Poetry Exercise no.2 - Sound

During my first year of University I was forced to take a class on 'effective speaking'. It was a class that pushed me outside of my comfort zone, from interviews and presentations all the way over to crazy, where I had to dance around the room holding hands with strange people while singing tongue twisters.

During my last week in this class we were given an assignment that focused on the importance of listening before speaking. We were asked to pick three different location and in these places we were to close our eyes for 5 minutes, soaking in the sounds around us, before writing a journal entry. I have slightly altered this assignment to suit us poetry lovers. However, if you would like to write a journal entry, or prose instead of poetry, please feel free to do so!

This weeks exercise: Choose any location you like, close your eyes and really listen. What do you hear? Write a poem.

This is cool.
I know just the place this evening.

Really neat! In a quiet area today but will work on this as the week goes on.

Ohhh Mel, you inspired me to write something about the sea, I have great memories there.

"Lanturne Poetry"

Eyes
entwined
by the sea,
fond at the first
sight.

Love this!! Work doesn't provide interesting enough sound for poetry so will try tonight!

Patio Patois

Darkness echoes cicadas,
tree frogs, bats & cats
melded in languages
known only to each speaker.

Out of place: mockingbird,
his own darkness invaded
by streetlight,
confuses night for day
complains of sleep deprived
in choruses
that would challenge Babel.

They clap,
scream,
shout
and create an environment
of chaos and love.

Marching, two steps
and laughter.

Roundabouts and heavy
feet.

Twists, curtseys,
community and brotherhood,
taking moments from
another time,
and bringing them back
to this modern culture
we recognize the importance
of wisdom.

(I'm at work and there is a Square Dancing group here today)

^ So neat!

The Unit

A blood pressure pump bleeps,
hearts anxious to be discharged,
doctors grunting, their shoes
clicking across the floor while
patients scratch scratch scratch
at the scabs of their memory.
Some nurses placate the troubled
and others gossip about what
they've encountered over their
12-hour shift. The TV silently
mocks the living. The pitchers
of coffee constantly being picked
up and scraped across the table
because people need a drink
that won't kill them.

I witness the disapproval of
others in the soft mutterings,
yet I also hear the pleas of
deliverance in the padded
footsteps of the living dead.

Dang these are so good...unfortunately my muse has taken a hike! Something I would like to work on...good idea!