Write a ten-line poem. The poem must include a proverb, adage or familiar phrase (e.gs she's a brick house, between the devil and the deep blue sea, one foot in the grave, a stitch in time saves nine) that you have changed in some way, as well as five of the following words:
cliff[tab]blackberry[/tab]
needle[tab]cloud[/tab]
voice[tab]mother[/tab]
whir[tab]lick[/tab]
You have ten minutes.
Exercise taken from the Practice of Poetry
Edited by Robin Behn & Chase Twichell
Ten Minute Spill
Last edited by Mic on Sat Jan 23, 2010 5:20 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you" - Rumi
She’s between a rock
and a hard place again,
when a voice needles its way
through her veins. Look outside –
see how clouds have cobbled the morning sky.
An old saying stirs its way to the top.
You’re a rare thing. But no sooner does one door
close, than another one shuts! –
her mother’s words, like a burst of
blackberries on a Summer’s day.
In her mind’s eye her heart has wings.
They whir.
and a hard place again,
when a voice needles its way
through her veins. Look outside –
see how clouds have cobbled the morning sky.
An old saying stirs its way to the top.
You’re a rare thing. But no sooner does one door
close, than another one shuts! –
her mother’s words, like a burst of
blackberries on a Summer’s day.
In her mind’s eye her heart has wings.
They whir.
"Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you" - Rumi
Look at this cliff - sheer, sheer.
The blackberry bushes grow too close
to the edge, where a cloud
would lick some if it could.
A mother's voice from here
would carry out into the blue,
piercing, enlivening
the startled birds.
If you think you want to leap,
look first. These blackberries. Yes?
The blackberry bushes grow too close
to the edge, where a cloud
would lick some if it could.
A mother's voice from here
would carry out into the blue,
piercing, enlivening
the startled birds.
If you think you want to leap,
look first. These blackberries. Yes?
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bodkin
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Those who the gods would destroy...
they first make sane.
Tasked with fixing the world:
needle clouds of whirring problems
to take the skin off a careless hand,
a myriad screaming voices,
or, worse, the quietly weeping mothers --
the sane man throws himself
from a cliff.
they first make sane.
Tasked with fixing the world:
needle clouds of whirring problems
to take the skin off a careless hand,
a myriad screaming voices,
or, worse, the quietly weeping mothers --
the sane man throws himself
from a cliff.
http://www.ianbadcoe.uk/
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John G
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here goes.....(however, 11 lines not 10, sorry 
)
"Mother"
My mother was called Cliff,
strange I know. Strange,
but stranger still, she was licked to death
by a dog, the size of a small seaside bungalow,
surrounded by well tended
blackberry bushes. "Two birds in the
hand", she used to say.
Two in the hand
and sometimes, on lonely days,
when pine needles drop,
I can see her face in passing clouds.
)"Mother"
My mother was called Cliff,
strange I know. Strange,
but stranger still, she was licked to death
by a dog, the size of a small seaside bungalow,
surrounded by well tended
blackberry bushes. "Two birds in the
hand", she used to say.
Two in the hand
and sometimes, on lonely days,
when pine needles drop,
I can see her face in passing clouds.
After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'I want to see the manager.
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Suzanne
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His one in hand was worth more than twenty in the bush,
And with a whir of his voice in my head, an eye of a needle
In the clouds, I lay on beside the blackberries and heard
Somebody's mother humming like a lick of a breeze
Off the side of a cliff.Your three words were nothing more
Than a message in bottle, written on a torn scrap
Of wallpaper you'd designed for me, sent flying,
Just for you to see the impact they'd have on my shore.
But once out of your hand, they appear
To prove me right all along.
.
And with a whir of his voice in my head, an eye of a needle
In the clouds, I lay on beside the blackberries and heard
Somebody's mother humming like a lick of a breeze
Off the side of a cliff.Your three words were nothing more
Than a message in bottle, written on a torn scrap
Of wallpaper you'd designed for me, sent flying,
Just for you to see the impact they'd have on my shore.
But once out of your hand, they appear
To prove me right all along.
.
Last edited by Suzanne on Wed Aug 18, 2010 3:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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brianedwards
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One of your best I think Suzanne.Suzanne wrote:His one in hand was worth more than twenty in the bush,
And with a whir of his voice in my head, an eye of a needle
In the clouds, I lay on beside the blackberries and heard
Somebody's mother humming like a lick of a breeze
Off the side of a cliff.Your three words were nothing more
Than a message in bottle, written on a torn scrap
Of wallpaper you'd designed for me, sent flying,
Just for you to see the impact they'd have on my shore.
But once out of your hand, you realized, they would appear
To prove me right all along. Three words could erase them.
.
B.
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brianedwards
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Truth is over-rated.Suzanne wrote:You are not telling the truth but thank you, it was inspired.
But FWIW, I was actually offering an honest appraisal: one of the best I have read by you.
B.
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brianedwards
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That's a good idea Suzanne.Suzanne wrote: Perhaps I will post it on the board for crit.
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BenJohnson
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Dionaea muscipula
A cold unblooded killer
you wait unaware
for blundering idiots
to trip needle hairs.
Quick as a lick you lock
your fingers together
form an unscalable cliff
without a click or whirr
Your victims have no voice
no mother to miss them
a good source of protein
to your silent digestion.
A cold unblooded killer
you wait unaware
for blundering idiots
to trip needle hairs.
Quick as a lick you lock
your fingers together
form an unscalable cliff
without a click or whirr
Your victims have no voice
no mother to miss them
a good source of protein
to your silent digestion.
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brianedwards
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Mother just killed a man.
Stuck a needle in his blackberry
and sucked his voice right out.
Sucked it up and spat it out
straight down the throat of the man
she'd wished her little strawberry
'd be, little bitty gooseberry
with the pips spat out.
Mother grew and threw a man
berry first out the man-patch.
Stuck a needle in his blackberry
and sucked his voice right out.
Sucked it up and spat it out
straight down the throat of the man
she'd wished her little strawberry
'd be, little bitty gooseberry
with the pips spat out.
Mother grew and threw a man
berry first out the man-patch.