Zumwalt Poems Online

The Sassoon Collection

v. Auto Tunes

I keep such music in my car
No din this side of death can quell;
Deep bass booming over tar,
And excess forged in death-metal hell.

My dreaming demons will not hear
The roar of guns that would destroy
My life that no gleeful gloom can fear
Proud-surging passages of painful joy.

To the world’s end I drove, and found
Death in his carnival of hidden stash;
But in this torrent I was drowned,
And music screeched above
the fiendishly beatific
headlight-lit
fiber-glass,
glittering, splintering,
metalliferous crash.

— Zumwalt (2011)

In the Course of the Course 
(response to Poetry Challenge #2)

We
grabbingly
latch on
like whining cheesy-cracker-stuffed stubby, chunky children at Legoland
to
these truths,
to
be, been and be self-evident:

All are created equal,
not less, not more,
not borrowed,
not bored,
not bad,
not good,
not misunderstood;

Like Superman from Krypton
well-endowed are we must be
but with unalien rights —

Earth-rights,
rights of life
rights of liberty
rights to pursue our pursuits —

But we cannot fly,
run faster than bullets,
produce more power than locomotives —

So we need,
to secure, protect and enforce,
not some outer-space, displaced, lost-race, straight-laced, de-spectacled face
but our own composite, not so pretty, face
with warts, keloids, pimples, moles, freckles and cysts

termed, short or long, government;
empowered not by one, two octillion ton, yellow sun
but consent of the those that
celebrate, lament, agree, dissent
admire, resent,
are dissatisfied, content,
weak-willed and hell-bent.

And
whenever
any form,
mutant, imprudent, pollutant,
full of self-centered-amusement,
unbalancedly affluent, inimically disputant,
eats more than it should,
swallows the plates and the silverware with the food,
feuds with the stew,
acts crude, rude and so lewdly, nudely intrudes
it is more than okay to open the door
and say
don’t stay,
pray go,
for what are you good for?

And then find a replacement,
build-it-yourself kit,
fit,
more than just a little bit,
to protect
and effect
our best-dressed (with suit, tie and vest)
north, south, east and west,
sometimes blessed, sometimes unblessed,
possibly own-interest stressed and contested,
quite often protested,
unelitist and not easily defeated,
meanest, baddest, sickest, but self-inflicted,
unrepressed, more-is-definitely-not-less,
not too overly stretched something-better-must-always-come-next happiness.

— Zumwalt (2011)

=======================================================

Original Passage:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.

Formatted Passage:

We hold
these truths
to be self-evident,
that all men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator
with certain unalienable rights, that among these are
life,
liberty and
the pursuit of happiness.

That to secure these rights,
governments are instituted among men,
deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

That whenever
any form
of government becomes
destructive to these ends,
it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it,

and to institute new government,
laying its foundation on such principles
and organizing its powers in such form,
as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.

Wednesday Poetry Challenge #2

With this challenge, you take the prose selection you reformatted for Challenge #1 and convert it into a poem, based on your definition of poem.

For example,

If you found the following prose selection initially:

Time has come for us to leave this island: a way to do such must be discovered.

and reformatted it to

Time has come
for us to leave this island:
a way to do such
must be discovered.

Then your next step is to convert from poetic prose to pure poem.

What is a poem?  What is poetry?  This is based on your own definition and sense of aesthetics.

You may chose to convert the text into poetry by imposing regular meter on the text:

We seek a ship to sail us from this place
And steer us on a course that takes us home

or maybe both meter and rhyme:

We seek a ship to sail us from this shore
to take us to the home we knew before

or maybe you are more inclined to an expressive open style:

Time
Time
Time
Ticking
Like the restless heart
Informing us
We must move on —
Leave this island.
Now.

Taking the example from the opening of Theodor Dreiser’s American Tragedy:

Dusk–of a summer night.

And the tall walls of the commercial heart of an American city of perhaps 400,000 inhabitants–such walls as in time may linger as a mere fable.

And up the broad street, now comparatively hushed, a little band of six,–a man of about fifty, short, stout, with bushy hair protruding from under a round black felt hat, a most unimportant-looking person, who carried a small portable organ such as is customarily used by street preachers and singers.  And with him a woman perhaps five years his junior, taller, not so broad, but solid of frame and vigorous, very plain in face and dress, and yet not homely, leading with one hand a small boy of seven and in the other carrying a Bible and several hymn books.  With these three, but walking independently behind, was a girl of fifteen, a boy of twelve and another girl of nine, all following obediently, but not too enthusiastically, in the wake of the others.

might become

Beneath the dusk some summer night
the stretched up walls of citizens:
such walls in time as lingering tales.

And up a nearby spacious street,
hushed compared to others near,
now walks a little band of six, —
a male past fifty, short and stout,
with  hair extending shyly out
from black felt hat tilting east,
an average man, a normal man
with music from an accordion.

And at his right side walks a woman
perhaps five years still his junior,
taller, well-figured, not so broad,
but solid of frame and vigorous,
very plain in face and dress,
and yet attractive in modest ways,
leading with her hand a boy of seven
her other led by hymns and Gospel.

etc.

So simply take your formatted text from the last challenge and rework it to meet your standards for poetry. You can stop when you consider it to be a poem (as above examples), or keep working it until you consider it a good or even excellent poem.

For additional details, please reference to Challenge #1  and Wednesday Poetry Challenge Introduction.

There is no time limit here, these challenges are open until site is forcibly closed down.

To link to you post

CLICK ON Mr. Linky IMAGE BELOW:

SUMMARY:

1.  Click on green “Mister Linky” link above.

2. Enter the URL (address of response not of your website) of your post or page that has your response to this challenge. (The poem you created from the prose you selected.)

3. For this challenge, take your reformatted passage from a novel, short story or essay and add, modify and add words to keep same general meaning but to make it a real poem based on your own definition of poetry.

4. Anyone that wishes to see anyone’s examples, can click on the Mister Linky link above to view any and all of responses.

The Sassoon Collection

ix. Fight to our Finish

The bums came back.  Pundits played and bites were flying.
The yearning journalists threshed the backlit words
To trash the warring brutes who’d refrained from agreeing
And hear the shuffled music of fizzled-out accords.
Of all the waste and nonsense they have brought
This moment is the lowest. (So we thought.)

Thumbing their noses to spite the other aisle
Shunning those that broke ranks with thoughts of a deal,
Making all attempts at representing utterly futile.

* * * * * *

I heard the yammering journalists grunt and squeal;
And with their trusting viewers turned and went
To rid us all of those who brazenly overspent.

— Zumwalt (2011)

First Entry at CHOICEPOSTS

Very excited that one of the many fine WordPress bloggers, willowdot21, has submitted a set of links to be featured at Choicposts.com

This takes courage to be the first, especially when we have a blog like this one that contains many personal thoughts and expressions.

I encourage you to go to http://choiceposts.wordpress.com/2011/10/16/willowdot21-an-insight-to-a-heart-mind-and-soul/ and then explore the listed links.

More than that, I encourage you to explore the site.  Several of the more recent posts, written in a poetry/prose format (let’s call this “prositry”) would make great material for a children’s book.  Here are additional links:

Summer Susie

Silver Spring

Magic on the Dance Floor

Winter Wonda

Autumn Annie

The Sassoon Collection

i. Everyone sang while I fell asleep

voices wailing around the house
thud of feet and slam of doors
everyone singing
only the clocks wind down

around this small room
no sense of the hour
crowded with lemonade breath
high-pitched voices like hounds in pain
as clouds hover over my eyes

fighting sleep with the fork from my dessert plate
not yet ready to go where the dreams are built
where you take reality with you so as not to be alone
dragging it by its rough cotton shirt collar

the sweet faces become sweet voices
despite the liberty with so many of the notes
the lights descend and take colors
whirling into a vortex that kicks out dimensions
like KTEL reissuing fragments from the past

falling asleep
the hounds now cooing like herons drugged by too many Hershey bars
the darkness becoming home (but without any furnishings)
everything fading into peace
except for one small lingering concern
for everything unfinished

— Zumwalt (1998)

Wednesday Poetry Challenge #1

What is the different between poetry and prose?

I  cannot answer that.

Some might say poetry has evolved so that the only difference is that poetry has stanzas.  However, with the increasing popularity of “prose poetry” (poetry written in prose instead of verse) that really doesn’t hold either.

Is poetry more compact, more formal, more stylized, more imaginative, more emotional, more personal, more abstract, more symbolic?

Does poetry use more imagery?

Does poetry use poetic devices such as rhythm, meter, rhyme, alliteration, emphasis on certain sounds?

I have no idea.

That is something that each individual poet has to come to terms with.

Every poet and every reader has their preferences.  Hopefully these preferences are not static and change as the poet develops, as the reader develops, and, ideally, as the poet and reader, being the same person, develop.

For Challenge #1, pick a passage from a novel, essay or short story that qualifies as prose, but for you is particularly poetic. Then without changing a word or punctuation mark, reformat that so it appears to be poetry.

For example,

From the opening of Theodor Dreiser’s American Tragedy:

Dusk —
of a summer night.
And the tall walls of the commercial heart
of an American city of perhaps 400,000 inhabitants —
such walls as in time may linger as a mere fable.

And up the broad street,
now comparatively hushed,
a little band of six, —
a man of about fifty, short, stout,
with bushy hair protruding
from under a round black felt hat,
a most unimportant-looking person,
who carried a small portable organ
such as is customarily used
by street preachers and singers.

And with him a woman
perhaps five years his junior,
taller, not so broad,
but solid of frame and vigorous,
very plain in face and dress,
and yet not homely,
leading with one hand a small boy of seven
and in the other carrying a Bible and several hymn books.

With these three,
but walking independently
behind,
was a girl of fifteen,
a boy of twelve
and another girl of nine,
all following obediently,
but not too enthusiastically,
in the wake of the others.
It was hot,

yet

with a sweet languor
about it all.
Crossing at right angles
the great thoroughfare
on which they walked,
was a second canyon-like way,
threaded by throngs and vehicles
and various lines of cars
which clanged their bells
and made such progress
as they might amid swiftly moving streams of traffic.

Yet

the little group seemed unconscious
of anything
save
a set purpose
to make its way
between the contending
lines of traffic
and pedestrians
which flowed
by them.

How poetic is the opening to Charles Dickens’s Tale of Two Cities?

It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair,
we had everything before us,
we had nothing before us,
we were all going direct to Heaven,
we were all going direct the other way —
in short,
the period
was so far like
the present period,
that some of its noisiest authorities
insisted on its being received,
for good or for evil,
in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw
and a queen with a plain face,
on the throne of England;
there were a king with a large jaw
and a queen with a fair face,
on the throne of France.
In both countries
it was clearer than crystal
to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes,
that things in general were settled for ever.

So simply chose something that you’ve read before and were previously impressed by its poetic nature — or browse from the nearly endless resources of prose on the internet to find an example of poetic prose that works for you.

What and where is the benefit of this first exercise?  Does one benefit more from picking an example or from reading others’ selections?

I am completely clueless.

Enjoy this first challenge.  No selection is considered unpoetic if it is poetry for your heart, ears, soul or mind!

There are many resources for selecting prose works.   A good starting point is Project Gutenberg Australia.

Best to use something in the public domain (no longer under copyright) as Poetry Challenge #2 will also refer to your chosen “prose” text.

For further instructions, please reference the Wednesday Poetry Challenge Introduction.

To add a link to your post

CLICK ON Mr. Linky IMAGE BELOW:

SUMMARY:

1.  Click on green “Mister Linky” link above.

2. Enter the URL (address of response not of your website) of your post or page that has your response to this challenge.

3. For this challenge, take a passage from a novel, short story or essay and reformat it to resemble a poem — or a prose poem if that is your stylistic preference.

4. Anyone that wishes to see anyone’s examples, can click on the Mister Linky link above to view any and all of responses.

Not every Wednesday, but some Wednesdays, I will post a Poetry Challenge. 

I was inspired by seeing a few of these in the WordPress blogosphere and was thinking that maybe there was room for one more — one a little less traditional, but still focused on developing writing skills for the poet.

The approach is simple:  A writing exercise (or challenge) is presented.  Anyone wishing to participate may do so at any time — doesn’t matter if it is the day the challenge is posted or months or years later — there is no deadline whatsoever.  One can create a response to the “challenge” as a post or page on their blog — or anywhere they chose — just provide the link  to the “Mr. Linky” pop-up window provided at the bottom of the Wednesday Poetry Challenge Post.

I think it’s just that simple. 

One can participate in all challenges, participate in only those challenges of interest, or  participate in not a single one but just browse others’ responses or ignore these Wednesday posts altogether.

I was originally thinking about starting another WordPress blog just for this purpose, but after noting how difficult it is for a brand new blog like WordPress Blog Showcase to get followers, I thought I would give it a try here where there is already some foot traffic, so to speak.

Look forward to this exercise, any responses and any and all feedback on improving process or content.

Your friendly neighborhood Zumpoems.com administrator,

zumpoems.com Admin.

carried away

carried away

i now cannot say that this
is not what i cannot say

i keep quiet
carefully
counting out
the contrast
of continuous quietness.

— Zumwalt  (06/1991)

Can’t Hide

Can’t Hide

With the last paycheck spent on camouflage,
focusing on a mindset made of mirrors,
I attempt to be an object
or better yet be none.

My clothes mimic the variegated prints of nature,
my face is painted much the same.
I stand in the wilderness far away from the Sheridan Square Stop
teaching my heart to copy the various pulses of the forest.

I once sacrificed:
my future and my past for my role in the now;
I once worshipped
fences and gates and directions pertaining to.

With each breath I inhale the cold message of shelter
holding in the truths and surface deceptions
creating a balance between conception and mirage,
accepting the difference between initiation and isolation.

Without the next paycheck
I worry what it means
to not be nothing,
to not be able to hide,
the actual point of submission to everything
being the same:
no distinction.

— Zumwalt (2011)