Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Day 24 of 30 Random Wikipedia Articles

Day 24 is a prompt from impromptuThe poem consists of 10 lines total, in a 3-3-3-1 stanza distribution words taken from ten random wikipedia articles. Each line is 9 syllables long. No meter is required. I've included the words and the links to the articles.


24/04/2016
For Keith Price
There is a house it is a cabin
we use it as a means to migrate
at intervals, the chain becomes whole.

There is a seabed, we reserve it
an ocean to float into the blue,
a search and swim under water-light.

This is a place we have not yet dreamed
it is history not born, not built
a city where language is borrowed.

We search for tracks to make our way home. 

Day 23 of 30 You are a Noun

Day 23 Make a note of words and language used in class and write something out of that.


Make a Noun 
This is a noun. It is a man. He is a pronoun
Knife is a singular noun. Knives are plural.
Remember the rule. Give the knives to the man
Give him camouflage. Make him move through
the forest. Make him watch a deer through the leaves
Make him think about his life in past simple.
All is quiet. The night falls. You are a noun.

Day 21/22 of 30- Play with Syllables

Got to catch up putting up my poems from my notebooks.

Day 21 Write a four line poem with 5 syllables in each line

Universal Man 
He sat on a bench
inviting a stare
the palm of his hand
a fiery planet.

Day 22. Write a ten line poem with 10 syllables per line. Out of the word jar pick ten words. In the order pulled out of the jar write a word in each line.

Words for the body of the poem: mouth, balloon, fire, clock, cappuccino, pebble, brain, horse, mosquito, web

Two words for the title: comet, mist

A Comet Has Told of You Through the Mist
I have heard it come from the horses mouth
You sent a balloon up to the heavens
Like a Grecian God with hands of fire,
You synced our lungs up to a racing clock.
Cappuccino shared at a monitor
watching the moon turn into a pebble,
while they wired your brain, the time misfiring
they said that we had backed the losing horse.
A mosquito flew in through the window
Our memories spun from a spider's web.

Friday, April 22, 2016

Day 20 of 30 Found in a Cafe

Day 20 of 30. I decided to do some eavesdropping in my local cafe. Found poetry of sorts out of the conversations I heard. The heard conversations is a poem in itself.

This is what I heard:
I have short feet
I kept answering
my mind is somewhere else
You have short term memory
he rang twenty four times in a day
he sent me a massive long line of letters
it doesn't bother us but it bothers you
why are you squishing my feet
I love you so much
that's interesting
a thousand lives over just like that
he needs to stop
I don't scare easily
be careful you might break your head

This is what I wrote from it:

Remembering 
My memories talk to me
traffic non-stop. They are mints
on a pillow. My mind is cold coffee,
it's a bundle of sealed letters. Did I say
thank you to you, a thousand times
a thousand times, I love you?
Or is it me? Have I been making things up?
Have I stored different versions of you in my heart?

Thursday, April 21, 2016

The Found Poetry Review

If you want to check out some great prompts The Found Poetry Review is doing some excellent things at the moment. Some great experimental prompts

Day 19 of 30 Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb

Found poetry page 21 Assassian's Apprentice by Robin Hobb

River Mouth
There are many legends
that raiding voyage
on a cold harsh island
a fire, a meal
leaving again.

Rumour says
he was lost
upon the water
the old tapestry
the prow of him
an ancient stone.

A mouth
whose name has been lost
in history
the river 
built there
he came
every summer
up and down. 

Monday, April 18, 2016

Day 18 of 30

Okay all caught up. Poetry prompt taken from Jeff Griffin: 

  1. Get a book of poetry, preferably a shorter title, one that can be read in about an hour, and one you won’t mind highlighting.
  2. Read through it all in one sitting, highlighting all the words, phrases and lines that you find remarkable.
  3. When finished, go back to the beginning and transcribe chronologically all the highlighted text into a word processor, but do not include any of the punctuation. Just type up one big run-on sentence text block.
  4. Copy and paste your text block into Google Translate. Translate it back and forth between multiple languages at least five times. Then translate back to English. The newly translated/mangled text block will have some semblance to the original language you found remarkable—it’ll be in the same ballpark—but due to what gets lost (or added) in translation, as well as the fact that there is no punctuation for the translator to gauge, it will likely be completely strange, providing unexpected/new/altered/mistranslated words and attempts at sentences.
  5. Take this raw material and edit as you see fit until you have formed your poem.
This is how it played out. With the end result at the bottom:

Forever  Will End on Thursday poems by Nic Sebastian
what is it like living with your body a stick figure with pigtails like the only hammock my blood heard your breath my heart is surely audible for these trees call the names of people the sun fits me it's my size your tattoo sleeps it sleeps then it wakes you smell of old gold and yellow wearing silence skin parts stand back
English to Esperanto:
kio estas kiel vivi kun via korpo bastono figuro kun plektas kiel la sola hamako mia sango aŭdis spiradon mia koro ege aŭdebla por tiuj arboj vokas la nomojn de homoj la suno persvadas mia estas mia grandeco vian tatuaje dormas ĝi dormas tiam vigla vi flaras antikva oro kaj flava portante silento haŭto partoj staras reen
Esperanto to Icelandic:
hvað er eins og að búa með líkama stafur tala með pigtails sem eina hengirúmi í blóði mínu heyrði anda hjartað mitt er mjög heyranlegur fyrir þau tré mun kalla nöfn fólks sem sólin passar stærð minn húðflúr sofa svefni þá vaknar þú lykta af gömlum gulli og gulur flytja þögn húð hlutar standa aftur
Icelandic to Bengali
কি হল আমার রক্তে একটি বিছানাবিশেষ যেমন নারীসঙ্গী সাথে একটি শরীর লাঠি চিত্রে সঙ্গে বাস করার মত নয়, শুনেছি আমার হৃদয় আত্মা খুব শ্রাব্য সূর্য যেমন আমার আকার উলকি ঘুম ঘুম ফিট তারপর পুরোনো স্বর্ণ ও হলুদ স্থানান্তর গন্ধ থেকে জেগে ওঠা গাছ মানুষের নাম ডাকবে নীরবতা ত্বক অংশের আবার দাঁড়ানো 
Begali to Zulu
Yini eyenza igazi lami narisangi a hammock nge figure induku lemtimba kufana nokuba siphile ngokuhluzeka, njengoba ngizwile umbiko ngawe, inhliziyo yami, umphefumulo wami ezwakalayo kakhulu elangeni bese uvumelane ubukhulu ubuthongo tattoo, uvuke iphunga zegolide ubudala futhi izihlahla yellow ukudluliswa ezingxenyeni zesikhumba ezithintekayo womuntu ukuthulisa ucingo Hamba aphinde
Zulu to Lao
ສິ່ງທີ່ເຮັດໃຫ້ເລືອດຂອງຂ້າພະເຈົ້າ narisangi hammock ທີ່ມີຮູບເປັນຮ່າງກາຍ rod ແມ່ນຄ້າຍຄືກັບອາໄສຢູ່ກັບ, ເປັນຂ້າພະເຈົ້າໄດ້ຍິນ, ຫົວໃຈຂອງຂ້າພະເຈົ້າ, ສຽງຈິດວິນຍານຂອງຂ້າພະເຈົ້າກັບແສງຕາເວັນແລະນອນໃຫ້ພໍດີກັບຂະຫນາດຂອງ tattoo ໄດ້, ແລະ wake ເຖິງກິ່ນຫອມຂອງຄໍາແລະສີເຫຼືອງຕົ້ນໄມ້ອາຍຸການຍົກຍ້າຍຂອງພາກສ່ວນຂອງຜິວຫນັງຂອງມະນຸດທີ່ຈະໄດ້ mute ໂທໄປ ອີກເທື່ອຫນຶ່ງ
Lao to Chichewa
N'chiyani chimachititsa magazi a narisangi hammock wanga ndi ndodo thupi ndi monga kukhala ndi moyo, monga momwe ndimva mtima, mawu anga moyo dzuwa wanga ndi tulo kuti agwirizane ndi kukula kwa zizindikiro, ndi kudzuka fungo la golide ndi yellow wakale kutengerapo mtengo wa gawo la khungu la anthu ndi wosalankhula kuitana kachiwiri
Chichewa to English
What makes the blood risangi hammock with my stick and body as living, as I hear, heart, my soul sun my sleep to fit the size of the signs, and wake up to the smell of gold and yellow old transfer the cost of the part of the the skin of people and dumb call again.
What Does the Heart Say?
What makes the blood rise
lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub
My body is a hammock
I hear your heart sway
far away over the ocean
my soul is fit for sleep.
And I wake 
C#minor in colour 
is all yellow and tangy.
Part of my skin 
clings to the clouds 
your hair ruffles in the breeze 
I hear you again and again.

Day 17 of 30 How Does One Control an Earthquake?

Day 17 of 30 Write a poem based on a news story and include words from an index. I chose the index from Floating Worlds, the Letters of Edward Gorey and Peter F. Neumeyer. Quite a tough one this.


How Does One Control an Earthquake?
She says nothing. She draws storyboards
She says, "I hear a gentle rumble."
I ask, "Is it dark, is it dark?"
The street lights illuminate wallpaper
and we line up
shadows nudge shadows
our lights have not yet turned on.
She should have seen this coming
this aftermath, but she would not let on
how things have changed.
She dips brush in watercolour
every morning paints new mirages
flowers becoming flowers.

In this mad room
the mad hatter lives
astrology should have seen this coming
yet tremors travel cross borders
I have seen it with my eyes
remember this visit
fault lines in the skies.

Day 16 of 30 A Poem in Which

Can't forget to include A Poem in Which prompt. Check out the site here I also pulled a random word our of my word jar egg came out.


A Poem in Which Everything has a Language
like an egg, and preparing French toast
a bowl is handy and so is bread is good advice
Do not buy a carton
with eggs that are cracked. I
tell you, an egg without a yolk
is worse than a stove lying idle in a corner.
Everything has a nuance
a prisoner is given a window
with a blue sky. Scrabbled eggs
mean something different than an omelette
the smell of summer is different to spring.


Day 15 of 30 Waiting for News

Day 15 of 30 Doing a lot of writing just slow putting it up. Left one of my notebooks in my mother's house so I've got of a lot of material to work with there. Just missing some of it here. This year the challenge of writing a poem a day has been difficult. Lots of ideas have been going through my head just putting it down in actual drafts has been difficult.

Okay the 14 and the 15 of April was when the Titanic ran into trouble 104 years ago and sank. This was my attempt to write something about it.


Waiting for News
We take cuttings from the paper
glue his face to our wall
When was he last here?
When did you see him?
What was he wearing?
What were his last words?
And we check news desks
scour bulletin boards
line up, make his life
our business. Is it by chance
that we have already said goodbye
or are we just waiting to say it?

Last night we woke in a panic
they said they had seen him
but they hadn't. They do not
know that he is gone.

They hand us paper cups of coffee
as we collect day old sandwiches
and study our faces
find new lines burrowing in our brows.

Who are our neighbours?
we count them for days
they say they will keep on searching
and, "Do you have news?"

But we have no news
we sit stewing in our silence
the Atlantic Ocean breathes on us
the salt spray stings our ears
and we sit and wait.