This is about the fifth post I’ve written in a row, so I’m getting giddy. I love that Word Press allows me to future date posts. This way, I don’t *have* to log in from the road and I don’t have to leave you with an empty blog. Thank you to the Word Press coders!
Okay, on to the prompt.
Write a poem using all (or at least a lot) of declarative sentences. An example is this Frank Stanford poem.
I wondered if a poem made of declarative sentences could work. I wrote one recently and think it does. The method of writing is about 100% different from what I normally do, so it was a stretch. The diction was simple. I’ve admired how Louise Gluck packs a punch even when she’s using simple diction. I learned a lot from her work in that regard.
When I asked this question on the blog before — if a poem composed of declarative sentences could work — someone commented that a declarative style would appeal to the hurried reader. We do hear in the media — not to mention from friends and family — how busy all of us are all the time. I’m not sure I agree 100% that we should write this way for those with a hurried lifestyle. I like to take time to read a poem. I don’t want to rush. A little declaration here and a little declaration there won’t hurt anyone though.
You can still read the comments on the post where I asked about this before.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
I must work. It is how most of us think in the first place. If anyone would like to try and post some please do. http://www.poetpostit.com
Thanks for the prompt, Deborah. I’m not sure I completely followed the rules, but it helped with a poem I’ve been tinkering with for some time now, tenetively titled, “The Eviction”:
There wasn’t a warning on the front door.
The sheriff showed and told us
we had five minutes to grab our things.
The landlord was cold. Unforgiving.
Momma said, “Pick the toy you like best.”
I didn’t want to go empty-
handed, but I’d never been forced to choose
before. With so little time, you realize
how much you can do without. I chose
the Transformer™. It was a car and wasn’t a car.
It could fold in on itself if threatened.
It could adapt to its environment. Outside,
I wished people would walk by and not
stare at our bags. I hated feeling so small
and helpless. We found a shelter. We unpacked.
The Transformer™ was gone, lost somewhere
along the way. Three years later, Daddy died.
We never knew he was sick. There wasn’t
a warning. We saw what he wanted us to see.
He was like a Transformer™, folded
in on himself. He said Death hammered
at a door in his chest. Momma wept.
She begged the Lord for more time.
We didn’t know what to hold on to, then.
We weren’t quite ready to transform.