The Friday Prompt :: July 14th 2017

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Want to tell me what to write for the next seven days worth of MicroPoetry and Haiku?

Here’s your chance: reply to this post with a prompt: it can be anything at all. A picture, a video or a song, even a .GIF is acceptable, or perhaps some poetry or a snippet of dialogue. Post it in the comments, and if I like it enough, I’ll use it as a prompt for my Sunday afternoon writing session.

If your suggestion is chosen, I’ll make sure you get credited for the inspiration.

Submissions close at 12.05 pm, Sunday July 16th.

AWAY YOU GO.

Out of Touch

Origins

When I started this little adjunct to the Internet of Words journey, I’d not expected the reaction it garnered. People being genuinely interested in my backstory, is, I’ll grant you, something of a surprise. Having grasped the level of interest, I’ve gone back into my history to start putting together an actual chronology of what I’ve written, and when. That means, this week, I’ll ask you cast your mind back to October of 1985…

Choose1985

I’ve picked a US cassette sleeve for the sole reason that Ghostbusters is track one, and I’d spent quite a bit of time post ‘A’ Level exams obsessing about this film. I ended up at my first choice destination for college, and that meant three years of Media studies and English. I was told by my tutor it would be a good idea to practice learning how to write poetry, as it would grant a greater understanding of what I was going to learn going forward. Thus, the Big Book of Poetry was created:

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Okay, it’s not that big (A5 size) but there are enclosed in these pages a respectable 32 poems. I say respectable advisedly: I was 18, and a lot of this is dire. However, my issues with depression are already apparent back then, and maybe if I’d paid more attention to myself in those early days my life might have run a different course. However, it is what it is now, and that’s just one of those intractable truths that you accept and move on from. However, I have picked one poem to share: it’s all hand written, in pencil, and hopefully this is readable enough.

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I know when this was written: a trip up to London (I think to see something course related) which prompted my first attempts to capture a world that was still amazing and brilliant on my own terms. Even though a lot of that year is lost completely to the vagaries of alcohol, late nights and bad memory, these poems remain. Some are named for people I remember, others I don’t recall at all. There are also hints of what else influenced my life, most especially the book of poetry studied in my first year, forming the basis of an end year dissertation.

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These poems are still an important part of what I am, and to understand me is to know that many of these works run through me as letters through a piece of seaside rock. Without Brian Patten, in particular, I would not be the person I now am. There’s a lot to look back on at this part in my life, and to be honest not all of it was stuff I am proud of (as seems to be a theme that runs through large swathes of my existence.) However, if you are to truly understand where my love of writing began, it was here. There’s also a story, already told from this period of my life, that’s featured previously on the Blog. If you’re interested about that time someone tried to convert me to Christianity, you could do a lot worse than go read this.

Adventures in Haiku [ONE]

As you will know, I’m experimenting with my poetic styles as part of daily content on the @InternetofWords Twitter site. This week, I wrote a 5 part Haiku, which forms a larger sequence, and I’m really rather proud of it. Therefore, it seems appropriate to reproduce it here complete.


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Your picture, taken:
So perfect. Turn to ignore
Chaos and anger.

What has happened here?
The sudden alteration
of joy to sorrow.

We were perfection:
an unbreakable union,
’til doubt split apart

these tender efforts;
soon discarded, forgotten
in the heat of rage.

Take this image: now
remember beauty was here,
between us, as one.


 

Beautiful Noise

asides

Welcome to what is now scheduled as a daily post on this site, in addition to the Patreon content being presented by the Internet of Words. For the last couple of months, every morning (or in bursts of creativity that are subsequently scheduled) I’ve been writing a daily haiku. Poetry has never been my strong point in all the years I’ve been crafting with words. However, as the weeks have passed, I find my brain beginning to think in a 5/7/5 manner as I wake. It is akin to remembering how to hold dumbbells for a certain exercise, or what my body has to recall when running so there is no additional stress on knees or back. Poetic muscle memory has become a thing of joy.

However, in the scheme of cerebral haiku I’m very much still swimming in the shallow end. Ideally two images/concepts should be separated by a kireji (“cutting word”) which also serves to join your disparate concepts together. Occasionally I’ve come close but it there needs to be more thought (and possibly caffeine) to make those neophyte efforts more acceptable. There should be more haiku when I’m awake, which means as of right now I’m going to try and write a week’s worth of content on a Sunday and then schedule it appropriately.

I’ve also started making a distinct effort to match appropriate GIF-age with both the daily haiku and the micropoetry, and starting on Monday if you’re following me on the IoW Twitter feed, you can suggest a GIF that will be used as inspiration for the following week’s offerings. In effect, you’ll be providing the pictures, and I’ll come up with the words, and this whole thing becomes a truly group effort. This has already proven quite productive based on the previous week’s output.

This is, however, only the beginning. I’ll be introducing the weekly ‘features’ starting next week, which is also when there’ll be a webpage established for all the Twitter poems, both from morning and evening. As they’re published in Tweet format I’ll be using that platform’s Moments feature to present them in an easily digestible form. I hope you’ll enjoy reading as much as I am writing.

Calling all the Heroes

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Today was fucking huge, and here’s why:

A Schedule has been Established.

I have scheduled Haiku and Micropoetry until Thursday, which is fantastic because it now grants a couple of days clear air between me and more content. I have everything ready to start introducing the strands of my Project, and the Patreon rewards… well, nobody has said anything bad. I’ll assume that if anybody complains, I’ll hear about it soon enough, but as (right now) I’m preaching to those already converted… they’re going to be happy.

I Feel less Guilty about the Gaming Site.

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Completely by accident, I’ve worked out a way to go back to seven day a week posting and to cover quiet days when there’s no Warcraft news. This also requires scheduling, but I’m already planning to start this on Thursday. It makes me happy because I’m not disappointing what remains a small yet loyal audience. This matters more than I realised, and having a means to keep my small yet dedicated audience interest remains important.

I Can Do This, People.

I don’t care that nobody ‘likes’ my poems. I just need to write them, one after the other, so that I can learn to trust my voice. I need to use different forms, be clever with construction and content, for my own happiness and nobody else’s. I don’t need the validation what I’m doing is popular or accessible. These are my words, in my own way, and if someone notices the multiple layers of subtlety? So be it.

I have taken a strong and confident first step and that is all that matters right now.

Poetry in Motion

Today is National Poetry Day in the UK.

So, here is a poem I wrote. because I am a writer, and however much this form scares me, when you can embrace it well, it is glorious.

==
The Internal Ache

I don’t deserve this care, yet you remain: wound around my heart; soft, quiet constriction.

A measured passion forms constant desires:
you won’t desert me, trapped in our affliction.
I search for those reciprocal beliefs, within the skeptic depths of my bruised soul.
You have arrived before an answer’s found: a promise bound, to make these two a whole.
Inevitable fate may yet be true: contradictions of myself in you.
I sense a shocking lack of fit response: I own no solid truth to reach or grasp,
but this is where I know that I should be.
You watch my struggle with the thing you ask:
to try and look within where words are caught, inside the heart so scared to answer back.
Your patience while I struggle gives me strength, a constance as I crave the words I lack.

I will always love you, but can’t say now: these words never enough to show you how.

==
Words are hard, you know.