Asynchronous Post #4: You're all poets and you don't even know its.

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Asynchronous Post #4: You're all poets and you don't even know its.

3/5/2021

And now a moment with Andre the Giant, wrestler and poet. . . .

POST
You had to know this was coming. For our asynchronous work this week, take some time, don't be too self-conscious, write a poem. Just try. It's good for the soul.

Think about the list from our ICRN. Think about it from a writer's standpoint instead of a reader's standpoint this time:

What poetic forms is the author using
How is the author using punctuation to affect meaning-making
What word choice is the author making that affect meaning
What grammatical decisions is the author making that affect meaning
What imagery is the writer constructing
Does the writer use things like alliteration? assonance? repetition? metaphor? synecdoche? (don't know what those are, look them up here).
What do we understand about the speaker in the poem?

RESPOND
Once you've posted, read your colleague's pieces. Congratulate each other. Identify a few poems that really speak to you and tell the writer how and why it speaks to you.

28 Comments

Michael Wood

3/5/2021 10:57:45 am

Ten years ago, I went to Hale Reservation.
It’s a great camp based in Westwood.
I made a lot of great memories there,
And met a lot of fun friends there too.

I was in a group with other older teams,
And two beautiful counselors ran it.
The surrounding forest was very pretty,
It had an isolated and rustic feel.

The head sociologist was named Mr. McLeod,
Who we made many Starfox jokes about.
From that, I made a new friend named Jake,
And we talked about our shared love for the game.

Twice a week, we would go swimming in Noanet Lake,
And we would have to swim laps within a time limit.
It was fun to see how easily I beat my record each week.
The excited cheering from the lifeguards helped.

One time, I slipped on the metal dock ramp,
It scraped up my elbow and left a nice scar.
One lifeguard looked at it and said it was fine,
And told me that I was the coolest of the group.

We would meet other camp groups for big events.
They were all younger and mostly annoying.
One kid always asked me what R-rated movies I’ve seen,
And another always acted like a steam train.

We had a ropes course every Wednesday,
Which I disliked as I was mildly afraid of heights.
I couldn’t climb more than fifteen feet without
my heart racing and I would have to stop.

My other friend, Mike, was fun to hang with,
He loved Disney and was very talkative,
He invited me to his house many times,
And saved me from sitting with the train kid.
One of the counselors always made sure,
That every day had something fun planned.
Her name was Catalina and was half-Latina,
She once taught me how to Salsa which was fun.

Before the end of the summer, we went camping.
We slept in tents overnight and was the best day
Because I enjoyed Hale so much, it felt like
A second home in a strange way to me.

In our tents, we slept to the sounds of cricket,
As well as the obnoxious talking from the other teens.
The next morning, I remember we had bagels
For breakfast and orange juice as a group.

This was our final day and I was sad to leave,
It was the best summer I had at that camp.
I still saw Jake and Mike but if I could only,
Relive those days only if it were for an hour.

Rebecca Monestime

3/7/2021 12:14:01 pm

Hi Michael, this was a very vivid and nice poem. I like the use of descriptive words and scenes were powerful. I can feel like I am there at Hale Reservations myself and it seemed liked you had a good time. I also went to Hale Reservations once back in middle school but it was a day trip so we didn't camp out. But I do remember going on one of the swings there and it was scary at first but so much fun. I am glad you made a poem about this because you are showing others your time there and how much it made you happy and nostalgic.

Kate Bazarsky

3/5/2021 11:01:58 am

An Ode to my Strawberry Man:
A sweet strawberry
On a summers day
Sits on a branch.

Not quite ripe
Waiting to be chosen
Covered in seeds
Skin still golden

Buried through leaves--
Sits two berries
Ripe and red
Tangled between a branch of five
Unfinished fruits.

I think
About plucking the two
One for me
One for you

Leaves fall off the tree
And my fingers tangle around the sweet berry.
I must have grasped it too tight
Held it like like a pomegranate or cherry
Until it popped in my hand
And bled on my fingers.

My love
I swear,

I was just trying to make you some jam.

Paige Couture

3/9/2021 10:58:32 am

Hi Kate,

I really enjoyed reading your poem because it was simple and to the point. This may sound weird, but your poem actually reminded me of Animal Crossing! Especially the part where you described strawberries, which is a delicious summer fruit! And the part about sitting on a branch. I think it’s interesting you described a man being like strawberries in summer, then I believe you went into a metaphor about love feeling like fruit: sweet. I thought adding different seasons was a nice touch. I loved how you used imagery to symbolize season of the year. If you wanted to make this longer in the future, you could also add spring and winter! The way that I read your last stanza was maybe a break up had happened during the fall: “held it like like a pomegranate or cherry / until it popped in my hand / and bled on my fingers” sounds to me like a harsh break up. Then the last sentence where you state: “I was just trying to make you some jam” makes me think of somebody pleading to the significant other not to leave or break up with them. If this was a break up, I wonder what happened between them?

Derek Krysko

3/11/2021 07:46:06 am

Hey Kate,

This was a super engaging poem, and it is clear that you have a real talent for writing poetry. I am usually not much of a poetry guy myself, so it was cool to read your piece and find all the clever choices you made to help it stand out. I think the way you spaced and punctuated the poem is really well done because it helps establish pacing, and helps guide the reader along. There is also a ton of great vivid language here that evoke different sensations and and make the strawberry feel tangible and real. Great work.

Brittany Ann Oppenheimer

3/25/2021 05:44:10 pm

Hi Kate!

I love the descriptions of the of the berries in this piece. The way you describe the fruits as "unfinished" almost makes me think that these two berries need each other in order to grow and survive. I also love how you describe these fruits. In the second line of this poem, you described a strawberry as "sweet." Honestly, this word best describes your whole entire poem. When I was reading it, the language used here made my heart feel buttery and sweet in a way. It's hard to explain, but that level of description is what makes this poem great to me. It feels like you were trying to make the readers feel a certain way, and trust me, it worked which is a sign of a great poet.

This is awesome. Great Job!

Emily Spagna

3/5/2021 12:01:17 pm

I Promise

Growing up suicidal puts you in a very odd position when you’re older.
You don’t expect to be there,
because you expected to snap long before this point and end it all.

Luckily, I grew up suicidal with you.

I miss those nights of sitting out in the woods,
Staring up at the stars,
Yearning to be anywhere but here.

We were young then,
And often sat in silent understanding,
While one of us spoke about wanting to leave.

You never judged me, and I never judged you.
We were alone in our little world,
Making poor choices,
Never planning to be around long enough to have to fix it all.

But here we are.

Though, you are thousands of miles away from me,
And I am still stuck in this hell hole we planned our deaths in.

I feel you here,
All the time.
And I miss you.

Sometimes, I’ll drive to your house, just to sit in your driveway for a few minutes and feel like I’m home.
Or I’ll head to our favorite spot in the woods.
I’ll carry my guilt and sadness to those places, still wanting to act out on those plans we made all that time ago.

Its hard for me to deal with the fact that you’ve moved on,
And I can’t seem to wake up at all.
But I’m happy for you.

I’m glad you were here to remind me what happiness really was,
Because I fear that I may have never felt it if it wasn’t for you.

Funny how life hits you like that sometimes though.
Just out of the blue, almost a year after you’ve moved,
And I am just now feeling so totally alone.

I can’t wait to graduate from college,
Something I didn’t expect to make it to even achieve,
But I’ll be out to Florida in no time.

You’re still home to me.
And I promised not to quit until we’ve made a life together.

Life is hard right now,
And I want desperately to end it all,
But I won’t quit.
I promise.

Kate Bazarsky

3/8/2021 09:14:52 am

Hey Emily, thanks for sharing those words. I really loved the line, "And often sat in silent understanding"--the way it rolls off the tongue is nice. The part that got me was, "Never planning to be around long enough to have to fix it all. / But here we are" The line break was really effective there because my eyes got to sit at the end of each sentence. "You're still home to me" is a really big line that could be a great poem on itself (idea).

CJ Hall

3/19/2021 02:39:00 pm

Wow. You put such a heavy subject matter into a light format. There's beauty in the way you contain the emotion in three or four word lines and then unleash it in the longer lines and stanzas. It reminds me of the ebbs and flows of the tide, sometimes soft, but always strong in its potential for chaos.

Rebecca Monestime

3/6/2021 09:56:17 am

7 Special People

In 2013, you changed my heart,
You've changed my perspective,
You've changed my world.
I never knew I needed you, until came into my life.

I've watched you struggle,
I've seen your hardships,
But I know one day you'll make it.

Through the screen of my iPhone 5s,
I see you,
I feel you.

I was a mere freshmen in high school,
Trying to figure my way,
Trying to find my purpose,
Trying to discover myself But You Guys,
You Guys,
You Guys,
7 Special People.

Now it's 2021,
Almost 8 years later,
You Guys, are successful,
You Guys made it big.

You Guys,
7 Special People,
Have become eve more special to millions of other people
Around your Country,
Around the World.

You Guys changed millions of hearts,
Their perspective,
Their world.
They never knew they needed you, until you came into their lives.

I just knew from the get-go,
In 2013,
That You Guys are Special,
That you are, indeed, 7 Special People.

Matt McGuirk

3/9/2021 08:19:51 am

Hi Rebecca. I liked how you capitalized "You Guys" every time you said it because it shows the meaning the speaker is giving this phrase (as well as the people, the "guys" themselves). I felt the journey the speaker was explaining here, too. In these eight years, it's clear that the speaker is trying to run through their connection with the 7 special people and it feels very congratulatory to me.

Matt McGuirk

3/7/2021 11:44:40 am

Beyond the gates
Lies a man with control,
Without control. He can
Be seen by the entire world.
He sits on a landscape that
Everyone recognizes.
But for him the world is different.
He believes what he believes.
Oh dear, I say,
There he goes again.
We're on the brink.
We've reached the boiling point.

For years it felt like we would never get out.
We were victorious,
Eventually. But the
Price we paid was high.
For the work that must
Be done to get us
To our feet is far
From
Over

Kate Bazarsky

3/8/2021 09:19:21 am

Hey Matt, I really dug this poem. The voice is strong and I can hear the man and I see the observer but for some reason I really want to know what the man looks like. From the speakers words, "Oh dear, I say,/ there he goes again" I kind of picture a grumpy older man who is just tired and unapologetic. The last 5 lines were my favorite part of the poem; the way you split them up worked really well!

CJ Hall

3/19/2021 02:42:53 pm

Matt, I really like how veiled this subject matter is. You worked at making an easily recognizable person blurry and unclear. 'sits on a landscape that everyone recognizes', I like these two lines a lot!!

Paige Couture

3/7/2021 03:07:21 pm

Witches Brew

“Whiskers of a feline to shut them up,” a witch cackled.
“Claws of a feline to break them up,” the second chanted.
“Hair from the female…” the third threw it in. “Bubble, bubble…”
“Blood from the male...” They all sang together, “blood and bubble.”

A large black pot sat outside,
Where three witches stirred and cried,
With green faces and a feline that died.
They chanted out a devil’s tune,
While stirring ingredients with a wooden spoon.

Stirred, stirred and stirred unknowns.
A crack echoed. Wishbones.
Remains thrown into the brew,
It was more than what they could chew.
The witches watched the boil change colors.
Without a care who was the feline’s mother.

The female ran to take cover,
Three witches flew above her.
No match at all--for these wicked beings.
The three began to split apart,
Without a care for her broken heart.

The green witch flew north,
The white went south,
The dark one stopped... a doubt.
What were they even chanting about?
The first witch turned third into a trout.

Flipped and flopped upon the grass,
The first witch was a complete ass.
The second witch turned into glass,
The human turned into a stone.

When the witches seen what the first had done,
Their friendship was nothing but glum.
Now the first one turned against all three,
She had become the enemy.

“Bubble, Bubble,” the green chanted. “Blood and trouble.”
“Babble babble,” she mocked. “Now I can’t hear you scrabble.”
“Peace and quiet is what I compiled,” an evil smile, “that is why I turned them into tile.”
Take this lesson without possession.
Dispossession.

Lynne Campbell

3/9/2021 03:06:37 pm

Hey Paige, I really enjoyed this poem because of the vibe it gave off. I really enjoy Halloween and everything spooky. This poem reminded me of the movie Hocus Pocus because there were three witches and they really seemed to like to play tricks with each other. I found the rhyming aspect of your poem to be really interesting. To me it added an element of playfulness to it. I can imagine someone chanting this poem through the streets on Halloween night. I comment you for your ability to rhyme and have everything still make sense, that is not an easy thing to do. Awesome job!

Amanda Guindon

3/10/2021 09:04:15 am

Hey Paige! This was honestly a really fun poem to read even if what it's about seems more dark upon closer look. All the rhyme was done really well in a way that didn't sound cheesy, but it flowed from one rhyme to the next which I really loved. I also really liked how you can feel the shift in tone when the third witch starts questioning themselves and wondering what they are actually doing. I thought this was really well done!
- Amanda

Lynne Campbell

3/9/2021 02:57:34 pm

Entwined

We hold a cluster of stars in our hearts,
tiny flares piercing through our darkness.
You saw my night sky and called every star by name.

Uniting our galaxies,
entwining them as I kiss your skin,
leaving a trail of constellations to guide you.

I see your beauty even when shrouded in the night
For you have stardust in your eyes
that light my way through empty skies.

Amanda Guindon

3/10/2021 09:14:41 am

She sits alone at the window
the shades pulled to the side,
the sun seeping through the glass
pulling her towards the warmth.

For what she is watching waits just beyond the trees
only the birds chirp in response
as the grass quivers in the wind
and her tail flicks up in attention.

Her eyes scan the endless possibility
lurking outside the thin walls
of the loving home with a loving family
and she wonders.

Instincts denied, she must wait
and watch
and wonder
about what she could have been
and what she is now.

Paige Couture

3/10/2021 12:09:09 pm

Hi Amanda,

I wanted to comment on your poem because I feel like ours almost go hand in hand. I’m glad that you picked up similar aspects in my poem: the third witch questioning herself and having a darker meaning behind it. You’re right about the darker meaning. It is about being close friends with somebody, then having them turn their back on you by bullying. I feel like our use of imagery are similar because of your first stanza: “She sits alone at the window / the shades pulled to the side / the sun seeping through the glass / pulling her towards the warmth”. When somebody is going through bullying, they would go through depression like sitting by themselves in the dark. “The sun seeping through the glass / pulling her towards the warmth” could also be taken as a metaphor for someone else being there for the person who is being bullied. I do feel like the speaker in the poem is going through some dark times, possibly waiting to be adopted or to be taken out of a bad home situation: “lurking outside the thin walls / of the loving home with a loving family”. I like poems that provide a “dark” or “depressing” tone to them, which yours does in a sense. Your poem could mean anything that someone could easily relate with during a hard time.

Derek Krysko

3/11/2021 08:30:56 am

Once there was a man
who spoke only in haiku--
how mysterious.

Tall, slender, lanky,
with four fingers on each hand,
lived without a name.

An odd fellow, yes,
Zero is what we called him,
digit better fit.

In town he would stand,
concerned only with leaving.
But leave he could not.

“Boredom is my lot,
as I lack autonomy,
to move my own feet.”

Something sad, really.
The poor guy seemed to be trapped.
How could we have helped?

“I sit here and wait,
so eager to move onward,
but it’s all in vain.”

For days he stood there,
in the center of the square,
unable to go.

“An idle mind is,
a very dangerous thing;
I think of violence.”

Who is doing this?
Who would take a man’s free will?
Poor Zero, we thought.

“Can we start moving?
I grow tired of this spot.
I long to explore.”

One day, he was gone.
Ran Mickey in with his blade;
caught us by surprise.

“Farwell, foolish thing.
Know that you have been deceived,
as your soul moves on.”

I understood him.
Best to not corner a beast,
man without control.

CJ Hall

3/15/2021 07:52:21 am

Broken

The sound reminded me of my mother
That time when she completely lost her shit and bellowed like an animal in a trap.

All because I washed my hair and he put a filthy towel over my back.
And I was too stubborn to flick a light switch

He kept asking until I slammed my fist into the door.
His love was apparent in the way he kept trying

Marissa Merlino

3/19/2021 07:08:59 am

Hi CJ, I wanted to comment on yours since you also have a darker theme, which is what I tend to be drawn to in poetry. I really love your use of simile in your second line and your choice of using two-line stanzas (I don't believe they can be classified as couplets ?). The way your poem is set up makes me feel like I am reading your recollection of a fragmented, lost memory, a feeling which is further emphasized by your title. I definitely get the sense that this may be a repressed memory that was brought forward by some sort of trigger, which would be the sound you reference in the first line. I like the harshness of your wording; you are not attempting to add any sort of flowery language (which I am always guilty of in my horrible poetry), but your piece resonates with the reader nonetheless. Your choice to leave some details ambiguous further enhances the theme of trauma and repression: for example, when you say "He kept asking" but do not reveal the question that angered you. Your final line is very strong and implies that this is a cycle which persists, not an isolated incident. Overall, this is a very impactful short poem that induces strong emotions. I love it!

Maddie

3/19/2021 06:38:15 am

"Crocodile Rock" is the saddest song in the world--
that's what she told me
as she drove me past gas stations and dark churches,
coffee cooling in the cup holder.
"It sneaks up on you--
at the pharmacy, the grocery store, the family cookout,
buzzing synth bouncing off all the bright plastic blues and yellows,
pulling you into a memory
that isn't yours but promises that it was
better than anything you'll ever know.
And every time it plays, there's a reminder of some
first time
that even the song itself wasn't there for,
that you can never reach far enough back in time to hear.
And every time it plays, you get further
away
from
It."

I asked her what "it" was and she
sipped cold coffee from the same
waxy paper cup that they hand out, filled with hot chocolate,
at high school football games
and said, "it tastes just like this."

Marissa Merlino

3/19/2021 06:55:04 am

Days Like Today

Lifeless vessels coursing across pavement
Inside each, another universe unknown
Grasping for a sense of urgency,
I stumble and forget again

In an endless cycle of self-accosting,
The noises strain to compete
Against the echoes of dread
Screaming skillfully in my head

Worthless melodies fail to resonate
The brutality of it all sings to me instead
Nothing but the roadkill at my feet
Expires as expertly as I can

CJ Hall

3/19/2021 02:49:46 pm

Grasping/stumble, screaming/sings, skillfully/worthless, & roadkill/expires. I really like the juxtaposition of these lines. This is a poem that requires a second and even third read through. I want more though, and don't we always want more time, more hours in a day... so that fits too.

Ron

3/19/2021 08:49:38 am

Until I Can Cook For You Again

You was the one who choose me out of all
Although I never knew why
I always tried my best, so I would not let you down
Now you are gone and all I have is memories
My only peace is I was able to provide
A good Easter and Mother’s Day when you
Could not see your family
Farwell my friend
Until I can cook for you again.

Brittany Ann Oppenheimer

3/25/2021 05:35:56 pm

To the one encrusted with ruby eyes.
To the one that soars, but cannot fly.
To the one that only I can see.
To the one I admire, unfazed and fleeting.

The oceans roar for you.
Yet, my heart beats still.
In my dreams, I reach for you.
You never seem to reach back.
Your arms lift me off the ground.
Carrying me weightlessly.
Submerged by your thoughts.
Your desire for peace.
The selfless hero.
A man to call my own.
Breaking each piece of my heart.
Scattering them into the corners of my mind.

I lay with you.
But I don't.
We walk home together.
Except when it never happens.
I love you.
But I am scared of you too.
To know that my dreams will never be.
Crushed by the themes of reality.
Time, destiny, space...
Your ruby eyes scorn me.
Unaware to those around you.
You bastard, how cruel you tease.

You have the wings of an angle.
A smile of a unwavering thief.
And the eyes of the devil wielding to my very soul.

You sit alone still.
Plotting your next heroic act.
Almost like a scheme.
And I sit beside you.
In my dreams.
Hoping that finally, you will notice.
That one day you might actually see.

I pray you will.
I pray you will.
I pray and pray that you one day will.

Asynchronous Post #4: You're all poets and you don't even know its.

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