Poetry and Passion

This was my first official class of the year! It's pretty exciting and also kind of daunting because i've been trying to find some time to write poetry, but it never really happened, so . . .

In any case, i've found assignments if set as target or challenges enables me to actually do something rather than just sit around and well . . . do nothing.

The first kind of 'style' (i guess?) we were introduced to, was acrostic poetry? poems? So, what is this 'acrostic'? Well, in really simple terms, it means that you write poems by using the letters of your name - so, each sentence begins with a letter of your name.

I tried with my first name, and this is what i came up with:

And the world has ended,
Now darkness will reign supreme.
Justice forgotten, left to rot.
Allies no more, only enemies
Left in a world that has nothing.
I have been left with the devil.

Even

“Angel” he says, “My angel”
Never though, was I yours,
Just as your touch will never wake me.
“Angel” he calls once more.
“Live” I would say, if I could.
I after all, am just the corpse that you love.

Then i gave it a go with my surname.

“Shinigami” a small voice calls.
“Hear my plea” it cries.
In the darkness they resound,
Burning through the night with hate.
Ugly wounds dot his tormented breast.

Then,

Shout in desperation,
Hear your cries mingle with theirs.
In this world that damns,
Beauty, now becomes a poison.
Until you wake, let this be your prison.

Of course, none of these were really mind blowing and it was kind of hard coming up with a theme, so i guess i just kind of made do. No really, i wasn't too convinced by my own poems. They were just eh.

After this short but brief exercise, we were given some poems to read. They were:

Poet, lover, birdwatcher by Nizzim Ezekiel

Colour problems in the family by um. Okay i forgot the poet's name.

An introduction by Kamala Das

Daddy by Sylvia Plath

And one more that i can't remember now - it had something to do with convent schools?

They're in a way, confessional poetry. Where, you kind of confess about well, things you want people to know about i guess or things people want to know about . . . ? So, this was my first attempt. It's kind of nice, but somehow i feel it stills lacks something.

Flower petals fall
Like a gentle shower of snow
Creating patterns in the air,
They fall.

Seasons change,
From the lovers it now goes to leaves
I do not change,
But I watch.

Quietly, the leaves fall
Hardly daring to make a sound,
Despite being crushed underfoot.
I watch.

The rains come now,
Washing away the aches
Of unrequited love.
Along with love,
The leaves too disappear.

I do not change,
I watch.
I watch lovers find happiness
And hide in the rains
With a bouquet of flowers.

The rains crush the flowers
Crushing petals raised with such care,
Those petals I tended to,
Raised with smiles and laughs,
Raised with echoes of snow,
Tinged with melancholy,
But somehow warm.

I watch.
I say nothing,
I do nothing.
I simply watch.

Through the rains,
Comes a ray of light,
Like a beautiful blade.
Perhaps my salvation,
Perhaps not.

The world goes on,
They do not see,
They do not love,
And I watch.

I watch.
Blade in hand now,
Flowers replaced,
I watch the light shine
In all its resplendent glory.

Somehow, the world turns red,
Like rubies or perhaps
Like a blushing maiden.
It flows from me,
Thick and sluggish.

The world seems redder,
More vibrant,
And I watch.
I watch as blood flows,
I watch as the blade falls.
I watch as the world
Reaches its most beautiful,
With red snow falling.

I do not watch now,
But I know,
I know the petals are scattered,
But they will remain pure,
Stained by my red,
Never will they be crushed underfoot.

I mean, i love it, in it's own way . . . but still, it really feels like it's missing something. And no, i am not going to tell you any details about what i'm saying through the poem. After this, we tried to make 15 word poems where one word is repeated 3 times.

This was a little hard because not too much made sense . . . So here we go:

Soft like velvet,
I wonder,
If they'll feel the same
Velvety soft,
Like velvet petals.

This was my favorite:

Crack, Here comes thunder,
With the crack
Comes lightning
With another crack,
Comes my lover.

Then, same exercise, but this time, we had to try doing it with 30 words. And i couldn't stick to the word limit, since we were asked to try writing just whatever we wanted and cut things out . . . So, first attempt.

Run, run,
Here comes the red car,
Run, run,
It's coming for you
Run,
Breath doesn't matter,
Oxygen is unimportant.
Run
Or it'll get you!
Run
It's coming!
Don't stop!
It's here, it's here!
Get out of the way
Run, run,
Before it hits you!
Run,
Before it's too late.

My second attempt,

Run little girl, run.
Run as fast as you can,
Fleet footed,
Dodging leaves,
Run fast as you can.
Run from lies,
Run from the darkness,
Run from fear,
            From everything you fear.
Wind like blades,
Cut you down,
Still you run.
Leave slike daggers,
Tearing into you,
Yet you run.
Run little girl, run.
Fast as you can,
Still, darkness overtakes.

Now, after this, we were asked to watch a nice short (sarcasm) on the holocaust, you know, the one where 5 million jews and 4 million other people were killed? Yes, that one. The concentration camps and so on. Hitler's time.

AND, after watching. Well, 'things' i couldn't believe, heard things that i would like to swear were completely untrue, we were asked to write poetry on this. That was. Hard. Just plain old hard. Just. Nothing felt like you were enabling people to understand what was going on . . . how horrible it could have been. Just. Anyway. This was my attempt.

Their tongues silent,
No longer Wagging.
Soft, loud, husky, cracked,
Voices no longer heard.

Yet they haunt.
No presence, No soul.
Like broken dolls,
They rise.

Apparitions of the living,
They bring out truths
We wished to hear,
But not see.

Bodies without heads,
heads without eyes.
Half decayed,
Truths of a lie buried.

Plucked from the day,
They knew only of night
Of fear, of desperation.
Of isolation despite being surrounded.

Children no longer innocent,
Hear cries and pleas,
Night after night,
Night after night.

The dead wish for death,
The apparitions wished for death,
And she came,
Hesitant, quiet.

Death herself cowed,
Her domain found,
Pleasure found,
Yet drowned.

"Work is freedom"
She said.
How else, could she help?

Mutilation, amputation.
All normal, everyday.
Fate abandoned,
To cruelty instead.

Death roamed,
Quiet, silent.
Night after night,
Night after night.

She called their names,
Led them by hand
Somewhere warmer,
Safer.
Night after night,
Night after night.

Daggers in the night
swallowed by fog.
Death whispered prayers
When no living soul would,
Cried in despair,
Night after night,
Night after night.

Death became light
To those swallowed by darkness.
It chewed and spat out
Empty shells that longed.

Night after night,
Night after night.

So, I mean, to me, though in the documentary, they said that the prisoners held on to some form of hope, to me it felt like that hope was death - the most clear way out and the reason it felt that way was because they said many died from typhoid if i remember right. And I kind of decided to portray death not as some sort of cruel monster, but instead as the last person you would expect to show kindness.

In any case, many more things coming up, so I'll write a part 2 to this... hope you all look forward to it :)