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Sara Lou
Sara Lou

Jan-30-2007 08:15

I make this thread in honor of my good friend BadAss. He and I discussed how it would be nice to have more poetry, so he we go. Now we can all sit around drinking coffee and writing poetry.

I'll put a poem later.

Poets come


Replies

Sara Lou
Sara Lou

Dec-10-2008 08:05

Ooo! I got cold chills!

Acemaster
Acemaster
Well-Connected

Dec-19-2008 00:53

Wow! Three posts! Sorry I'm not reading that! LOL

Acemaster
Acemaster
Well-Connected

Dec-19-2008 00:59

Loolooloo,
where are you?
we never missed you, friend
we were glad
to see you sad
and whimpering til' the end.


I'm sorry to say
but you're not okay,
but glad to sing this tune.
Stay off of Sleuth
you nasty youth,
and come back on a blue moon.
-----------------------------------------
Not poetic genius, I know, but it didn't have to be. One of my friends on SOM wrote this to a spammer and fowarded it to me. T'was quite effective. Served it's purpose well, even though I'm not yet sure what that purpose was. ;-)


Acemaster
Acemaster
Well-Connected

Dec-19-2008 01:00

*sorry, that should be "I'm glad to sing this tune"* That was silly. ;-)

Sara Lou
Sara Lou

Dec-22-2008 11:53

Ummm... Okay. lol

I am in a writing frenzy lately. Inspiration in New Hampshire. :)

The Cafe

At the cafe alone
I watch you walk by
Every day we are here
But I can't catch your eye

I know your kind
You could never be wrong
If only you'd stop
And ask me to tag along.

I don't know where you go
I don't know who you see
But every night I pray
It soon will be me.

And then the next day
Here I am again
You're walking down the street
I stand, and then

Hello, how are you?
I'm here every day.
I was just wondering
Do you think you could stay?


Sara Lou
Sara Lou

Jan-9-2009 08:22

I am currently in the process of applying to a 3 week artsy/creative writing program for this summer. The judges liked my essay and teacher references, so I audition tomorrow. Portfolio review, interrogation, and an on-site writing activity.

Wish me luck!!

Cordelia Falco
Cordelia Falco
Battered Shoe

Jan-9-2009 09:19

Good luck, Sara Lou! Sounds like a great way to spend the summer.

Anikka
Anikka
Babelfish

Jan-9-2009 10:25

Sara Lou, that's fabulous!! Good luck! :)

Breitkat
Breitkat
Pinball Amateur

Jan-9-2009 13:06

Way to Go, Sara Lou!! You'll do wonderfully!! ;-D

crunchpatty
crunchpatty
Old Shoe

Jan-10-2009 00:21

Like they said -- this is really good. I'm really pulling for you though, and I want to take a minute to give you a couple of things to think about on the eve of your audition.

One of the things that really works about what you've posted is the sense of repetition ("I'm here every day", "here I am again" etc) and the way that day after day in the coffee shop augments the speaker's feelings. One of the ways some writers enhance this sense is by actually repeating some of their words in their work. That's why songs have choruses. That said, your speaker stands up. She shows development by moving from a mere observer (1st stanza) to someone who actually acts on her wishes (last stanza) over the course of the poem. Which is great. But I also sort of like inserting the first stanza just before the last stanza for the sake of repetition and theme. Try reading it once out loud that way. No biggie if you don't like it.

You've done a great job articulating the speaker's feelings of loneliness. Really good. But one of the things I've always felt is particularly powerful about poetry is the way it can say something that applies to more than one person. So I'm giving you the homework assignment of thinking about a) how a close friend would have told the same story and b) what is the same/different between the two versions. How would you write each version?

One of the great tricks of poetry is using your opportunity to describe the setting to convey meaning. What does this coffee shop look like? Does it's look mirror the speaker's feelings? Is it empty or full?

Rhyme is over-rated. My favourite poem:

A girl whom I've not spoken to
or shared coffee with for several years
writes of an old scar.
On her wrist it sleeps, smooth and white,
the size of a leech.
I gave it to her
brandishing a new Italian penknife.
Look, I said turning,
and blood spat onto her shirt.



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