Poetry Exercise

To tail onto Ashley’s poetry remix and to relive a bit of my past, earlier writing adventures I’ve uncovered some remix work: Circa 2009: How She Bleeds 

ashley nicholson

This is what happens when you do a workshop exercise for ‘found text’ poetry in five minutes with phrases taken from ‘The Financial Times’. The first set of lines is the exact order and phrasing I put down in the workshop. The second and third sets are just remixes using (mostly) the words within the ‘found text’. I am in no way trying to be political, nor am I advocating the mistreatment of monks anywhere, FYI.

 

Support a separate state

In tune with that more reflective mood

Manhandled into a metal gibbet

A monk emerges from a monastery

Lofty, grandiloquent, often arrogant

Boutique of Berlin

 

Remix the first:

 

Berlin often emerges in tune with a more reflective state,

that lofty, separate mood of arrogant support to ‘the boutique’

monasteries of grandiloquent monks manhandled into metal gibbets

 

Remix the second:

 

In tune with that more reflective…

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Poetry Remix Exercise Circa 2009

ImageBelow you will find the first poetry exercise I did at university. Embarrassing, yes. But it is also proof that I’ve moved on – grown a lot as a writer. We were instructed to take our favorite book (I was 18, I didn’t really have a great reader record at this point) and pull lines to build a poem. At the time I was reading a collection of poetry called ‘Paint Me Like I Am’ – a compilation of work by inner-city high school students. I was also reading The Woman In the Dunes by Kobo Abe for my Buddhism and Literature class (Awesome course!).

How She Bleeds

The desert is full of women,

Women go to bleed tints of roses and smoke

Growing like pine trees, such graceful execution

Fingers stink like melted gold,

Words translating in their hands

Arms twisting with bone and ropy muscle

Primal screams, “The war is real”

Unforgiving life, such innumerable causalities.

The woodcutter’s daughter

Hearts of hammers, diamonds of the night

Sorrow strung from their faces

Creaking crutches and dead souls

The right to live

A symphony of lively spirits

Swirling tide pools in a sunken sea

The friendliest god, but this is not your city

The seams of your coat

Beige pantsuit, constant vigil

Roots down to the deepest places in your heart

Paint me like I am

What you are shrieks so loudly

I cannot hear what you say

Just paint me like I am