to forget that we have the freedom to
raise our voice whenever we want. But
something has a bad habit of getting lost; freedom
isn't free from what they've told me, but we
are paying everything we shouldn't be in order to keep
this ideal alive. Please,
tell me why your right
to bear arms trumps
30,000 people's right to life. Please,
tell me why you're right, and
everyone else is wrong. I'm sick
of hearing dirges and conflating them
with liberty's song.

We have lost the right to casually walk
through airports, arenas, capitols, and transportation
stations unmolested by probing question attached to
gloved hands, so why must weapons remain
so easily obtained? Freedom is not attained through force.
Freedom cannot be guaranteed by bullets or anything
material - free may only be forged from the non-
quantifiable. You may have a fist full for a heart,
but it's spirit that
can't be chained, and
bullets will never be able to kill all the world's
words are the way we have to fight
injustice because men can die, but their ideals
live on. So, please,
tell me how your
bullets are enough to quell an uprising
of the spirit - it's like trying to
fire at clouds to stop them from raining -
freedom is an idea too big for bullets to bring down;
it is an ideal that only words
are big enough
to protect.



This is a piece which I would be interested in working with to see if I can get it any stronger or give more weight to some of the ideas.  I think an integral part to any craft is the ability to find both flaws and strengths in the art and diminish the former while increasing the latter - the key is to not focus too much on the flaws and realize that nothing is perfect, but flaws make something relate able.  Regardless of that, I think we need to have an open and honest discussion about many things in our society ranging from guns to mental health to the violence in our entertainment.  There is always a solution, and if art mimics life, then life must also have flaws and strengths.  We just need to diminish the former and increase the latter.  Maybe someday we'll get this thing right.

Poetry Dare: Day 1

Before I begin the poem, I wanted to say that I had an absolutely awesome day.  Very interesting to say the least with quite exciting extra-curricular activities such as hearing an amazing set of poetry from Dominique Christine, a recent Women of the World Poetry Slam champion.  She is an amazing speaker, and she definitely geeked out with a ridiculously awesome tangent about etymology and the meaning of words.  I don't think the following is directly inspired by her set, but someday I hope to have a couple pieces flowing from the great poetry which was shared.

Now onto the poem... piece... thing which was produced:
(As yet untitled - I tend to keep work untitled until its worth doing the mental gymnastics to actually come up with a name for the work).

Some people think poetry needs to be clothed in pain
as though words could take the hurt, act
like a bandaid, cover up scars, and I'm
here to tell you, yes, this is possible, but
don't let words be your only salve. If they aren't
enough, take action and use your limbs to write
what your hands can't. Hold
yourself up on sturdy legs and stand
for something greater when the pen isn't enough.
Words have a limit to their application - they
won't feed you when you're hungry; they
won't clothe you when you're naked, but they can
make your realize how hungry you've been and
tell you what may have gone missing - they, the words,
can make you comfortable with your own nakedness and
expose your flaws as the raiment of divinity.
Your words can connect you, but
only if you allow them to.
Hands can hold just as much as they
can strangle, so
be careful with what you say as
poetry doesn't need to come dressed in the rags
of your past nor the mask of your fears.

Some people think that, in order for the pen to be
as powerful as the sword, it needs to make
someone bleed, but
poetry should not be forced into fighting
unless this is what it needs to do.
Sadness doesn't need to permeate your stanzas,
but it's okay
if it does.

You may not have known the kind of dark
that other poets do, but that doesn't mean
you should apologize for trying to make light
of the life you've seen, and you don't need to go
searching for dark to understand it. You've
already pulled all nighters to watch the sun
come up, sat on a roof and hugged your knees
in place of a warm body, felt loss like it
can't be explained, and you don't need to explain
yourself because these lines will not judge.
Just like no explanation is needed to see
the beauty of a sunrise in weary eyes, you
do not need
to apologize for yourself because you
are your words; you
are poetry. You
are never finished, yet
you are a complete sentence. A subject
constantly in search of lively verbs
and their
compliments.

1/21/13 Prompt: Freedom

Today is an important day of remembrance.  One on which we ought to think back on progress which has been made and reflect on how we may be able to push our causes further.  Sometimes, however, it can be difficult to find common ground with another person, and this is where poetry comes into play.  Poetry is a way that we can create morals out of mythology; it is a method by which we can take the uncommon and make it understood.  To use a piece of a Sartre quote: "every age has circumstances which can be expressed or transcended only through poetry."  To me, this means that our language, our methods of communication are somewhat inadequate.  Poetry, in and of itself, does nothing but take the uncommon (your private experiences) and turn it into something that can be more fully understood (through use of metaphor and similes - analogies and comparisons help to make light of stories).  This is a process of telling stories - something which comes naturally yet also takes much practice to actually perfect.  Anyhow, I wanted to focus back in on a more straightforward topic: Freedom.

I think this topic is one which has gotten a lot of attention over the past month.  How much freedom should we possess?  How is that freedom granted?  Is it a paradox that freedom isn't free?  Is anything truly free?  Are we "condemned to be free"?  Or is freedom a natural gift?  Something in between?  These questions should help you start thinking about this prompt:

What does it mean to be free?

To translate this into poetical terms: Think about a situation in which you have felt free in some way or another and write about that.  What were the circumstances?  Were you alone?  Have you never felt completely free?  If you can, think of a time that can be used as a metaphor or a simile for freedom then explain why and/or how.  Take this poem to anywhere it feels like it wants to go - don't feel you need to be constrained by anything that doesn't feel necessary, and, as always, make sure you have fun!



On another note: The blog has not been updated in a few weeks due to that horribly scary thing known to many as writer's block.  However, I was dared by a friend to write a poem a day over the next few weeks... months... year.  I'm not sure I can do it, but I'm certainly willing to try.  Therefore, I would also like to take this challenge a step further and post any pieces I come up with here.  This, I think, will give me a good chance to catalog the different pieces about which I write, and it will also give me an opportunity to show how a small piece/poem can be worked through and edited or revised to bring out its potential.  The writing process, as a forewarning, is not one which is pretty.  However, the name of this blog is Life is Rumored to be Written Here, and life, as we all know, is not always pretty.  This, if nothing else, is the goal of my blog and work: to show how life can be made into art and vice versa.

I look forward to this experiment over the next few however longs.  C'est la vie.

Have fun and happy writing!

Prompt 1/1/13 : The Little Things

Well, mostly. Today, I'd like to throw out a somewhat timely prompt:

Think and write about a particular gift which you've received.

What did the gift look like?  Smell like?  Taste like?  Feel?  Sound?  Paint a picture of this gift you've been given AND let us know why this thing is so significant to you.  Is there any special meaning attached to this thing?  Has it unexpectedly grown in significance over the time during which you've owned it?  What might someone else overlook about this that you absolutely adore?

In order to help you with this, try writing 5 metaphors to help explain what this gift means to you to other people.  A metaphor can be thought of as:

Noun + State of being verb + Noun

Now, if you get stuck writing, try using one of these as a jumping off point to write your poem!

Good luck and happy writing!