Week #10--Junkyard Quotes

“your big (heart)’s you” (smiley face)      [Your big what, I wonder?]

Painted sign on a Honda’s rear window. License holder read “Tink” on top and “Perfect Pixie” on bottom.

“There’s a side to combat that’s damn exciting, and another so horrible you can barely think about it.”  --Karl Marlantes (Matterhorn, What It is Like to Go to War) from interview in Nov. 2011 issue of AARP Magazine.

“They’re only middle-school sweethearts, for heaven’s sake, they’re not going to spend the rest of their lives together.”

NPR feature commentator referring to middle-school children at their first dance, when most of them leave the dance floor during slow songs.

“the swirl of the cosmos”

excerpt from “The Fabric of the Universe” documentary

Week #10--My Response to Casey's Improv

Casey,

This draft's first line starts off really well, especially "swaddler"--a great noun! It conjures "swindler" which also relates to money. The imagery of the second line evades me, unless it refers to magnets that hold the wallet together. I like your strong verbs of "shear," "display," and "provide," but I think "rides" lacks zest.

The second stanza offers good descriptions but fails to get as far off subject like Collins' poem does. But I still enjoy the whimsical tone of your draft for such a practical object as a wallet. Fun!

Week #10--My Response to Jenna's Free Write

Jenna,

I think this draft offers some descriptive details that intrigue, like "a relic of cracked heat and earth dug kilns" but there are several opportunities for much more detail, such as the name of the novel and what kind of cosmetics. I think "wing-cast dominance" is awesome but wonder if "forward footed stride" might not be redundant. There seems to be a story to tell about the statue but it's missing in this draft. I suggest you write about how you felt when your aunt gave it to you and why she gifted you with something "cheap" and incorporate some of the good adjectives from this first exercise.

Week #10—Sign Inventory

Darkly

            by Jake Adam York

The moss never falls.

However gray,

it hangs like shirts

left to weather and rag

over the road

and the dead-end rail

and in all the branches

from there to the shore

and then as far upriver

as you can see.

Here it’s only open water,

empty sky,

two ends of road no one uses,

landfill on one side, thicket

on the other,

the story of a bridge between.

Below, the water’s huddled,

cold and silver.

It won’t show a thing.

So I look for that place in the air

where they held a gun

on Willie Edwards

and told him he could jump.

 Narrative in third person voice

non-rhyming, uneven couplets

three short sentences, two longer ones

extremely economic syntax

shows desolation through landscape descriptions

four lines begin with “and,” five with the vowel ‘a’

“moss” and “hangs” allude to lynching

eleven lines of enjambment

 “story of a bridge” alludes to dead man’s untold story

“huddled” indirectly refers to crowd of onlookers

“place in the air” refers to where Willie’s body hung

opposition of “two” and “one” in same line

alliteration of ‘h’ in “However” and “hangs,” “road” and “rail,” “only open,” “one…other,” and “bridge between.”

strong verbs in: “falls,” “hangs,” “weather and rag”

simpler verbs in “left,” “see,” “uses,” “show,” “look,” “held,” and “told.”

Title carries multiple implications:  black skin, dark side of humanity, obscure truth, etc.

Week #10--Free Entries

Some Halloween fun:

The Morning After

It is the night when the saints greet the wicked,

and witches and vampires romance a chaste moon,

when hobgoblins whistle their white noisy sounds,

and black cats embody all matters taboo.

When dogs’ ears have ceased making their rounds,

and children and candy have torn tearfully apart,

a creak in the attic, a tap on the window—

such inexplicable incidents jumpstart my heart.

I lie like a zombie all through the night,

listening and trembling for hour upon hour,

until morning erases all traces of fright,

and the agents of evil have surrendered their power.

Apparition

I remember a weekday home early from school

to lie ‘sick’ in my parents’ room and read my new

comic books. Pillow-stacked among Dagwood,

Blondie and Archie, I glanced up from Zorro

and saw in my father’s closet Honest Abe

suited in his best black. It wasn’t his hairy

face or stovepipe hat that unnerved me but

his piercing dark eyes that took me aback.

He was gone in an instant but my mind’s eye

recalls him whenever I doubt any uncanny event.

I wonder if he intended to scare me or merely

to share a cartoon caper or two. One thing

is certain—he cured me of peering into closets

with which I have nothing to do.

Week #10--Improv #2

Week #10—Improv #2

And Ever

            by Jake Adam York

You rise

to watch the leaves

breathe light to their edges

and burn,

drawing day from the night

to wake the birds.

You’ve learned this sound,

white chord of a filling lung

that will set the wren to sing,

so you rise,

only today

it isn’t leaves.

It’s a moth you’ve never seen,

its wings

not flock, not felt,

but paper,

hundreds, thousands

of photographs

flickering in your breath

then falling,

each into its own light,

another pair of wings.

Death Row

            by Pauline Rodwell

They pray

to see another day

deliver forgiveness,

so they eat

for strength

to make the final walk.

They’ve only learned to go on,

to watch days, hours, and minutes

tick toward rejection

or redemption—only the designated day

will decide

by phone call or silence,

now or later.

Reprieve will prolong torture,

confirmation—relief.

The limbo between life and death

magnifies,

like cancer

cells under the microscope

of their minds, their kind,

wounded

at the beginning,

which has yet to come.

Week #10--Improv #1

Whatever You Want

                        by Angel Gonzalez

When you have money, buy me a ring,

when you have nothing, give me a corner of your mouth,

when you don’t know what to do, come with me

--but later don’t say you didn’t know what you were doing.

In the morning you gather bundles of firewood

and they turn into flowers in your arms.

I hold you up grasping the petals,

if you leave I’ll take away your perfume.

But I’ve already told you:

if you decide to leave, here’s the door:

its name is Angel and leads to tears.

When You Go

                      by Pauline Rodwell

When I am at work, write to me online,

when I lose my job, cuddle next to me on the couch,

when I fail to impress you with dinner, tell me then

--don’t wait until you have condemned yourself with a lie.

During the night, you clutter my sleep with gurgles

that gush into growls in my ear.

I nudge you each hour to tell you:

I may leave if you don’t seek some help.

But you’ve already decided:

it’s better to leave than be left.

Your name is forgotten and leaves no shadow.