Saturday, August 31, 2013

Writer's Camp--Day 3

It's been a while since I've posted one of these, so let's move on to Day 3! :D

On Day 3 we did a lot of poetry and free writing. I'm pretty sure we did thirty minutes straight of free writing. We had a prompt, and for five minutes we weren't allowed to stop moving our pencil. Here's one I did from the prompt: What Does the Universe Taste Like?

The universe tastes like ice cream in the summer, cold, comforting, and sweet. In the fall it tastes like cinnamon, apples, and pumpkin pie. In the winter it tastes like cookies, hot chocolate, marshmallows, and gingerbread. In the spring it tastes like berries and fresh fruit.

But if you're floating out in space, the universe tastes like your imagination, whatever that may be. It tastes like your thoughts, feelings, and memories. It tastes like home, wherever that is. It tastes like love and friendship, hope and promise, happiness and excitement.

The truth is, the universe has no taste. It's flavorless and bland. That is, until you decide to cook something up.

After that, we moved on to poetry. We used the painting "Peasant Wedding" painted by Pieter Bruegel as inspiration. We were supposed to study the painting and choose one person (or animal) to use as the POV (Point of View) for the poem. I chose the man circled in red, the one staring at the servant.






Peasant Wedding

Guests come flooding in through the door,
Chatting with their neighbors and gossiping with their friends
Without a care in the world.
The bride sits smugly in her place of honor,
While the groom vomits his consumed liquor.
Drunkards yell, "huzzah!" after the musicians
Play their tune.
A sheep pokes his head out from under the table,
Hoping for a little food.
A child eats in the corner,
His punishment for breaking a jug.
But my eyes are not on him.
They are on another.
The woman is bent over,
Carrying a large tray of pies,
Sweet-smelling and delicious.
But not in my eyes.
Her back stays hunched over,
Even after she sets her heavy burden down.
Her limbs creak like the branches of a
Weathered tree.
She closes her eyes and groans,
Struggling to straighten.
The servant grabs a jug,
And she hobbles over to where I am sitting.
"Anything for you, sir?" she wheezes.
"Only hope," I reply. "I am not partial to drinking."

We did more poetry, this time on whatever topic we wanted:

Ballet

The world is a blur of pink.
Shoes fly in all different directions as the
Little girls dance to the music.
The ballet was perfect in every way,
Feet barely making a muffled thump as they
Hit the floor and rose again.
The fairies danced around their queen,
Making flamboyant gestures with their hands.
All except one.
One fairy had danced off to the side,
Eyes closed and twirling.
She was clumsier than the rest,
Stumbling occasionally and dancing an unknown
Routine to
Silent music.
the fairies glared at the clumsy one,
Who was smiling,
Unlike the rest.
She had ruined their performance,
But it did not matter.
She was the most beautiful in the end.

Day 4 coming soon. :)

Challenge time! :D Write a poem from the POV of any person in the painting "Peasant Wedding." It can be a couplet, a haiku, a free verse, or anything else you can think of. Share in the comments! 

7 comments:

Beth said...

Oh I love your poems! And what the universe tastes like, genius! :) I would write a poem but I don't have a lot time now. :( Good job though!

Zelia said...

You are such an incredible writer. What a great gift for writing you have.

Boquinha said...

Ooooh, I love how you wrapped up both of those poems (as well as the free writing). Wonderful!

I'll give this a go!

He studies her.
He ponders.
Her head swathed,
her hair covered.
Folding his hands together,
he nods.
Distracted by her beauty,
but intrigued to learn more,
hoping her intellect challenges his own.
She speaks;
he doesn't understand.
He furrows his brow and leans in,
questioning.
"Like this," she says.
"You see? It's paper. And paper covers rock."

:)

Dr. Mark said...

Great poems! I'm impressed at how you write so well no matter what the genre or form may be. I loved Mommy's poem--so funny.

I'll give it a go, too . . .

Here I go,
wandering from table to table.
This tray is heavy!
Pick up your end, boy!
He never carries his fair share.
Oh no!
There are two pies missing.
I don't remember handing those out . . .
Hey! Hands off! I'll hand them to you.
I know he took them.
I can feel the heat rising,
the aroma wafting into my consciousness,
and me?
I slip ever so momentarily
into another world,
where each pie is my own,
and I am free to partake
without fear of lacking.
Hey, over here! a guest calls out.
My mind snaps back to reality.
I'm serving at a peasant's wedding.
How have I sunk so low?

Boquinha said...

Ooooh, nice one, Mark!

Dr. Mark said...

Thanks. :)

The Magic Violinist said...

@Beth Thanks! :D Aw, that's too bad. Maybe some other time. :)

@Zelia Thanks!

@Boquinha Ha! I loved that twist at the end. I wasn't expecting that at all. ;)

@Dr. Mark Ooh, yours was really good! :D I love seeing all of the different styles of poetry as everyone comments.