Prompt for Hour Seven
Write a poem that contains primarily visual images.
Really focus on creating striking and lasting images. The images can be connected or disconnected.
Self Taught
I learned that fear will get me nowhere and the simple art of raising my middle finger to someone or an idea or an object, makes me not so fearful anymore.
I learned that not everyone is going to like me
I learned that not everyone is impressed with my obnoxious personality, even though they should be
I learned how to listen to my voice, and relearned that my voice is one of the strongest parts of me
I learned that I am not a phase, not something I will get over
I learned how to sit in silence, with myself
I learned how to be okay, with me
I am self taught
The horizon is a doorway one may journey to
A place you will never arrive
And impossible to travel through
Somewhere over the threshold
(yes, sung exactly like the song
And later changed by Judy Garland to rainbow
Because she thought ‘threshold’ just felt wrong)
Now, as I was saying before over the threshold
There is a kingdom In the East
The kingdom ruled by a witch
The lands where tomorrow sleeps
And behind that land is the hallowed place
Where eternal westerday retreats
NAS Prompt 2
NAS Prompt 2
I wake to a greeting: “Good Morning”
I am a happy and devoted Child of God,
and one of his gifts to me is a husband who greets me
with words in a tone that is pleasant.
Later the day, a friend seeks truth, “be honest”
“What would I do in her shoes?”
she is walking a sad road that is similar
but different to the road I’ve travelled
Feeling inadequate to give her strength
all I can do is describe the moments of hope
we felt at Hospice, when Mom’s time was dwindling
My friend trusts that she will also find those treasured moments
And at the close of that day,
In the after hours of some instances of Grace,
and some wishes for do-overs,
I hear the promise of more challenges and chances tomorrow.
by Nancy Ann Smith
How are we all doing, guys?
I’ve been sat in my little apartment in London and I have to say, I’m struggling; not only physically (my bum has moulded to the duvet I’m sat on and feels like stone) but mentally, I’m definitely dipping. I am looking back over my work and wondering if the effort of today is worth it.
What’s even going to happen as a result of this? Does anyone have any plans for their work as a result of creating it?
Let me know!
<3 PJB
OH JESUS HEAR OUR PRAYERS
HOUR SIX
POEM # 6
24 HOUR
POEM
MARATHON
OH JESUS HEAR OUR PRAYERS
Monday’s here Call to Jesus
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Call to Jesus Call to Jesus
Tuesday’s here Forgive us Jesus
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Forgive us Jesus Forgive us Jesus
Wednesday’s here Go to Jesus
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Go to Jesus Go to Jesus
Thursday’s here Hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Hear our prayers Hear our prayers
Friday’s here Pray to Jesus
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Pray to Jesus Pray to Jesus
Saturday’s here Run to Jesus
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Run to Jesus Run to Jesus
Sunday’s here Sunday’s here
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Call to Jesus Call to Jesus
Forgive us Jesus Forgive us Jesus
Go to Jesus Go to Jesus
Pray to Jesus Pray to Jesus
Run to Jesus Run to Jesus
Hear our prayers Hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Oh Jesus hear our prayers
Hear our prayers Hear our prayers
Written by Carl Mann
The kurlman
6-13-2015
Mise-en-scène
The fields of sunlight-green go on forever,
The ancient arch reveals the rural scene
Containing countless shades of blue and green
Each leaf and blade of grass defined but never
Destroying harmony with one another
But delicately balancing between
Variety and unity of mien
A perfect patch of land, in perfect weather
Observing from the shadows, I remain
Detached and distant, in the cool, grey stone
As only those who stand without can claim,
Touched by the sight, held back from being home
In such a peaceful idyll, sad refrain:
Suspended on the threshold, standing alone.
Prompt:
Form: Italian sonnet
Hour 6–The Hesperus Wrecked
It was a tragedy.
She was the captain’s daughter. She was found in the dim surf tied to the mast of the wreckage. Her bosom was white and her long hair swirling. I was 12 and a boy and the bosom thing is mostly what I remember and she was dead. Her father had tried to save her and thus killed her.
And I was dying up in front of the class. Miss Hepburn as our English teacher had made us each memorize two thousand lines of poetry. We had to recite on command. Procrastinator, I, I faltered badly there in the surf with the captain’s daughter. I couldn’t rescue her or myself. I couldn’t remember the words.
As if I had a choice I chose the greater humiliation. I broke down and sobbed there at the blackboard. Miss Hepburn told me to take my seat. I did so sloppily. Relieved it was over, I cried quietly at my desk. My colleagues were embarrassed. They backed away. Fear of contagion. The whole school would hear.
It was a tragedy. It was my introduction to poetry.
NAS Prompt 1
Underwater start
clean and fresh, loving welcome
joyfully Baptized
Haiku by Nancy Ann Smith
POEM 6-Burning question
Your warm voice is the secret passage
to your heart.
Is your frankness or your smile
that made me love you?
Is your light or even your shadows
that aroused my interest?
However, I am not complete without you
and I want you here, by the fire.