This is a "found" poem, constructed of words taken from an advanced English lesson from The Guardian's "One Stop English." It was an article about advancing car technologies.
Aging, fully automated: Travel to work Or go shopping; Take the quickest route Through lives all the same, The future always promising Something better. Still no flying cars - It will take a long time To rearrange the way This city moves, To affect change for Future generations - The first people born In the traffic of tomorrow Will pass through the system Driverless.
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Coffee, no coffee?
What does this hangover want me to do? Last night was glorious! But today, nam man mot leaw - gas is empty. Still, I dance, Sit in the sun writing, Working towards my dream of Being. Just being... Me. Me, I want water. No coffee! (Day 5 response for the August Writing Challenge. The prompt was: Coffee) She drip-dropped
In slow-mo, Like water from an icicle Falling to the snow. She rolled like honey Along the walls of Her clear, glass jar, Until she swallowed Herself whole. Hours to days, For eternities She lay In waiting for Changes she was Too afraid to face. This was written in response to the Day 4 prompt from our August 2016 Writing Challenge. The prompt was "Changing States / Transformation." Wow,
Left longing. Hanging, somehow. By a thread. Dangling, It's terrifying: How far the ground, How quiet the light How faint is my breathing How dark is the night. Endless, this pounding In the depths of my chest Panic, rising. Close my eyes. Is this dying? Flashing, Everything, nonsensical, Before my face. Reaching for hands That do not exist. I might faint. I never do. These days lay Heavy like anvils. Falling like an angel, Just breathe. Release your feet. The world, fast approaching, Is not a fate that you can beat. This is a poem of sorts that I wrote to the theme of compassion. The Warriors spent an evening discussing the topic with the aim of writing poetry in collaboration with an organization called Petals of Compassion, which is raising money to rebuild homes in earthquake-struck Nepal. Check out their website for more information on the project or to get involved!
It makes a noise, different when it's breaking.
A slow hum, almost like a moan. Heavy in my chest there is an aching Every time I glance down at the quiet phone. Just as he came Now he goes, he goes And so I brace myself Again, For the all alone. Eyes wide open
Mouth shut Stare down into A part of me I had Long forgotten. Reignite My phosphorescence, Solar light, In a space where Time disintegrates. And curled up in The essence of Our veritable selves We relish a connection Of cosmic proportions, To something far grander Than what is possible For our human minds To comprehend. But we feel, Like lightening, We are Everything. I found a little blue notebook while I was packing for home, and this was in it.
Somehow we free-fall, Landing somewhere safe. I say this to remind myself To keep my faith. Reality is not something We escape. It's something we must face. Sometimes it brushes gently Against our feet, Like a brook, in a forest, In a fairytale. But these moments are brief, Describe where you are now, using everything but visual description. Cater to those who respond not only to visuals, but to sounds, smells, sensations. I wrote this alongside some of my favorite warriors at our retreat at Leeloo Cabanas this past weekend. Enjoy!
Rumble, tumble, raspy and low. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, faster, faster, slow. Sky soldiers beating, beating on the world below. With my eyes sewn closed, they all feel cold, sliding slyly down my surface like the slime that lines my nose. A faint scent of smoke fades to the flavor of tomato in my throat. This is a poem, I suppose, written in response to a prompt at our first ever writing retreat this past weekend. The prompt was to think of of one thing I came across during the day and describe it without using any adjectives (the use of color is allowed). I chose to write about an "iffiffy," which is what my father used to call the little white floating remnants of dandelions. I had just finished talking about him with a fellow warrior when, walking back to my bungalow, I was swept up in a huge swarm of these iffifies that seemed to appear out of nowhere. I smiled and said hello to my old man, and I knew I had found my topic for the prompt.
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AuthorChicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird. Categories
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