Artful Sentences

3/01/10 - Sentences

Admired Author:
"I don't know what I expected, except that it wasn't to see her pop straight up, keep her balance, and ride the wave all the way back to shore, where it finally petered out."
-Nicholas Sparks

My Sentence:
I was used to watching from a distance, the ultimate outsider even in a room filled with my closest friends. But, this year it was all going to be different. My self imposed exile ends now.

Author's Corner: Robert Bly

While I was looking up information about prose poetry, I came across a prose poet by the name of Robert Bly. Bly co-founded American Writers Against the Vietnam War and actually led much of the opposition among writers to the Vietnam War, which I found to be interesting. According to his website, he has written quite a few books of poetry. I read a few of his poems and found that I really enjoyed them. One in particular that I liked:

Driving toward the Lac Qui Parle River

BY ROBERT BLY

I
I am driving; it is dusk; Minnesota.
The stubble field catches the last growth of sun.
The soybeans are breathing on all sides.
Old men are sitting before their houses on car seats
In the small towns. I am happy,
The moon rising above the turkey sheds.

II
The small world of the car
Plunges through the deep fields of the night,
On the road from Willmar to Milan.
This solitude covered with iron
Moves through the fields of night
Penetrated by the noise of crickets.

III
Nearly to Milan, suddenly a small bridge,
And water kneeling in the moonlight.
In small towns the houses are built right on the ground;
The lamplight falls on all fours on the grass.
When I reach the river, the full moon covers it.
A few people are talking, low, in a boat.

I found Bly's poetry on the following sites:

http://www.robertbly.com/index.html
http://ebbs.english.vt.edu/olp/gs/1.2/bushell.html

Workshop Group C: Experimental Poem

The prompt for this was to create a poem that consisted of directions.

Experimental Poem
By Jacqueline Segal

Begin seated at your desk,
fingers poised on the keyboard,
of the old, dilapidated computer in front of you,
textbook open upon your lap,
eyes focused, determined, diligent.
Or not.
Instead, turn to the phone on your right,
send a text to a forgotten friend.
her number once the most used in your list
Wait for a reply.
Too tired of waiting?
Get up and take a stretch,
Ignore the scattered pages of notes,
Pass the piles of textbooks,
filing up the empty surfaces of your room.
Make a right at the bookshelves,
Plop yourself down on the metallic blue,
bean bag of your childhood.
Grab your guitar.
Go ahead, strum a few chords.
The homework can wait, will wait.
Alright, enough fun.
Back to work.
Or not.
Go back towards the bookshelves.
Make a left, let your feet carry you back,
to the chair, at the desk,
the empty screen awaits you.
Pull up the internet,
fingers perched haphazardly on the keys,
search the endless depths of cyberspace.
Take a few moments to stare at the wall,
it's vibrant green hue dulling your senses.
Back to the computer.
Detour through the web.
It's alright, check your facebook.
Any new messages? No?
Break's over, time to work again.
Or not.
Allow your eyes to drift to the window,
take in the dirty blue color of the city skyline,
let the dismal honking of carhorns lull you to sleep.
Close your eyes,
just for a minute.
Or two.
The homework can wait.

Artful Sentences

2/16/10 - Sentences

Admired Author:
"Luce. Lucy. Lucinda Scarborough. Marry me. Please. I want you, and I want to be your daughter's father."
- Nancy Werlin

My Sentence(s):
She could hear the rain dripping down the sides of the house. The thunder was pounding. She was alone. Terrified. No one around to hear her should she scream.

Writing Poetry

I haven't had much experience with writing poetry. I actually took a class in high school as an elective that was called Poetry/Advanced Creative Writing. However, I took the class mainly for the creative writing aspect. I was quite upset when even after we were done with the poetry portion of the course we were still doing poetry. In fact, I have never really been the biggest fan of writing my own poetry although I think its awesome that some people can write poetry. A lot of it has to do with the fact that I am very self conscious about my writing. It also does not help that my poetry always ends up sounding like a five year old wrote it. Although I sometimes feel like I have a great idea for a poem, I often have trouble actually making it into a poem.

Artful Sentences

2/8/10 - Sentences

Admired Author:
"My mouth dropped open as I watched the beautiful, sleek animal enjoying the last few crumbs of his treat."
- Teri Brown

My Sentence:
Gianna and Benjamin leaned down to pick up the fallen papers at the same moment, their fingers brushing against each other lightly and with a small smile their lifelong friendship began.

Author's Corner: Ellen Hopkins

I have been recommended to read the work of Ellen Hopkins by a few people, one of them being my younger sister. Ellen Hopkins is an author and has written books, such as Crank. What I find very interesting is that this book is written in poems. She additionally has some of her poetry up on her website and her own blog. I particularly liked a poem that I found on her website, entitled "Dry Spell."

Her website is: http://www.ellenhopkins.com/
Her blog can be found: http://ellenhopkins.livejournal.com/

Artful Sentences

2/1/10 - Short Sentences

-It all started the same.
-Our eyes locked, connected. So simply, and it began.

1/25/10 - Sentences

Admired Author:
"Especially my mom, who always seemed to take every raised syllable, every slam or crash, even the numerous sarcastic sighs like personal attacks."
- Sarah Dessen

My Sentence:
My sister was the most sensitive of us all; she took each crescendo of words, every murmured phrase and each dramatic role of the eyes as a personal slap across the face.