My Kind Of Present

If I got a present
that was worth
the wait on a timeless night,
worth the tears
and worth the fight

it won't have
beef and it won't
have steak
won't be creamy
and it won't be
cake

it won't be yellow
it won't be blue
it may not even
have a hue

it won't be a
gift that you
tear open greedily
or wait for stealthily
the one you knew
was coming all along

my kind of
present is worthwhile
waiting in the room
with cold black tile

something that
may never come
something that is
ended before it
has rightfully
begin

something that is
worse than hate
worse than future
and worse than fate

something you will
wish for, but maybe
never have

something you might
even count on
in the middle of the night

my present isn't
a pitch-black raven
or a starch white dove
the kind of present
i need
is love

Treaty!

Treaty!

the big black
general with
his thick green
coat

hard crinkled
skin like
polished cherry wood

forty-six badges
lined up in a row
what an honor
to bestow

strides over
to the new general
the other side
the opposing team

new general
with oiled skin
stark-white
like the moon
on a cloudless
night

night and day
at war
what reason
is there any


TREATY!
a big black
voice from the
big black man

aiming a gun
at the bleached
old land


the big white
general with his
stark-white skin
recoils at
the sight
of the big black man

BOOM
says the gun
with a thick
full voice

gone is the
tree with
thick green
pine needles

once stood tall
and mighty
doomed with
man-made thunder
cursing her trunk

the big white general
with a deep grey coat
winces at the
sight of the fallen
pine

no treaty there
the man may
know this
quite honestly

peace is a treaty
honest to your
puny badges
who do you honor
says the big black man

big black man
you are no
match for bombs
and guns
said the big white man

i am human
throughout my life
shells and rifles
bear no threat
said the big black man

Teapot is broken
screams little
daughter of
big black man
general winces

mummy is home
sick in bed
i came here
for you
instead

and the big white man
with his true white smile
invited the man
to a small
little tent

and they sat
and talked
and worked out
a deal
for each other

and there was
no more war
'tween night
and day

and the little
girl still
hums and
sings and
prays......

Poetry Sharing Event

What great poets we have in this class!

You'll get your poetry collections back after the holiday, but for now (with password only) you can listen here or watch the video of today's poetry sharing event.

I'm so proud of the poetry you've made in this past month. --Ms Carbine

Lifeline Database

Living on earth is sad and true

     Proud and Failing

     Living and mistaking

     Love for a true life

     Self-respect

     Honesty

     Responsible

     Caring

     This is what they want you

     To Be

     And yet....

     We fail them

     Over and Over

     It strikes you

     Have you seen this

     Have they seen you in there

     Laughing

     Stealing, and hurting

     Cursing, and letting

     Your sadness out

     Have you failed me.......

     Or will you now? 

     Love is a difficult thing

     It is the rebellious child

     Of Hate

     And the beautiful child

     Of the First Angel

     First Death

     First Love

     Lifeline Database

     You find only information

     That makes you go mad

     Immortality

     Is death

     Mortality

     Is true living 

Autumns Past

I did a second take. The poem is written on the leaves and I am the tree, seen a lot of autumns. I love it every time.

Storm

Poems for two voices... this one was one voice, one techie.

Leaf Haikus

Maybe

maybe the sun will never come up tomorrow

maybe I will see rain fall down on me

the clock is ticking fast my heart is racing

as my pencil kisses the page I grow nervous

maybe the sun will come up tomorrow

maybe rain won't fall on me

but the clock is still ticking

and my heart is still racing

the bell has rung as I put up my chair up

I wonder why I say maybe when I can say what if.

Michigan

Every day you hear the frenzied cheer,

Hail to the victors.

The band,

The team,

All coming together.

That is Michigan.

The game,

Everyone standing and singing,

Hail to the victors.

That is Michigan.

The crowd yellow and blue,

Different writing on each shirt,

Hail to the victors.

That is Michigan.

Every day you hear the frenzy cheer,

Hail to the conquering heroes.

We are Michigan!

This is what they believe:

This is what they believe:

The sun will come up

The stars will show down

no broken bones

peace from wars

all their wishes will come true

And yet:

broken buildings

bloody fights

daring soldiers

die at night

The first thing you learn

is Peter Pan

and Tinker Bell

Can't live without

you believing

And yet, hope

fails you

with the things

that haunt mankind

and that is why

I'm leaving

FALL

Orange and yellow and red,

Erasing the green grass,

As the leaves dance off the big, brown branches,

Leaving them bare.

The bare trees don't dance in the wind,

They sit.

For their job is now done.

Now every leaf has fallen,

The only green that is left,

Are the mighty evergreens.

The orange and yellow and red,

Resting on the ground,

Are now covered in a thick, white blanket.

Owl on the Hunt

Swooping, diving, faster than ever,

the darkness engulfs me, this pretty little blur of colors.

Flying back home to that sweet hole in the tree,

the chicks are waiting once again.

Always so frightening, I have never seen so many,

with their scary long legs and no wings at all!

Whooping, exclaiming, pointing at me, only as I come by.

Then I see dinner, there on the grass.

This is the only reason I accept their presence.

Another ball of fluff, laying in the yard.

As I swoop down with ease like the cool summer breeze,

I almost feel sorry.

I pick him up, he seems so helpless,

but now, my chicks will be happy.

A Pondering Moment: Class Comments

Hi!

I'm very impressed with some of the wordle poems you created in class today. We saw today that poetry is word art as well as sound art. Could we say that video poetry is the cross over of word art and sound art (sound word art)?

In your comments, you mentioned that video poetry shows pictures at the same time and that the words move. Some of you thought that it was a better way for poetry to express its message because of this. Others wondered why some of the poems didn't have written words or why the words were flying. All of these are valid comments. At least one comment mentioned that talking about poetry in a poem is a new idea. Could you imagine painting a picture about art or singing a song about music?

Your interpretations of the recorded poems also made me rethink how I had listened to them. Being A Woman is a tribute to hard working mothers. I hadn't thought of it that way. Gypsy is about someone running away from people in the name of independence and accomplishment. Keep reading with that level of insight! We'll keep publishing your poems (4 A-Coupons per poem) here and I'm excited to record your poems in the coming week. Soon we'll have our own class CD of poems and you'll be able to perform them if you like before Thanksgiving.

--Ms. Carbine

Tomorrow

Today is gone and so comes tomorrow.

Gliding in as gently and swiftly as a cloud.

Each day waiting to be a tomorrow.

Waiting to be something

that people walk upon Dance upon.

Waiting to be a tomorrow.

Fall

kitten

they are young and small

padding up on little feet

the cutest thing here

Ripples Triple

Things will be bad

And there's no stopping

While the Sun comes up.

The sky is pink in despair.

Things will be good

And we can stop them.

You shouldn't care

About that at all.

Ripples Triple

Pennies fall

And you don't care at all

at all........

Take A Penny

Take a penny

Watch it fall

Let it clang

against the wall

Take a string

Watch it fall

Let it brush

against the wall

Take my body

Watch it fall

Let it melt

into the wall

A poem is...

A poem is...

a memory

a lifetime

an ear

a mirror

A poem is......

a body

a hope

a faith

a believer

a learner

A poem is......

a teacher

a student

a textbook

a novel

an essay

A poem is me.

Mushy Peach, Overripe Heart

Rearranging the words using wordle changed the way I read the poem and helped me find new meaning in a poem that I haven't looked at in a while. How did you look at your wordled poems? Did you look at them in a new light?

A mushy peach:

Sweet prickly pit peaches

bled tender ripe fruit love

like slow juicy metaphors.

Sounds rotten like

echoes of a thousand reaching little words.

Smelly cream dreams,

sore rain lands. Ready? Burst!

An overripe heart.

Poetry Off The Page: Three Things To Do

Welcome to your exploration of poetry off the page! Thylias Moss explains that Poetry is a Dynamic System in this video poem. This is the video we tried to watch in class.

Call it poetry, sound art or spoken word.
Your task is to tell me what it is.

First:
Pick two short video poems to watch:Limited Fork Video Anthology. Then in your poetry packet, on p 12 (Sound Art) record the title of one of the video poems, tell me what it's about, and answers the questions.

Next:
Comment in 2-3 sentences on two of the recordings linked below using the questions as prompts.

Last of all:
Return here and leave a comment with your definition of poetry/sound art/spoken word.

Tomorrow, we will wordle some poems. If you would like to post any of your poems on this blog (either anonymously or with your name) email your poem to carbinem@gmail.com or talk to me in class. Enjoy your exploration of poetry in video and sound! Pretty soon we'll be recording your poetry :)

Ms. Carbine

Other Useful Links

Download The Figurative Language song.

Rhyming Dictionary
Sometimes it's easier to look up a word that really only has the ending sound. Because, the dictionary may not find words that rhyme with Carbine, but it will find lots of words that rhyme with mine. Remember rhymes are better when spread out with lots of other words in between.

See how your poem can be rearranged on Wordle.

Try out some magnetic poetry or play word ruffle.

Rhymes and Alliteration

What is your favorite phrase? What are your favorite rhymes or alliteration in this poem?

What Poetry Is: An Ars Poetica
by Taylor Mali

Sound Haikus

Sounds of the State
curated by Stephanie Rowden and Katherine Weider.

Features the sounds of Michigan - places, memories and experiences from all over the state.
Listen to a few and tell us about what you heard. How are they like haikus?

Metaphors for Life

How would you describe life?

The Life
by Mystic

In life what is is what will be.
All you got is your people, your self, and your family.
Love, loss, struggle, laughter, joy and pain:
Such is life.
Come on, come on.

Repetition in Poetry

Finish the sentence: Being a __________ is
_______________________________.

How does the repetition change the way the poem sounds?

Being A Woman Means
by Mystic

Being a woman is fulfilling the things
your mother was too busy raising you to complete.
Being a woman is taking all the pain and anguish
you've ever felt and translating it into beauty.
Being a woman is knowing when you're broken
and finding the tools to put yourself together again.
Being a woman is remembering how to love yourself
when the man you gave everything to...forgets.

Sound Portrait

What sounds did you hear and how did these sounds create an image for you?

Gently Pasteurized
He’s lying there asleep.
I told him he could
that I didn’t mind.

cocoon, metamorphisis and butterfly

He was sleepy
and he had after all gotten up
in the darkest hour of the night’s tired regime
because I had had some silly bad dream.

in my own darkness

He’s wearing that soft dark blue
shirt of his that I seem to like so much.
He looks so good in blue.

i’ve spent my whole life in the dark and then i was thrust into the light

He’s lying there asleep.
His body precariously thin left room
for two, room for me too.

interphase, prophase and metaphase

Not even an arm’s reach away,
he sleeps better than me,
falling away from this daylit decor;
his soft breathing turning into a light snore.

(doors closing)
Your skin looks different when you’re under fluorescent light
but you seem the same and I don’t know why
but you always see right through me and
(doors closing)

He’s wearing that soft dark blue
shirt of his with its long sleeves.
He looks so good in blue.

I can only make like the dying baby dinosaur sound..
(lafont palaza)

Last night I had had some silly bad dream.
All I had to say was
“Could you come down here for a moment...please”

well alright alright all right, okay

don’t know why i was so scared
scared by how scared i was
scared he wouldn’t care.
i hadn’t even said please and he was right away there.

(lafont palaza transfer section
to the yellow and green lines on the upper level
doors on the left)

I’m analyzing it too much you know.

and though i know you care you were careless
it hurt because you always had so gently treated me
you thought you might could be
good to you and good to me as friends best.
i’ve only ever wanted for your happiness.

It was either that or tic tac toe and I picked tic tac toe.

This is great it was really great to see you again..
like what do you want from me?

he was wearing that dark cotton blue
shirt of his that’s hardly remarkable.
he looks so good in blue.

I don’t know what else to say.

he’s lying there, even in his sleep he’s still right there.

Not Just Another Recorded Poem

What kind of metaphors build up the imagery in this poem?
Why do you think this poem was titled Gypsy?

Gypsy
One day I was 15 trying to find a place to stay
running from something I never wanted so bad.

Some girls have walls you just can't break down.
You proved other girls have none at all.
And, you finally figured out how to get through each one.

But, I'm not just any girl. I stay on the move.
I can pack up my things on the notice of a transfer call
and I'll be back to get my mail later.

I had a wall that no one got through,
because there was a door
I decorated the threshold just for you.

When you knocked, I answered.
But, you didn't have a message to share
and more questions than I could answer.

You came in just for a look around and walked out.
That's why I stay on the move and make it hard for you to find me.
I don't need a father, a brother or a partner.

The next day I was 25 and I had two jobs and two degrees
and I was still running from something I never wanted so bad.

Not The Way Most Poems Sound

Listen to the first few minutes.  Laurie Anderson creates poetry
and music with prerecorded words on her violin.  How does this
sound different from what you had thought poetry was?

Langue D`amour by Laurie Anderson

Let's see. Uh, it was on an island. And there was this snake.
And the snake had legs. And he could walk all around the island.
Yes. That's true. A snake with legs.
And the man and the woman were on the island too.
And they were not very smart.
But they were happy as clams. Yes.
Let's see. Uh...then one evening the snake was walking about
in the garden and he was talking to himself and he saw the woman
and they started to talk. And they became friends.
Very good friends.
And the woman liked the snake very much. Because when he
talked, he made little  noises with his tongue, and his long tongue
was lightly licking about his lips.
Like there was a fire inside his mouth and the flame
would come dancing out of his mouth.
And this woman liked this very much.
And after that, she was bored with the man.
Because no matter what happened,
he was always as happy as a clam.
What did the snake say? Yes! What was he saying?
OK. I will tell you.
The snake told her things about the world. He told her about
the time there was a big typhoon on the island
and all the sharks came out of the water. Yes.
They came out of the water and they walked right into your house
with their big white teeth.
And the woman heard these things. And she was in love.
And the man came out and said: We have to go now!
And the woman did not want to go. Because she was a hothead.
Because she was a woman in love.
Anyway, we got into their boat and left the island.
But they never stayed anywhere very long.
Because the woman was restless. She was a hothead.
She was a woman in love.
And this is not a story people tell.
It is something I know myself.
And when I do my job, I am thinking about these things.
Because when I do my job, that is what I think about.

Sounds Like What It Describes

Click on the link to hear this poem.
Does it sound like a hopscotch or jump rope song to you?
How does that compare to what the words say?

Harlem Hopsctoch
by Maya Angelou

One foot down, then hop! It’s hot.
Good things for the ones that’s got.
Another jump, now to the left.
Everybody for hisself.
In the air, now both feet down.
Since you black, don’t stick around.
Food is gone, the rent is due,
Curse and cry and then jump two.
All the people out of work,
Hold for three, then twist and jerk.
Cross the line, they count you out.
That’s what hopping’s all about.
Both feet flat, the game is done.
They think I lost. I think I won.