Half Marathoners this is your last prompt! Full marathoners you are now half way there! Either way, congratulations on getting this far!
The prompt for this hour is to write an erasure.
Erasures are a form of poetry where you create a poem using existing text. You take that text and by blacking out or erasing terms you can create a new poem.
Source material for this can be anything. Lots of people do this with the New York Times but you can also use pages from classic novels or letters or anything that has enough text. Some poets do erasures on other authors poems, but they do have to be long ones.
You can pick out a page to print online, use a page from one of your magazines around the house or you can use the handy erasure app over at Wave Poetry.
š„³ššš„° Made it to the end – thank you for this wonderful opportunity! This topic is so fun and interesting, I havenāt done this since High School!
Is this something that has to be scanned in? Im not sure there is enough time to find something, print it, erase it so that it makes sense, and attempt to scan it in before time is up?
If you use something that’s available online, you can just do a screenshot. For example, if Amazon has one of their “Look inside” previews of a book you already own, you may be able to find the page you want thereāno copying or scanning required! š
I just found a paper copy of Rip Van Winkle that I taught to my students, marked it all up, then scanned it in. It is upside-down but, oh well.
I can’t get the samples to load.
Can we add as well as erase text? Iām doing it.
Et finis!
For this last one, I went to the photo of page 143 from Cosey Fanni Tutti’s memoir, art sex music.
https://thepoetrymarathon.com/blog/kevinjoconner/we-forged-on/
From Les Mis – Nightmare
Ā
She, seated on the bed
might it have been half-past five? she said
separated from what was to be
arteries, body ticking like a watchās plea.
A double march going
crime on one side, justice knowing
thoā not afraid, shuddered she
of what was surely soon to be.
Assailed by adventure unforeseen
the day produced a hazy dream,
to persuade it was a nightmare, no
the moon disengaged from foggy bow
and light, mingled with fallen snow
Now twas light thru chamber hinge
a hole shining with reddish tinge
bloody, but not by a candle
not a sound, not a soul was moving, able.
no speaking, not a single breath
silence glacial, profound, and death
were it not for light in there
now next to a sepulchre, where
she seemed to say a little prayer.
A lower door on hinges turned
a heavy step on staircase, hastened the hovelās eerie latch had lifted
something on the table shifted
and at once the horrid dream,
like flour sifted.
-Sandra Johnson, 6/22/19