Tag: writing 201

Writing 201, Assignment 10: Sonnet – Future

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The finale to Writing 201 was a long awaited. It brought a lovely end to the 10 days of prompts that fed the poets of WordPress with plenty of entertained, inspiration and creative challenge. The final prompt is one alive with possibility, for the post and for our endeavours as writers and individuals in general, “Future”. The piece is to be written in a classic poetic form, The Sonnet, which was sure to make an appearance in this poetry course in one way or another. I found it a fun challenge throwing the suggested device, Chiasmus, into use. Hopefully it has seasoned the piece with reasonable effect. Enjoy!

 

 

There is madness in my longing, longing in my madness,

there is sweetness when I sleep, I see summits of possibility.

The possibility of summits that sever a stagnant sadness,

the promise that waking up is enough to compose ability.

 

I sleep a while and slip away, in dreams that breach the present,

I reconcile with consciousness to rally a rise to action.

For action to rise, a rally must drive a stake through any presence,

that stifle my any means to feed my drive its traction.

 

I’m humbled by any pain that punctuates my ascension.

The periods of softened will, will soften if I persist.

There is truth inside these dreams that captivate my attention,

a truth that goes to prove that soon my future will exist.

 

I’m in love with possibility, Possibility with love entwined,

A future that found design in the sinews of passions bind.

 

 

 

(c) Saili Katebe

Writing 201, Assignment 9: Found Poetry – Highlands

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The colder touches of reality have teased my time into a nuggets of scarcity. I have neglected my shared words. This post is due, this should have been shared a week ago, leaving my contributions to Writing 201 incomplete. I apologise for the silence emanating from my corner. I am here to present my latest contribution to the challenge and re-establish my voice.

The form of the day was, found poetry. Collection of words, letters, from an existing text to create a new piece. I wasn’t able to submit any of my draft ransom notes, as they could still come in handy in the future, however I made an attempt at creative a piece with a new addition to my poetic arsenal, erasure. The prompt was landscape, and using enumeration.

For this piece, I used a text entitled “Land of Little Rain” by Mary Austin.

 

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I was lost for ways of structuring the verse. I only truly saw it as the piece as I carved it out of the original text. Here is the Verse separate to the rest of the text.

 

This is nature.

There are hills,

squeezed up,

aspiring to be high in a blue haze.

Streaked with water

in the hollows of closed valleys,

levels of steep and heavy,

never quite dry,

deposits of marsh

which open to the wind

in cannon.

This country,

brackish and unwholesome,

maddening,

dribbles soil where the air calms the pale sky.

Earth crys for downpours,

bursts of love.

Writing 201, Assignment 8: Ode – Ode to my Journal

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Writing-is-art

I have broken the flow. As it stands, today, I am a day behind on Writing 201. Here is yesterdays assignment, better late than never.

Another day, another assignment. The ode, today’s (yesterdays) poetic form, is a longer piece with a more intricate structure, and is very much new to me. This assignment was another impressive contributor to my poetic education, I learned a great deal as I dived into the new and wonderful world of odes. I learned words like Strophe, Antisrophe, and Epode. Most importantly, I was fortunate enough to learn what an ode actually is. Needless to say I was , yet again, thrown well out of my comfort zone, and had my creativity and perseverance tested. I attempted to make this as much of an ode as I could, doing my best to follow brief. The prompt for the day was “Drawer” and out of my drawer I drew out, my journal.

Without further ado, I give to you, “Ode To My Journal” utilizing, Apostrophe.

 

You are never very far, you are stowed, to steal my mind,

still but never losing your zeal for holding ink.

We build and fill you wildly with every drop I can find

of the force that feeds my reasoning, soul and paper are linked.

Your have ledges bartered as ledgers for secrets I never told,

You have spattering thoughts bled from a struggle I couldn’t speak,

Of cumbersome weeks spent redefining my own being.

That silent vigil awaiting me, tucked in my tables hold,

is gold, it tips the scales of my mind, when tongue is weak.

You can picture every corner of me, without seeing.

 

For all your patient moments, so humbly poised, listening,

you have never spoken up to steady my ailing truth.

Your bathing in rugged strokes, ink on the page glistening

frustrates me, I’m waiting for something to set you loose.

I’m tired of your reminders, I’m well aware of the falls,

the fire that ate my bridges and landed me in despair.

You only talk in echo’s, you mirror my oldest prose,

summon your own voice, my mind has summoned its walls.

Your silence is suffocating, you need to feed me with air.

I’m tempted to keep you hidden, leaving your pages closed.

 

I’m troubled by burning prose, and unimagined mementos

you are the only aid that can save me wasting the fruit.

I’m furious when I struggle, when troubled by empty thoughts,

I appreciate your patience in all my written pursuits.

I’m a loose cannon of anger when words are hardest to find,

you’re kind and cope with tantrums, that take me out of my mind.

We often defy reason, with mine, your minds weaken the binds,

that tie me to the limitations of logic.

 

(c) Saili Katebe

Writing 201, Assignment 7: Poem Prose – Finger Painting

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Assignment seven, you were a cruel mistress. You came in the form of Poem Prose, and asked me to weave a piece with a prompt absolutely ripe with possibilities, “Fingers”. Alliteration was covered earlier one in Writing 201, and the vowels have now been offered a chance to enjoy their share of repetition. I’m aware that I unconsciously implement alliteration in my pieces. However, I did tried to incorporate assonance in today’s piece.

The piece started life as free write, and I quickly watched my editorial hand fail, swiftly overpowered by emotions of deep attachment. The length and structure of the piece could benefit from a more objective approach, however today, emotions win. Maybe next time. Enjoy!

A mailable palm of properties collect to construct this, Soul. Cradling a life form that teeters along the edge of things, wonders the waves of time, in time to be cradled by earth.

Listen to, the tapping tentacles, digits. These fingers of feeling, fidget. These are my emotional appendages, claiming a canvas wildly. Its through there numerous trails, overlapping in open air, that my peers form a picture of me.

They are alive with activity. Aiming there tips around me, swarming with hues of, everything. Where everything connects, the palm, collects the abstract. You can see the hand I was dealt, its touching. The mandibles whelp, at nothing, at time I am held as a prisoner as they wrap into a fist and forget me.

They stretch themselves in cannon whenever need and impulse impede. Anger has harshened strokes, envy forever emulates. Sorrow undoes me, under the pale shades it presses into existence. Happiness elevates my every steps with forever triumphant ease, I bleed these spectrum’s. Greed grabs at the edges, praying maybe there is more to have, but moments have me wanting more, control.

Its a morbid bag of inching whims that have latched themselves to living. I cant grasp a fuller picture when they roam as wildly as they used to. My nerves are growing steady now, fewer tremors inviting staggered stroke.

They are flailing metronome tips, that the winds of change provoke. They have marked time in memories. These fingertips, with fingerprints of an ambiguous spectrum, have walked the ivory keys of new beginnings and played my ballad, to a time signature they cannot forge.

 

(c) Saili Katebe

Writing 201, Assignment 6: Ballad – Mama, Papa (Heroes)

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The weekend served as a short break from the poetry assignments of Writing 201. I haven’t been contorting my imagination in new and interesting ways, and it turns out, I missed it. The week opens with a wonderful new prompt of Heroes. These could be, fictional, real, or even a semi non fictional exaggeration of our individual awesomeness. As much as I would have loved to create an action filled epic of me, as some dragon slaying hero, I had to dedicate my Ballad (Poetic Form of the day) to a couple of real heroes, My parents. The poetic device(s) for today, I cant even pronounce correctly are, Anaphora and Epistrophe. These refer to the repetition of words or phrases at the beginning and ending of multiple lines of verse, respectively. Im unsure as to how well my piece meets the criteria for a ballad, or the poetic devices for that matter, but I’m hoping it says what I hoped it to say. Enjoy!

 

A promise was made under shadows of youth,

“You’ll blossom, Your time will arrive.”

A promise that swam in the heart of the youth,

always knowing their time will arrive.

 

A mother so anxious, while father composed,

they were carving a future for men.

So young in there skin, with childish repose,

unaware where the future would end.

 

His boys would be men, they would carry his name

so he taught them the price of a dream.

He taught them to plough and plant what they need

“without effort you’ll stifle a dream”

 

He guided there steps over teetering paths,

always knowing the fall will arrive.

He tumbled before on his teetering path,

so he knows they will fall but survive.

 

The daughter-less queen, had a heart without end,

it was tender and tended to kin.

to her kings in there youth she taught love without end,

the daughter-less queen cautioned sin.

 

To a king there’s a queen, and the queen that she was,

she projected the traits to adore.

So when youth was undone and they courted at will,

it was genuine love at the door.

 

A promise was made under shadows of youth

“you’ll blossom, your time will arrive.”

A promise that swims in the depth of my heart,

always knowing that my time will arrive.

 

 

 

(c) Saili Katebe

 

Writing 201, Assignment 4: Concrete Poem

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Writing 201 has added a dash of heartache to the days feast of poetic prompts, devices and forms. Day Four has requested a Concrete poem, based on the prompt “Animal” utilising enjambment.

I wake up every morning excited to read the days assignment, I look forward to  toying with ideas for the piece in the spare moments the day provides. I found myself lost in panic today, every time I turned to planning my contribution mind froze. Fortunately all things come to an end, the panic ran its course. It faded away to a whispers and gifted me some peace of mind and a slither of time to fumble a piece into existence, a freewrite. Bravo to the folks at The Daily Post, today was truly a challenge. I had no idea how to share the image, I am not the most technologically competent person, so here is a screenshot of the finished product.Today I was truly tested! Enjoy

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Writing 201, Assignment 3: Acrostic – Trust

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Another day in the world of WordPress has provided another glorious opportunity to fine tune our art of expression, Writing 201, challenge number 3 is in play. The poetic form we have been given to play with today is “Acrostic”, spelling out a word, or words with the first letters of each line of our poem. The optional devise we can make used of today is the internal rhyme, and finally the prompt. Our poems have the option of addressing the topic trust, in any manner we see fit. This is my contribution. Enjoy!

Momentary truths are tested against forever,

Afflictions of affection, feeding a foul weather.

Summers of sweet escapes and serenading amore,

Quiver in moors, stagnant, stripped of any allure.

Unravelling vales falling, raising a stale wall,

Elaborate tales told, unfold to exhale all.

Roaring flames spasming, eating away the frame,

Attacking the strokes painted by pain of a known name.

Deceit is a small game in the dance of hidden intention,

Evading the truth for gain, only maims future ascension.