Saturday, September 30, 2006

Writing poetry again! 

I've decided not to throw what I have learned in writing poetry through the years I've been trying to or scare away my muse by not writing at all. Hence, to do that, I have enrolled in my friend's, Gwen Austin's, class in Writersvillage.com called "Painting poems with words: From eyes to words. For our first assignment, "The Naked Eye", we are to do a poem that describes, in as much detail as possible, a thing without resorting to similes, metaphors but concentrating on literal, physical description. This is what I submitted:

A Thing Called Vanity

Its red rough handle joins at the middle
to hold the essence of this thing.

Back to back, one zooms in
to show you details that cannot be seen.

The other, just plain you
checking for flaws

a teller of tales, this - bears images
of whoever is interested to look.

Purveyor of truth
you may not want to look

for a very long time.
It stares at you like he's an old soul

frightens me everytime
hence I only give it a glance.

Narcissus probably had a big one.
This is just right. (It isn't even mine)

Made from the finest sand,
melted by intense heat

breaking it will send shards of tiny pieces
if it does not bring you bad luck.

I had to redo the assignment as it did not fully meet the requirements of the assignment. I have too many abstract words and similes and metaphors. These would come in later. Hence, I posted another poem and this is how it goes:

Silver with a Blue Lining

For a dimension of four by one and a half
by one half inches, it has a key for a pound
together with an asterisk beside a zero

numbers in multiples of three
with each one containing letters
from A to Z

two arrows and a cancel button
brand name above
yes and no below

mouthpiece and receiver hardly visible
screen flashes symbols for silent, signal
and its battery charge

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Friday, September 29, 2006

Is she really? (Working title) 

This is where alzheimer finally takes me.
My mother - alone in her bed

with neither memory nor care.
She is nothing but a shell

fleshy mollusk meat gone
the soup down to the last gulp.

Like the debris found in the morning
of a full night's revelry

confetti strewn thick on the pavement
amid trash of firecracker paper.

A birdcage without the bird
or a flower without the scent.

This is what she finally seemed to be

With probing eyes and withered hands
she held my face!

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