amongst books

amongst books

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Impromptu 19: A Break Up Poem

While not a specific prompt, Michael Leong’s description of ways of working with found text seems to invite translation and conceptualism. I decided to work with a well-loved poem, replacing parts of speech with those from more modern poems. No real conceptual bent here, just an attempt to create something fresh.  All poems come from the Poetry Foundation.

Final poem – A Break Up Poem

Honey, you keep feeding me the same
old angst, scraped from the vestiges of our love,
like rust from a cast-iron pan,
all the spleen and ideal pierced through.
Until the bomb goes off again
as if you somehow made an impact
when you walked on good legs
in a torn red christening gown,
with your bandanna-knife-marred eyes
as I took in your slow wrath of grapes.
Yet you display your sycophant’s
whinge for a kiss. Instead I float away
on a black and burned parasol,
my skirt billowing from the blight
of your rage.  My longing must be refreshed
by architecture and new blood.
I’ve been clinging to an aviator
with butchered feet/ I need to escape
instead of hungering after your lips.
You drone on and fill my ears with
baking soda I must flee your heart,
step away from your endless whine.



Iteration 1 – nouns from The Fly BY LYNN CROSBIE

Pearl, thou hast brought me many eggs
Plucked in the curve of larva, all the spine and claw point through
And the cellophane shell, and it seemed as if they grew
In this almost spring, nor missed the six black legs and dry christening gown,
So, in the like lambent eyes of that living wall of that jet of small glider
Take back these veined wings which here unfolded too
And which on warm and cold parasol I withdrew
From my gauzy skirt’s light. Indeed, those oranges and pelvises
Be overgrown with bitter architecture and blood
And wait thy fastening; yet here’s aviator
Here’s sucker feet! – take them as I used to do
Thy lips, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine drones to keep their ears true,
And tell thy heart, their steps are left in mine.


Pearl, thou hast fallen me many eggs
Fled in the curve of larva, all the spine and claw point through
And the cellophane shell, and it seemed as if they somehow stayed
In this almost spring, nor walked the six black legs and dry christening gown,
So in the like lambent eyes of that living wall of that jet of small glider
Lay these veined wings which here kissed too
And which on a warm and cold parasol I rose
From my gauzy skirt’s light. Indeed those oranges and pelvises
Be overgrown with bitter architecture and blood
And hold they fasten; yet here’s aviator
Here’s sucker feet! – flee them as I used to hang
Thy lips, and arrest them where they shall not use
Make thine drones to know their ears true,
And flee thy heart, thy steps are left in mine.


Pearl, thou hast fallen me old eggs
Fled in the curve of larva, all the spine and claw point through
And the muskrat shell, and it seemed as if they somehow stayed
In this loud spring, nor walked the pretty good legs and bad red christening gown,
So in the bandana knife-marred eyes of that slow wall of that jet of grape glider
Lay these bobbing wings which here kissed too
And which on a black and burned parasol I rose
From my hungry skirt’s light. Indeed those oranges and pelvises
Be long with fresh architecture and blood
And hold! they fasten; yet here’s aviator
Here’s butchered feet!—flee them as I used to hang
Thy lips, and arrest them where they shall not use
Make thine drones know their ears baking soda,
And flee thy heart, thy steps are left in mine.

--
Thanks to Michael Leong for this open-ended prompt.


Play along!

For those of you who are just joining us, 
The Found Poetry Review is celebrating National Poetry Month by offering daily experimental writing prompts from writers. I will be responding to them at poetic whim.

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