starting off wrong foot hold
a time to answer
ruler gave little to stand in.
storm threatened, exploded cold shadow
mysteries appear at the door
another burn on the sojourn
conduct friendly first year.
side now up to the clouds above.
For dverse, an erasure poem from Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird. Dedicated to the Republicans in our U.S. Congress and the way their “not playing well with others” holds us hostage. They know quite well they hold the keys to our security: At home, abroad, and universally… I keep hoping they listen to what Lincoln called “our better angels.” Lincoln would be ashamed at what his party has become: Obstructionists, secessionists, rich men in silk suits who spit on the poor. I call ‘em like I see ‘em, and depression only makes the lines seem deeper and more entrenched.
Also at my bipartisan poetry hangout, Poets United… proud to be a member. Peace, Amy
This poem is an erasure. I leafed through the Madison Chronicle’s front section, chose four stories (hence the four stanzas), and picked words out in order but at random to form a prose poem (free form). There is another site, Erasures, which offers many paragraphs from famous authors, inviting you to click around and erase (or replace) words to create your own poem. I felt the topics in this particular paper calling to me. Peace, Amy
Monday, March 28 News
Man dumped still bleeding from car
at hospital died, believe stabbed at intersection.
Officials put two plus two together,
the fight nearby minutes before.
Gov. Walker’s budget would cripple network,
force police to close connections,
connect the dots.
“It would be like, you got a horse,
next week a mule,” said the chief. “It
could hurt the network Google.”
Japan’s nuclear plant dismissed,
an associated show. Confidence prompted
overly optimistic Earth,
the level of fury pushing to multiple meltdowns.
Ample waves before and again, clear
important network plates strongly coupled,
storing extra stress.
Weakened minor still around her apartment
but sometimes on her own fell to emergency.
The organ couldn’t matter; that can be
common among the residents,
a service to spring through.
Suffer in silence, afraid, falsely advancing, inevitable.
“It’s fun to hit a waitress as she lay on the floor.”
Help her. Step right up.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Dorothy Miller Richardson’s “Pointed Roofs” was presented to us at http://www.wavepoetry.com/erasures/ by Angie at We Write Poems, where we answer a weekly prompt on Thursdays. The process is fascinating; wavepoetry gives you the chance to click and unclick different words in a block of text until you come up with what is essentially your own poem, but always giving credit to the source text. Mine is entitled, “Long Lace Faces” and is rather serious.
I attempted to write mine out and to save it in different formats; having failed at that, here is the link so you can see the finished product in its original form. When you’re done reading, have at my second erasure, also listed under “more poems,” (a funny one: “Mooning Has Its Consequences,” based on Aristophanes’ “Clouds.”
Then try one yourself! All I’m saying is, words are fun to play with, and the Internet has provided, through sites like wavepoetry.com, opportunities to stretch oneself.