Category Archives: Ars Poetica

Random Creativity (And Why It’s Important)

On Friday my Year 8 class were set the task of writing haiku.

The English approximation of a beautiful Japanese art form is known to most, if not all, primary school children. They learn it is a poem of 17 syllables broken into 3 lines (5, 7, 5) and it is about nature (or something…).

It is taught because it is easy and accessible for students. It gives definite boundaries and restrictions, confinements for words and their interplay of meaning.

But writing great haiku is difficult.

I told my students I wanted them to experiment and play with language. I encouraged them to enjoy the process, to have fun with language. And so I had a go at writing a couple myself.

Summer Haiku

Summer Haiku

A dance of barefoot (awkward) steps
Crossing the neighbour’s front lawn
Picking bindis out

Watermelon seeds
Spat for distance from the steps
You always beat me

Winter Haiku

Winter Haiku

Watching our breath
Condense in the morning air
Pretending we smoke

Are they any good? Probably not.

Why is random creativity important?

It can be done quickly and in spare moments, disposable as an empty soft drink container or laboured over and agonised and deliberated for each and every syllable.

This is why creativity is important. 

 

Checkout Manga – Micropoetry

Checkout Manga

In between customers
She draws manga
On the back of receipts
Slips them into groceries
And wonders if Godzilla
Eats breakfast cereal

Author’s Note: I don’t comment on why I write, the reasons behind a poem or its meaning. But today is different.

I was going through the checkout at Woolworth’s tonight, buying milk. The girl at the checkout, while waiting for customers, was writing on the back of a discarded receipt.

There was Japanese writing and a little manga-style cartoon. I said, “Cool drawing” and she was a little embarrassed.

Quick transaction and I was on my way. It was the little drawing I found intriguing; an insight into another person’s life. It inspired the first half of the poem and I turned the second half into a little whimsy.

The power of story from someone’s life. Look for the moments.

A Windowed Existence – Micropoetry

A Windowed Existence

the existence of life
prelude to dying
narrows its vision
as death draws
the curtains
against the limited view
remaining through
the window

The Truest Hero – Micropoetry

The Truest Hero

The truest hero
is seldom seen
in cape nor undies
on the outside
But in those
whose daily
actions make
the stranger
a welcome guest

A Way With Words – Micropoetry

A Way With Words

In your question
Is not a search
For an answer
But an argument.
You speak bitterly
Not for betterment
Will these be
The last
Standing words?

This was today’s piece of micropoetry.

I started it yesterday, writing it into twitter and saving it as a draft. All of my micropoetry fits into the 140 character space of twitter. Most of the time it includes the hashtag #micropoetry.

For this poem I used all the available space.

This morning I did a little rearranging before posting it.

It popped up on my Facebook page also and two friends from my writing group made some suggestions for rearranging.

Let’s play a game: How would YOU rearrange the poem? I fiddled with two variations, but how would you play with the form?

Rules
You can:

  • add punctuation
  • change the order of lines
  • rearrange word order

You cannot add or remove words.

Put your version in the comments below. Best entry wins 100,000,000 Internet Points to be used in raising the general intelligence of YouTube comments.

And I’ll send you a handwritten copy of your version!

Have at it!

 

It Is Written – Micropoetry

It Is Written

It is said,
“It is written”
The oral tradition
Of received wisdom
In a fortune cookie
Platitude while we
Forget to read
The written truth

Toilet Seat – Micropoetry

Toilet Seat

Sometimes
I deliberately
Use the bathroom
After you
And absorb the warmth
Of the toilet seat
To believe you
Still care

Knowledge – Micropoetry

Knowledge

The gaining of knowledge
deteriorates with age
because we know
everything at 18
and realise
we know nothing
the older
we become

Training Wheels – Micropoetry

Training Wheels

I’m too old for these
she said
pointing to
the training wheels
He prays she will
never be too old
to trust
and hold
his hand

Mandala – Micropoetry

Mandala

She draws on the concrete
a chalk mandala
of wonky butterflies,
stick-figure people.
Tomorrow she will
draw another
cycle.