Wednesday, April 16, 2014

I Do Like Slam I Am



Today, I’m saving you from my crazy poems and giving you the opportunity to watch this hilarious slam poetry titled, "The The Impotence of Proofreading," by Taylor Mali. I was browsing around YouTube looking for some slam poetry and came upon this one. It's an older video. I admit that I’m not a computer reader or one who hangs out much on YouTube so if it’s a repeat for you, well then you have too much time on your hands. Just kidding.

The reason I chose this poem is because Taylor is a teacher advocate, my husband’s profession, and he gives his poems 100%. Slam poetry requires physical and vocal movement to express the poetry. Inflections, gestures to emphasize the point the poem is making. At least that’s how I see it. I don’t think slam poetry would work if someone stood at a microphone and read their poem in a monotone voice.  I give people credit for being able to do slam poetry, because it’s something I couldn’t do.

This video has some innuendos and words that might seem crude to some. If you’re sensitive to this kind of material, then I’d advise you not to watch it. For those who do watch, there are some misused and misspelled words that I’m sure many of us have seen on paper. I think that’s what makes this so funny and wonderful.



Slam and Proofreading,
Bea

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Cinque Terre This and a Cinque Terre That



Here is another invented poetry form created by Laura Lamarca called CinqTroisDecaLa Rhyme. That’s a mouthful. This is a 10-line stanza with each line having a 15-syllable count with a rhyme scheme of AABBCCCABC.

The name of the poem Cinq made me think of the Cinque Terre. It’s where we went on my honeymoon. 

 
Cinque Terre

Visions of such natural beauty goes beyond expectations
Designs sublime, magical to see, sustained generations
Hearts and minds amazed by the miracles brought forth in decor
Scenic nature, copies fail, originals we adore
Mountains, curves, straight lines of color, a glorious obsession
History of aged rock, earth corrodes, water makes impression
Creative arts are hard at work to find the right expression
Control moved from family to nation with declarations
Notable moments of love and war, bloodshed upon its shore
Its splendor holds strong; exists in peace away from aggression

Landscape and Emotion,
Bea

Monday, April 14, 2014

Three for the Road



I was on a roll and then it stopped. Since I missed a few days of posting poetry, I will include three poems on this post. 

This first poem is something I found amongst my mother’s things when she passed away. It is marked unknown, but I found the author through Google. I’m posting this poem in memory of my mother and my cousin, Ann Renee Maluska, who died at the age of nineteen. Ann was born on Easter Sunday, and she would have turned forty-six years old today. Happy Birthday, Ann.

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush or quiet
Birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

Free Verse poetry is poetry that doesn’t follow meter or rhyme. Excuse the rush writing of this poem.

Treasures

Treasures
I thought I lost
I now have found

In the written word
and a picture to last
generations to come

Sometimes we
forget distant memories
that made us who we are

Because of all the treasures
I have found
It’s the one I carry around.

The treasure of
being a part of you,
letting that part shine right through.

I thought I would try another invented poetry form. This is a Memento, created by Emily Romano. It’s supposed to be about a holiday or anniversary, but I didn’t write about either one. The syllable count is 8,6,2 for each stanza, and the rhyme scheme is a/b/c/a/b/c. 

Unabashed Lovers

Ignore the judgmental whispers
That pour faster than rain
No worth;
Words that form on tongues like blisters
Creating endless pain
Unbirth.


To listen is to give power
Losing a bit of you
Hush now;
Stomp out the negative flower
To continue your woo
Avow.

Piecemeal and Three,
Bea