Tag Archives: reflection

Post It Note Poetry 2015 Recap Week 3

How have you been going this week? Have you had a chance to write something?

Here is this week’s recap of my Post It Note Poetry. You can also see the recaps for Week 1 and Week 2.

They are posted in reverse order (Sunday 22 Feb – Monday 9 Feb) and I’ve added in the inspiration behind each poem. 

This week involved a lot of trawling through my notebook and pilfering half written ideas.

image

This poem was sparked by a random song lyric on the radio this morning on my way to playing drums at church this morning. 

image

This poem came out of a line in my notebook about ourselves being a minotaur, a hybrid of the things we have created, and putting ourselves in a maze we created. 

image

Another line from my notebook, sparked by one time when I was filling the ice cube tray. Sometimes I fill it cube by cube; other times I cascade the water until it is full. What does that say about my character?

image

No one remembers milk bars anymore; they are a relic of the past. I love watching the patterns made my shadows. Notebooks for the win for ideas.

image

Getting my wordy geek on. Finishing off a poem I was going to write last year (at about this time) as a longer exploration. Instead, the brevity worked better.

image

Another notebook find. I’m not happy with the end section of this poem; it is inconsistent with the first part. 

image

I do not remember how this one came about as it was not an idea I took from my notebook. A photograph is, for me, a snapshot of one moment, one experience. It serves as a reminder of what was, but doesn’t speak of what will be.

Final Note

For the last week of the official Post It Note Poetry season, I thought I’d go for a remix week. I will take a line from the previous day’s poem as the basis for the next poem. Starting Monday I will write a new poem, and Tuesday will be the first remix.

Post It Note Poetry 2015 Recap Week 1

It is the end of the first week of #postitnotepoetry.

I have collated here the first seven poems. This series of poems began after I heard a song titled, “Things To Do In Winter” and it inspired the idea of a loosely linked thematic suite.

Instead of seasons, I chose days of the week. Each day of the week was prefaced with an idea. In my notebook I hastily scribbled down a list of potential ideas and throughout the course of the week amended, deleted or built upon the idea for the day. 

Some poems were easier to write, others took longer to compost and come to fruition. I was surprised at the thematic darkness of some of the poems as it was not the initial intention; only in the repeated readings did the layers of darker interpretation emerge.

It made me wonder whether I was subconsciously channeling a darker theme, or purging the darkness within. I think that’s another blog post/poem in itself.

image

image

image
image

image
image

image

If you want to join in the fun of #postitnotepoetry, grab a pen, a wad of Post It Notes and write. Take a photo it and upload it to twitter with the hashtag #postitnotepoetry

A Found Poem

Rifling through this list, 51 Of The Most Beautiful Sentences in Literature (via Buzzfeed) a poem formed in my mind by compiling, editing, amending some of the sentences.

I have come across this form by other writers. It’s an interesting new form in that it is almost a type of plagiarism (except I am acknowledging my sources), to create a new piece of work with words that are not mine. In some ways it is another form of blackout or erasure poetry.

Follow the link above to see which sentences I have borrowed and what I have changed. There are some instances of changing letters for the sake of grammatical accuracy, and I have divided up some of the sentences to link them with specific ideas or imagery.

Untitled
I took a deep breath
and listened to the old brag of my heart;
I am, I am, I am.
Sometimes I can feel my bones straining
under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.
Do I dare
disturb the universe?
What are men to rocks and mountains?
Folks say God crumbles up the old moon into stars.
The pieces I am,
I could see
standing there
leaning on the balcony railing.
How wild it was,
to let it give
them back to me
in all the right order.
an enormous, unmerited gift
given randomly,
stupidly
holding the universe together.
Everything was beautiful
and nothing hurt.
Let me be something
every minute
of every hour
of my life.
Let the wild rumpus start.

Prayer of Lamentations

In the light of a hostage tragedy in my home city, Sydney, Australia, we joined as a staff in the College chapel to pray. 

image

Last night, in the midst of the uncertainty and doubt, I was inspired by the story of the social media hashtag #IllRideWithYou, where it demonstrated the biblical adage, “Love thy neighbour as yourself.” Despite race, creed, religion, people wanted to stand side-by-side with their fellow commuters and demonstrate their connection with one another. I haven’t been able to find out if it happened, but I hope that there are positive stories to be told.

As a community we prayed for understanding, for strength, to be instruments of peace. And as we joined in silent, contemplative prayer, the lines of a poem began to form in my head.

The biblical narrative contains the Book of Lamentations, a book of sorrow. Read in tandem with the Book of Job I see the power of grief and mourning as a time that should bring us closer together. It is a time to share the burden even when we don’t understand it. To simply be and let the people around us grieve in their own way in their own time. It is a theme I return to in my writing from time to time, and I have returned to it today.

image

Let me hear the song of your heart
The song of lamentation
uttered in voiceless silence
and salted tears.
As I sit with you
pray with you
eat and drink with you
I will listen to you
That we may find strength
In one another’s grief
and extend comfort
through our joined hearts and voices
Teach me the song of lamentation
That I may know the song of your heart

 

Why I Write – A Featured Post

Today sees an article I wrote feature at The Good Men Project site. It is an exploration of why I write, a summary and manifesto to explain the reasons for my choice to use words to communicate.

What's Your Story

What’s Your Story?

You can read the full article here.

I Found More Poetry Under The Lounge

 I find poetry in all kinds of places, often under the lounge and I found some more there recently.

Right now the end of winter is approaching here in the southern hemisphere (not that we had much of a winter where I live – what happened to those good old fashioned frosts we had as kids?) and with it the promise of hay fever, runny noses, itchy eyes and a cursing of all things frolicking. The first and last poems assembled here, Magnolias and Windy Days, are inspired by the wintery season.

Magnolias

As I drive past
The magnolia blooms
A thousand sunrises
Of pink to white and
A thousand sunsets
Of white to pink
Simultaneously

Standing By

I stand in the longest corridor
possible, pretending I’m Red 5
barrelling down the trench
avoiding laser blasts
to my office door

The Last Page

When you close a book
Do you think it will be
The final time?
Never to peer
Between the pages and
Read the tongues of men
Again

My Companion

I walked in darkness
But was never afraid
For I felt your hand
In mine, or around
my waist, looped over
my shoulder as my light

Generations

She watches
grandmother’s knitting
learns the art of rhythm
the pulse of long thin bones
curses the dropped stitch
like her grandmother

Windy Days

I imagine with each 
breath of wind
the trees ask
for our silence
a gentle ‘Shhhh’
simply to listen
to our own
heartbeat
Which poem resonates with you?

This Is How We Should Make New Friends

How should we make new friends?

I am a shy individual who masks it with bravado and a quip. New social situations makes my underpants an uncomfortable shade of brown. But it’s good to make connections with new people. Makes the village more welcoming and hospitable.

Here’s how I propose to do it: Everyone needs to carry a novel.

In a new social situation the novel is a means of beginning a conversation. We can talk about the book, what we liked, didn’t like, read aloud our favourite passages.

And when we’re finished, we can swap the book with the person we are talking with, read it and return it when done, or pass it on to the next new person we meet.

And it would be even better if it’s our own story in the book we give away. That way we must trust the other person to treat our book with respect and kindness.

And there should be blank pages for the new person to add in how we met, what we talked about, what the day was like. Then we can pass it on, receive the new person’s book and add our own details. If we happen to cross paths again, we can catchup on what has happened.

Imagine all the people’s stories we could read.

This is how we should make new friends. What do you reckon?

 

Scraps of Paper Under the Lounge

Another set of #micropoetry gleaned from my twitter stream, collected here for your reading pleasure and deconstruction.

I like writing them because they are often quick, spur of the moment ideas, thrown down on my Ipad and sent out into the nebulous ether of the interwebz.

It’s a form of disposable creativity, like Hansel and Gretel leaving breadcrumbs behind for others to follow my example. Later this year I will be relaunching posts on creativity and why I think EVERYONE should be creative.

I hope something like this inspires you to do something creative.

Cameras For Eyes

The camera downloads
Our memories
Stored in another brain
So we can promptly
Forget
And cannot prove
We ever existed

Boredom

Bored, he watched sands
Trickle through the waist
Of the egg timer. Paused
Between starting anew
And waiting for it to finish

Making It Better

But a Band Aid makes
everything better, he cries
offering up the token.
I’m sorry, says his father
But Nanna has died

Musical Mayhem

In her hands
A wooden spoon
and metal mixing bowl
struck together
a ringing, pleasing tone
striking again
she discovers music

Burning Bridges

He flicked the switch
Burned the bridge
Op’ed a gaping chasm
Then offered tools
To build a better bridge
Than the one before

I Give You My Heart

I handed over my heart
To my beloved
In the most convenient package
A plastic bag
Grabbed from the pile
Behind the kitchen door

The Journey

The journey
Of a thousand miles
Begins not
With the first step
But in firstly
Packing a pair
Of clean undies

 

Do you have a favourite, or if you were to rewrite one, how would you do it?

 

Please, Make Yourself At Home

Throw Out Thursday – The Breaking News

Over the next few weeks my work life is going to dominate all my spare time. One of the vagaries of being a teacher is knowing there are intense times in the course of a term when there is a lot to do be done to the exclusion of pretty much everything else.

This means I won’t be around here so much posting; I’ll still be thinking , making notes and taking down ideas, but probably no full posts for a little while. I have scheduled a couple of posts that I had ready so you won’t be too short on reading material when you have to visit the bathroom.

While I am gone, I’ve stocked the fridge, made sure the cupboards are not Mother Hubbard and there is enough rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom.

Make yourself at home here, take time to browse through the library of posts, leave a comment, spread the good word, even find some of my early fiction writing from when I first started out back in 2009/2010.

Please don’t short-sheet my bed while I’m gone. Bin night is Thursday night and when replacing the toilet paper, it hangs over, not under.

In the immortal words of the wise body-building philosopher, Arnold Schwarzenegger, “I’ll be back.”

Tincture Journal Winter Edition #6 The Cicada Clock

Today I have a new story published in Issue #6 of Tincture Journal: The Cicada Clock.

Tincture Journal (@TinctureJournal) is a relatively new Australian-based literary magazine, edited by Daniel Young (@jazir1979), Stuart Barnes (@StuartABarnes) and Jessica Hoadley (@JessicaHoadley)

My story, The Cicada Clock also seems to have inspired the front cover.

Tincture Issue 6 Cover

Image copyright of Stuart Barnes

I also get to share the Table of Contents with Brisbane-based authors I know, Stacey Larner and Tiggy Johnson.

From the Tincture Journal website:

Issue Six of Tincture Journal is available now. To celebrate the launch of this issue, an interview between Stuart Barnes and poet Stu Hatton is now freely available on our website along with the rest of our interview series. Inside the issue you can also find Stuart’s interview with Nathanael O’Reilly. Both of these poets have new books being released this year and we are very excited to be featuring their poetry and the accompanying interviews.

Table of Contents

  • Editorial, by Daniel Young
  • Inferior Bedrooms, Part Six, by Meg Henry
  • The Horror of the Body, by Sam van Zweden
  • Waiting, by Tiggy Johnson
  • The Interesting People of Mount Kiliminjaro, by Stephen Koster
  • Christian Girls, by Nathanael O’Reilly
  • I Was Not Like the Other Kids, by Nathanael O’Reilly
  • Nathanael O’Reilly interviewed by Stuart Barnes
  • The Cicada Clock, by Adam Byatt
  • Spash, by Les Wicks
  • Carnival, by Beau Boudreaux
  • Rain of Ashes, by Rhys Timson
  • It’s a Marilyn Free-For-All, by John Grey
  • The Man Who Killed James Dean, by Sam Ferree
  • Back to Front, by Nathan Hondros
  • Memory, by Andrew Hutchinson
  • hail the goer, by Stu Hatton
  • i sit unfinished    in breath-, by Stu Hatton
  • A Look of Revelation, by Deborah Guzzi
  • The Favour, by Annette Siketa
  • Circles, by w.m.lewis
  • Only After School, by Anna Ryan-Punch
  • Mrs Fernandez, by Su-May Tan
  • The Happy Mule, by Frank Scozzari
  • Proximity, by S. G. Larner
  • White Noise, by Eleanor Talbot
  • It’s An Adventure If You Want It To Be, by Calista Fung

I hope to post a review of the issue next week; I’ve already read a few pieces and there is some amazing work.

Can I please encourage you, if you are a reader, to support small literary magazines whenever you can as they are vital in building our literary culture. A copy will only set you back $8 (and back issues are only $5). There is a wealth of reading material in a superb range of short stories, poetry and interviews.

But a bit of background to the story (and no spoilers).

I wrote the story in January when on holidays on the beach in Brunswick Heads, just north of Byron Bay in New South Wales, Australia.

I forget which book I was reading (I was working through three) but it had  a line about cicadas and the image stuck. I began the story on my iPad, throwing down scenes and ideas about two childhood friends in their final year of primary school, prior to starting “big school” the following year. It is set in the late 80s, a time of nostalgia for me (but it’s not autobiographical).

It took a while to find the focus of the story, utilising the cicada as a metaphor of adolescent metamorphosis, framed by school as the awkward ground of burgeoning adolescence and puberty, mixed with the innocent acceptance of life as it is and a burgeoning awareness of sexuality.

I made the conscious decision to write this story in a different style; to forgo my usual poetic, flowery prose and instead strip it back to bare, almost minimalistic sentences. I have a tendency to use imagery prolifically in my stories; here I pared it back to single images or none at all. Instead I wanted the action and dialogue to create the characters, setting, thematic focus and subtext of the narrative. It was to mimic the headspace of the pre-teen protagonists, letting the story unfold through their eyes.

I hope I can encourage you to purchase Issue Six of Tincture Journal, support literary magazines and enjoy the literary delights.