Writing 201: Future – What Took You So Long?


“Could it be our last prompt word of Writing 201: Poetry? Already?! Let’s keep our spirits up by focusing on whatever it is that’s coming next. Whether it’s about tomorrow, next October, or the year 2345, let today’s poem be inspired by your vision of the future. (Fears, hopes, and plans are equally acceptable, of course. So are robots and hoverboards.)

You didn’t think we’d end a poetry course without a single word on (arguably) the most iconic form of them all — the sonnet? From Petrarch to Shakespeare to Lorca to Heaney, it’s a form that’s has endured dozens of vogues, backlashes, and comebacks — it will bury us all. It will outlive the cockroaches.

In some ways, the sonnet is easy: you get 14 lines of verse, usually grouped into four stanzas of 4-4-3-3 lines each (alternatively: two groupings of eight and six lines, respectively). Sonnets used to be written in metered verse (like alexandrines in French and iambic pentameter in English, for example), but many modern poets forego the meter altogether, or at least don’t use it consistently. Sonnets also tended to be written using any number of established rhyming schemes (for example, Shakespeare’s abab cdcd efef gg), but that, too, is no longer a formal requirement. (If you’re a sonnet purist, or the ghost of Shakespeare, please forgive me!)

The last device we’ll explore together in this course is one of my favorites — the chiasmus (key-AHS-mus). At its simplest, a chiasmus is essentially a reversal, an inverted crossing (it got its name from the greek letter chi – X). How can we use it? Let Snoop Dogg show us the way: Laid back, with my mind on my money and my money on my mind”  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_assignment/writing-201-future/ ”

What Took You So Long?

I wish I was there to kiss and love you, my lover not yet kissed
and tell you you’re the coolness of my crying eyes
We could drive all night joy in our car, pretend we’re teenagers joyriding
and stop on Primrose Hill to watch Saturday fall and Sunday rise Continue reading

Writing 201: Fingers – The shock of the pen


“Sure, eyes are expressive. But there’s so much more we can do with our fingers — today’s word prompt — from opening a gift and plucking a guitar to signing words and waving goodbye. If you want to go beyond actual digits, you could write about any finger-shaped object you find interesting, or about something that comes into frequent contact with your fingers: a ring, your keyboard, a glove.

Today’s suggested form might sound like an oxymoron: the prose poem. Unlike some of the other forms we experimented with — say, the limerick — a prose poem, by definition, has no fixed rules. Whether a reader sees the prose or the poetry in it hinges on a variety of factors beyond your control.

We’ve tackled alliteration last week — the strategic repetition of consonants in close proximity to each other. Today, let’s give assonance a try. It’s the same thing, only with vowels.

Assonance is subtler than alliteration, but can have a profound cumulative effect on a poem, especially when the repeated sound resonates somehow with the topic you’re writing about.”

 (Written with Eminem’s rapping style in mind)

Today’s poem has been guest blogged on Harsh Reality!

What Happens When (Virtually) No One Buys Your Book — Medium


Sobering reading for the aspiring / self-published author but truth be told this is something I knew about – the possibility, nay certainty of commercial failure. Indeed for most of my life its been a belief that failure as a writer is certain that has kept me from trying. You think to yourself:

“it ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate son”

Writing with my eyes open…

What Happens When (Virtually) No One Buys Your Book — Medium.

 

Roaming Around: Sunday Blog Visits


Daily Prompt: Excerpt #4 “An Offer I Couldn’t Refuse”


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Race the Clock.”

The muzzle never waivered, didn’t even move an inch. Despite the cold ball of fear in my stomach Hugo was impressed. The glock was cocked, round chambered, ready to explode in my sore bloody face and it had been pointing at my head for 20 minutes. That’s along time to keep a heavy lump of metal at arms length.

“Nǐ shì shuí?”
“For the last time I don’t speak Chinese” Hugo lied for the eleventh time through swollen lips and a haze of pain. His wrists were chafing on the ropes that bound his arms to the pipe overhead.

Opaque - April 27th, 2011 (117/365) Continue reading

Excerpt #3: Visiting the monster


And there squats on a river next to a swamp a bloated ugly creature. It was once beautiful but time has punished it for its corruption of eating the flesh of the young and the innocent and the desperate traveler. It’s size has deformed and disfigured it and it is now unrecognisable from its former stoic beauty.  It has grown many arms and reaches out across the land grasping unceasingly to feed itself tearing flesh from bone, root from land and child from mother. It’s body is dirty and rotting save from those parts it locks clean to satisfy a memory of a dignity it once had.

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Excerpt #2: “The house in the middle of the street”


It was no accident that he had chosen this house. It was a modern home in an old building. It was cool in summer and warm in winter. The walls were thick and the floors were sturdy. In a time of quick builds and optimised space they literally didn’t make them like this anymore. He’d bought several in cash with stolen CIA seed money when he’d first dropped under the radar and laid a paper trail back to his old boss to cover the theft. If any auditors went looking for the missing loot the investigation would wind up at his door and the murdering douchebag would end up in Alaska or Arizona chasing sovereign citizens.

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