Poetry is magnetic

So, I've posted things written in poetry magnets before. The game just got taken to a whole new level, though. Introducing the mobile poetry magnet board, equipped with the poetry magnet expansion pack (SO MANY WORDS!).

My schoolwork and social life may suffer, granted. But it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, especially when I've written several that I like already. ^_^

My favorite way to do it is MadLib style. My mom made this one for me to fill in:

"The Tragic Rejoicing"

I (tried) to (understand) myself

in a (pretend) place

that I could scarcely (believe).

My (dreams) did not appear to be my own.

It was as if I (stumbled) through a (broken) (world)

while attempting to (discover home).

At least I was not (despairing).

My (wild) (friends),

(Peace) and (Vision),

were with me.

Together, we (freed) the (fire)

and (glowed) like (red) (suns).

Then I wrote this one for myself, but it surprised the heck out of me:

"For all the (Drops) in the (Sea)"

We (throw) ourselves

(into) the (middle) of (the ocean)

without (fear) or (style),all of our (bodies) (flying) (boldly)how (easy) we (fall),how (fast) and (free)...but this (pleasure) cannot be (forever);it is a (love) for the (hour).Somehow, we still (rejoice).We still (fly) through (mystery),and this is how we (live) in (wonder).

Obviously, I'm already having too much fun, but if you want to make me a poetry mad lib, I will use it to write you a poem! Just format it like,

If I could (verb) with (noun)

the (adj) (noun) would be (adj)

(I usually just say an ordinary boring sentence in my head, then take stuff out. Try it!)

Anyway, now that you know where I'll be for the next (large unit of time), I've gotta get back to it. Peace!

~Ely

(26) - (30) + Wrap-up

(26) How to Write Poetry

-Dwell in moments

-Give yourself over to brokenness

-Maintain spaces

-Fall in love with strangers

-Gaze up through windows

-Re-write stories

-Undress emotions

-Channel other peoples' pain

-Amplify your rage

-Remember what you'd rather forget

-Give up on giving up

-Don't blink

-Re-birth yourself daily

(27) Ode to the Last Day of November

They said you would be colder.

They said I would be forced

to defend myself against you,

that your skies would be all gray,

and we would keep inside against

your almost-empty threats of rain.

So maybe it is just the schizophrenia

of California weather, exasperated

by the complex changes brought

by ozone giving up on us, but 

you are bright.

The skies behind the yellow leaves

shine friendly blue, 

and the chill that comes in 

through the window

only says hello.

Someone coming in from outside

mutters "lovely day";

it is confusing.

But I am too tired of fighting the cold

to be cynical.

So I just mumble awkward thanks

for this beautiful Spring day.

(28) Civil War

The armies come

all dressed up in opposing colors.

tension growing, 

they set their faces

hard like stone 

against each other.

They bear the dingy armor

of people who have been fighting

too long to remember why

and too long to forget their ways,

their pain.

They are turned invisible

faces obscured by iron grates

that keep them from seeing clearly, too--

far-sighted;

the other army grows more warped

as he comes closer.

The air that is trying to pry them apart

is collapsing.

They are meeting,

they are clashing,

they are writing

their own endings

here,

like this,

destroyed

together.

(29) Hard News

It's not as if you didn't know

that poetry would make you breakable. 

(30)Haiku for The Way Light Splashes Across Your Face and Makes Me Believe in Newness Again

Just one last poem

two minutes til December

time is part of nature

Reflection: I learned a lot about incompleteness and imperfection this month. I wrote a lot of terrible poetry. I've learned to rest in the tension of my own imperfection. I've learned that you can't manufacture inspiration. I've learned to suffer through the writing process in its absence. Not sure yet whether that's called discipline or bad art. We'll see when I look back later. Maybe future-me will find current-me inspiring. 

(25) Overactive Imagination

let us pretend
for a moment
that it is all science

that everything comes down
to applications of linear equations
and logical progressions

let us pretend
that it all makes
the truest sense

that the scramblings and intonations
happen on the passage
between the eye and the mind

let us pretend
and smile
as we pretend

let us grow giddy
at the thought that we
have never been so creative

(24) Broken Boy

broken boy
spent his days
trying to write
worlds more real
than his own

and when I say
that she was
one of those mythical people
who can make poems rhyme
without sounding cheesy

I imagine you think
you already know
how this story ends
or at least
how it middles

but
they never touched
they just
imagined each other
perfectly

(23) This Is Not A Simulation

This is Not a Simulation
For WorldVision's 30 Hour Famine

The sirens in your stomach
are sounding the alarm;
they are shaking you awake
to the state of emergency
in which your human family exists.

It is only 15 hours since eating;
only 16 hours since sleeping
     in the safety of your bed,
and it is already obvious how absurd--
no, obscene-- it is
to think that human beings
actually live like this.
People might as well be asked
to pack their things
and move into the ocean.

Because your little taste of emptiness
already feels like desperate starvation,
and the cold is cutting like knives
through your pathetic little blankets,
and the openness in which
      you are trying to sleep
has never seemed so fearfully alive.

And it makes no sense
that your only consolation--
that come tomorrow afternoon,
it will all be over,
and you can resume the business of living--
is flatly untrue
for almost a billion fellow humans.

You don't even want to think about this
as a perpetual state of existence,
can't even imagine not having that hope
to whisper to your stomach
to hush the alarm it is blaring:
this is a state of emergency;
this is not a simulation. 

Fridge Magnet Madlibs: (20) The Subtle Dancing, (21) The Subtle Crying, & (22) The Subtle Discovering.

In this episode of Poetical Shenanigans, Ely will punch her writer's block repeatedly in the face by creating a system of infinite poetry!

Here's how she does it!

FIRST, Ely creates a poetical framework that is at once fairly tonally neutral and yet somehow still powerful and evocative.

The Subtle (verb) ing

by Elizabeth Rhea

I (verb) into life

like a (verb) (noun)

forever (verb)ing across my vision

as if I had just (verb)ed

into the (noun/bodypart) of a (sentient being)

my (noun) carving spaces

in the (adj) parts of my existence.

Our (body part)s meet

in this (adj) place;

we are (verb)ing as one,

for this is our (noun),

this is our (noun),

this is our final farewell to (noun),

our coming into (noun) at last.

(I realize this second stanza sounds much sexier in template form than it does in most possible complete versions... who knew?)

SECOND, Ely adds fridge magnets-- a poetic ingredient that has so often stood by Ely in these dry times.

FINALLY, Ely fills in the gaps to create three poetic samples which are indicative of the infinite possibilities.

(20) The Subtle Dancing

I grow into life

like a spoken soul,

forever giving across my vision

as if I had just (flown)

into the chest of a friend,

my vision carving spaces

in the strong parts of my being.

Our voices meet

in this free place,

we are styling as one,

for this is our choice,

this is our power,

this is our final farewell to the ocean

our coming into sky at last.

(21) The Subtle Crying

I prowl into life

like a broken mystery,

forever slouching across my vision

as if I had just crumbled

into the hold of a shadow,

my trouble carving spaces

in the stranger parts of my being.

Our smells meet

in this metal place;

we are blazing as one,

for this is our bog,

this is our waste,

this is our final farewell to alarm,

our coming into spoil at last.  

(22) The Subtle Discovering

I tumble into life

like a wild giggle,

forever noodling across my vision--

as if I had just sneezed

into the potion of a wizard,

my charm carving spaces

in the frumpy parts of my being.

Our thoughts meet

in this clever place;

we are singing as one,

for this is our rainbow,

this is our flower,

this is our final farewell to stubborn,

our coming into friend(ship) at last.

The New World Movers

Here's a little introduction to my passion for the power of words. It's a practice TED talk, recorded for my class in 'Becoming a Public Scholar-Activist' at Claremont Lincoln University.

The New World Movers from Elizabeth Addison on Vimeo.