May 10th Session & May Writing Task

For our May session, our member Eileen led a lesson about how to write the ‘Poetry of Emotion.’

We started out with the basics; brainstorming as many emotions as we could. Sometimes it’s easy to think all emotive poetry is about love because there is so much of it around! But there are actually a lot of different emotions which a poet can use. The only problem is that once you’ve chosen an emotion to write about, how do you describe it?

We each chose an emotion and used it in an exercise where we asked the following questions:

-          What colour is the emotion?

-          What does it taste like?

-          What does it smell like?

-          What does it look like?

-          What does it sound like?

-          What does it feel like?

This really helped us get under the skin of our chosen emotion by using different senses to bring it to life. It can be difficult to assign a taste, smell or sound to an emotion!

Here’s an example:

Guilt is a lingering putrid yellow

that tastes like acid reflux.

It smells like an urban underpass on Sunday morning,

looks like a peeling carcass,

and sounds like a constant drone of insects.

It feels like dragging a rock, the frayed rope ribboning scars into your palms.

We’ve now got a starting point for an interesting poem about emotion!

For our next exercise, we looked at simile and metaphor.

A SIMILE is where you say something IS LIKE something else.

e.g. as green as grass, as dark as night, sharp like a knife

A METAPHOR is when you say something IS something else.

e.g. Her old hand was a withered leaf

Using these way of describing things, we tried to think of metaphors and similes for different emotions. Here’s some for guilt again, and also for love:

<Simile> Guilt feels like your conscience is caught in a trouser press.

Love is like honey being poured over your life.

<Metaphor> Guilt is woodworm; corrosive, picking holes in you, and weakening your structural integrity.

Love is honey being poured over your life.

Simile and metaphor are really good devices for making your reader understand exactly what you meant in your writing. Therefore they’re really useful when talking about emotion, because if you’re trying to describe an emotion to your reader, you should liken it to something they can relate to.

We tried to write a poem using metaphor and simile.

Serenity is undisturbed leaves on the forest floor,

blades of grass, warm underfoot,

and sinking into the sound of waves.

Serenity is a fluttering drape flashing views of a sunny day.

an untouched glass of milk, fresh from the fridge and smooth as an opal.

Serenity is walking into sunbeams, blinded but footsure,

alone in engulfing yellow light.

May Writing Task

Our writing task this month is to pick an emotion and produce a poem using either (or both) of the techniques we learned.

Three of our members' works at The Poetry Fence at Acton Scott!

If you happen to find yourself roaming around Shropshire, please visit the historic farm, Acton Scott, nestled in the natural beauty of an English countryside. And don't forget to pass by the Poetry Fence where three pieces of poem by our members Romalyn Ante, Cherry Doyle, and Kuli Kohli were featured hanging in a red-silk tie along the fence. 

 Click HERE to check those lovely pieces of poetry.

 Thank you to the poet in residence of Acton Scott, Jean Atkin, for featuring such lovely poetry! Visit the Acton Scott website HERE

:-)

Letters to Me: February Writing Task by Kali Ravel

Warning: Some strong language in this one!

Following the sessions we did on writing for children and writing exercises, I've been using the techniques we discussed to develop two of my characters. To this end, I found an exercise which consisted of a list of questions to answer, and began working through them for both characters. The final question, which I include below, was to write a letter to myself from the point of view of those characters.

My first character, Eloise Richards, is fifteen-years-old and lives with her Aunt Portia. Her life is reasonably idyllic, apart from a few things. She is home-schooled due to her issues with ADD and recurring nightmares, which prevent her from sleeping. She is also saddened by being separated from her parents; she was born as the result of an affair, and each of her parents has another, legitimate, daughter. Eloise was sent away in order to uncomplicate the situation.

Eloise lives in a universe very like ours, apart from the fact that certain people have special powers, including Eloise herself. If it sounds like X-Men, that's because I loved them when I was thirteen and first invented the character!

Mina Stafford, my second character, is markedly different to Eloise, and it was very interesting trying to write them both at the same time. Mina is in her mid-twenties. She was abused by her parents – sexually by her stepfather and emotionally by her mother. As an adult, she finally began to build a semi-healthy relationship with Leo, a Canadian con artist. When he died, she was unable to cope and slaughtered those who she felt were responsible before turning the gun on herself. Her letter to me is rather different from Eloise's.

A Letter from Eloise

Dear Ms Ravel,

Oh my god! Well, like, literally right?! You made me! You made my whole universe! Oh my god, this is such a big deal! Do you have magic powers? Can you make me fly?! Can you fly? I would fly, if I made the universe. Why didn't you just make everyone fly?

I really don't know what to say. I feel like I should ask you for something. Like, can you make the whole world peaceful, and make everyone immortal? I don't know how that would really work from like a space and resources point of view...can't you just like magically move people to other planets? Like with magic doors? And just make crops appear where they're supposed to so everyone can eat?

Can you make everyone not be ill any more? Can you make everyone happy? Can you make my parents be in love and make my sisters...well, maybe not never exist, because that's mean and I'm sure they like being alive, but, make them, like someone else's kids and someone else's sisters?

Can you take my nightmares away, and let me get some sleep? Can you make it so it's always a really nice spring day, with sunshine and light breezes, but not too shiny and not too breezy, and maybe a thunderstorm every so often to spark it up a bit? And, like, cure cancer? Will you cure cancer? And all those other horrible illnesses? Please?

Also, that flying thing. That would be awesome. But not wings, we'd all have to change our clothes so the wings would fit and it would just be so awkward.

Love

Eloise Richards

A Letter from Mina Stafford

Dear Ms Ravel,

Oh, I'm coming for you bitch. What kind of sick psycho are you, to do this to me?! You gave me parents who never loved me, a mother who didn't give a fuck what happened to me, and a stepfather who got his kicks from raping me! You gave me my Catholic beliefs, and now you're trying to take them away?! Is there even a God?! You're my goddamn creator, and you did this to me! You bitch! You took Leo! You gave me all that shit, then you gave me one person, just one person in the world who didn't ignore me or hurt me, and then you took him away! You took him away! He was good! He was a good man and he was mine and you took him AWAY!

Bring him back. You can do that. You made this world. Bring him back!

...I don't give a shit about “plausible narrative”. Those words are in my head because of you, aren't they?! I don't give a fuck how you do it, just bring him back!

You made me, and you made me a killer. I'm coming for you.

Mina Stafford

You can follow these links to read the character profiles for these two lovely ladies.

Read more of Kali’s work at her blog 'This is how it begins'.

April 12th Session & April Writing Task

This month we welcomed Jack Edwards, our guest speaker, who ran a session on Japanese short forms of poetry.

We started by learning about Haiku and how traditionally in English, they’re considered to be written in 3 lines, with 5 syllables in the first, 7 in the second and 5 in the third.

My storehouse burned down - (5)

now nothing stands between me (7)

and the moon above. (5)

Mizuata Masahide

We tried writing a Haiku in this format, which was unusual for people who were used to writing prose or long poems! Then we learned from Jack that the syllable count doesn’t matter too much, and what’s more important in Haiku is capturing a moment.  

Spring rain –

under trees

a crystal stream.

Basho

For a writing exercise, each of us picked a photo. Some people had a lake, a beach, or a city. We then wrote a Haiku for each season, based in the location shown in the photo. It really got us thinking! Having four Haiku meant we could link them into one longer poem.

After this, Jack got us all to write a Haiku about somewhere or something in Wolverhampton. He split us into groups and we linked all our Haiku together to make a poem which flowed. This is an example of Renga, which was a collaborative form of poetry used by the ancient Japanese. One person would start with a Haiku, and others would contribute verses to add onto the end, creating a long story.

Once we were all comfortable with Haiku, Jack taught us how to extend our Haiku into a Tanka, by adding two lines on the end which reflected on the initial 3 lines.

It was a very interesting session, and something very different to usual. It’s always enjoyable to learn new techniques, and we thank Jack for joining us.

April Writing Task

This month, our task is to write a Haiku based on something which happens during the month. We will share these at the next meeting.

Take Care of Her by Michael Hill

TAKE CARE OF HER

22nd December 1989: It had been sometime,
I hadn’t seen you, it was near Christmas time
You were taken into Newcross Hospital.

You were very ill, that’s the last time I saw you
At 7:00 clock that night we just arrived home
When the call came in from the hospital.

They told me Mother’s dead, I put down
The phone, drop it to the floor and walk out
The door, I when through hell

Thinking I’ve need see you again,
We knew you felt your life was coming to
An end 

Those letters they sent me never reached me, we’ll never
Walk through Green fields again or watch the leaves
Fall from the trees,

You said that you wouldn’t go but you did,
The progress report came in that night, we thought
You pulled through but you hadn’t

You passed away alone, couldn’t get
To the phone.

I felt bad about the row we had, never had
The time to put things right with you: that
Broke my heart...

There’ll come a time we’ll see each other again but until
That day comes; God and his angels will take care of you
They’d got my job. 

Leaving Something Behind: February Writing Task by Kuli Kohli

Here is Kuli Kohli’s response to the February Writing Task. It’s a story suitable for young people.

Leaving Something Behind

“What?” Rita said hardly believing what he had said. She stared into his dark eyes for some kind of look that would tell her he was kidding, but all she could see was his serious glare.

“You heard me, I’m getting out of here, I’m leaving, and I ain’t coming back. Okay.” That was all he said before he actually walked away.

Rita’s heart had almost shattered, “But Reggie, you can’t go now,” she told him.

“Why not, what’s stopping me?” he said continuing to walk.

Rita followed him. She really thought he cared. “Because...” She hesitated, she didn’t know whether to say it or not, then tried to pluck courage to speak out, what she had kept from him for so long, “Because... I love you.” She finally splurged out.

He immediately stopped and turned around and smiled. He didn’t look so flattered, and looked more as though he knew it, and seemed to be egotistical about it. He smiled, “Look, I like you, but I don’t love you. And believe me, I don’t want to hurt you, I just want you to know the truth.” He walked away for the second time and Rita knew that it would be the last time.

Her heart had shattered, and without realising, teardrops began to fall from her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but just couldn’t control herself. Rita’s friends had been right, yet again. They had told her so many times that he was the wrong kind of guy for her. He was a good laugh, but that was all. He seemed to take everything like a comic story.

As she watched him walk away, she thought, ‘Why me?’ The way he walked seemed to indicate, that he couldn’t careless about what had just happened. He didn’t even turn back to look at her. Manju had been watching her through the window of the classroom.

“Another waist of time,” she sobbed, walking into the school building. It felt her world had fallen through and nothing on earth could make her smile again. All she could do was think about all the good time she had spent with Reggie, and connect them with what had just happened. It didn’t make any sense at all. She knew she would never see him again.  Walking through the double doors, then through the abandoned corridor. Suddenly it felt as though she could not walk any more, she stopped and leaned against the wall sliding downwards until she was sitting down on the floor. Wiping her face on her sleeve every now and again trying to dry the tears which kept falling, streaming down her cheeks. Rita buried her head between her knees and sat and wept.

“Hey, Reet,” A gentle familiar voice said. Rita didn’t bother looking up because she knew it was Manju, “What’s the matter?” she asked stupidly.

“Go away,” she sobbed.

“Listen Reet, I saw what happened down there. I know he’s leaving but believe me it’s no big deal.”

Rita suddenly looked up and stared angrily at her, “You, you mean you knew about it!” she stood up, “No one told me anything!”

“Well we knew you’d get upset and we didn’t want to upset you.”

“Upset! Look at me now! Oh yeah I really look as though I have had the time of my life!” Rita paused to take a breath, “Well believe me mate I’ve just been told by the bastard just what he thinks of me. I feel like the biggest jerk ever. He hates me!”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she tried assuring her.

“Wanna bet, I just told him how much I loved him, and he couldn’t care less about it.” she said, “That’s just the story of my life…”

“Look, now you know how I feel about Josh.” Manju said.

“What’s Josh got to do with all this,” she asked confused. “He’s got nothing to do with it, and besides he likes you.” Rita told her best friend.

“Does not.”

 “He does and you know it. But at least he’s got his way with me, he was right about Reggie.” She walked away and Manju followed behind.

“Josh’s an idiot anyway.”

“Yeah I know, but you can’t blame him for that can you?” Rita said walking on. Manju smiled. She didn’t feel like smiling at all. Manju was Rita’s best friend and she was always there for her when she felt down, and she usually made her smile and feel better, helping her to an enhanced recovery.

Manju walked with Rita up to the sixth form private study room, “You gonna be all right?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it, I think I’ll survive until the bell goes.” she told her.

“I better go or the teacher might catch me, cos I told her I was going to the toilet.” She hurried away, leaving her in one of the private study rooms.

Rita put her head on the desk, and felt really stupid and foolish. She had an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hated that feeling, it just would not leave her alone.

A few minutes later the door flung open and immediately she looked up hoping it was Reggie. But it was the one and only Josh. ‘Oh no!’ Rita thought, putting her head back down.

Josh was kind of cute for his age, he had dark hair and dark eyes, which somehow reminded her of sweet teddy bears. So many girls thought he was gorgeous, including Manju. But ever since Rita had got to know him, she had always considered him as a younger brother, and a very immature and idiotic one too.

“What’s up with you?” Josh asked in his typical cheeky little voice.

Rita ignored him at first, but then when he kept hopping around her, she said, “Just leave me alone!”

“Why?” he asked.

“Don’t give me that, you know very well why,” she snapped.

He thought for a while, then suddenly spluttered, “Oh its Reggie ain’t it, I should’ve guessed.” Rita stared at him harshly. “Oh come on, you could not have liked him that much. I told you that you’d get hurt in the end, besides you can do much better than him, he was a creep, and you knew it right from the start. There are more guys around.” She didn’t want to hear this from him, not from anyone.

“Just shut up!” she cried. Her eyes began to fill up with tears once again. ‘Oh no,’ she thought, ‘here I go again.’ She didn’t want to cry, but it was difficult to control her emotions.

Josh looked at her but she put her head down to stop him from seeing her tears.

“Look I understand how you feel, but you gotta put it past you. He’s gone now and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can do much better than him; you should look around for someone like me: good looking, sexy, considerate, mature and sensible. Can’t you?” Rita could tell he was beginning to feel sorry for her.

“That’s what you wanted,” she sobbed looking up at him and he smiled one of his pathetically sweet smiles.

“I knew what he was like, that’s why,” he said. Rita rubbed her eyes and tried to smile. “Hey,” Josh whispered, “I didn’t know you cried purple tears.” At first she looked at him very confusingly and didn’t quite know what he was talking about, then she realised that she must have rubbed off the mascara from her eye lashes. Rita began to smile.  She could not believe she was actually smiling again. The school alarm for home time rang as Manju walked in.

“You feeling alright....” her voice trailed off as soon as she realised Josh was with her.

Rita smiled, “Love is in the air again...”

“Shut up!” Manju squealed, her face suddenly turned a crimson.

“Gotta get going,” Josh said, “don’t get feeling down again, he was a bastard, just keep thinking that and you’ll soon get over him.” He closed the door behind him.

“Why the hell did you say that for!” Manju snapped.

“Say what?” Rita teased.

“You know very well what, and that was very embarrassing you know,” she hesitated for a while, “Did you see the way he ran out?”

“He did not run out because of you, dumbo,” she tried assuring her.

“He doesn’t like me at all!”

“Don’t be so stupid Manj, don’t be mad.” They walked out arguing and bumped into Jami and Chaz.

They asked Rita how she was handling Reggie leaving. “I’m trying to forget he ever existed,” she told them. It was easy saying it but the hard part was actually accepting it.

As soon as she got home, she ran up the stairs into her bedroom, and put the radio on. Staring out of the window she watched the school kids go by.

She remembered a time when she used to mess around with Reggie; she had pinned up a notice saying, “REGGIE LOVES BOYS!  ANY OFFERS PLEASE GET IN TOUCH” He had been very embarrassed about it all, however, he had denied it. Rita had felt bad and guilty about it for a long time afterwards. Then she remembered chasing him that day and begging for his forgiveness. All he could come out with was, “Don’t worry about it, it was nothing.” As Rita drifted back into her bedroom, one of her favourite songs played on the radio. As she listened to the words, she felt her heart break in two again and broke out in tears. She could not control the way she felt once again. Rita cried and cried until she could cry no more. For the next few weeks she knew she would drive her family and friends crazy with all her misery and sorrow.

February Writing Task by Cherry Doyle

Here is Cherry Doyle’s response to the February Writing Task, where we built up a character suitable for young readers, and used that as a basis for a story. It’s the opening of a story about the main character, Jennings.

Jennings ran his hand slowly through the dog’s long fur. He toyed with it between his fingers as she made whimpering sounds in her sleep. He felt her warm belly move as she breathed and put his head down to nuzzle against her.

            Skye was his best friend in the world; always by his side, she knew when he needed cheering up with her pale blue collie eyes and dappled fur. Now, as Jennings held his ear against her, he wondered about all the biology underneath – what made the pulse throb so much faster than his own, why her paws shook while she was dreaming, why she slobbered all over his clothes with her tongue, lolling like a rich ham.

            The log fire in the farmhouse was violent and noisy, drowning out the drone of his grandfather’s radio and the persistent click-clack of his grandmother’s knitting needles. Jennings pictured himself in green overalls like the vet who came to see the farm animals. He used a stethoscope to listen to their hearts, which he wore around his neck at all times. He carried a black suitcase full of carefully wrapped needles which made such pleasing crinkly sounds as they were released from their packaging. Jennings wanted to be like him.

            If nothing else, it would get him off the farm. Despite Skye’s friendship he did get bored of living, eating and learning between these flowery wallpapered walls. His grandmother gave him a simple education of basic maths and spelling – he would need these for ordering in animal food when he eventually took over the farm.   

            His grandfather, a gruff man, took him out on the trailer to the high fields to watch Skye bring the sheep in. He loved watching her sleek figure dart across the green grass, striking terror into the confused sheep.

            As much as he loved his grandparents, the farm and the little farmhouse, sometimes when he ran past the cow pasture and climbed the tallest tree to look across acres of green and yellow land, he felt a sinking feeling, knowing he wanted to break away from what his grandparents expected him to do.

            The only problem was, Jennings had seen life outside the farm and he didn’t like it - the children of the nearest village were mean to him, shouting names if he ventured to the shop with his grandparents. They always seemed not to hear the cruel comments, and Jennings wondered why they kept their unflinching faces so stony - was this some adult trick to get rid of unhappy things, or were they really that deaf?

            He started to imitate them, faithfully freezing his scrunched face when he spied the kids coming over the village green. He concentrated so hard on keeping his eyes forward, he barely felt the sting of their words, chanting about his old threadbare clothes and smears of grease on his face. His grandmother placed a guiding hand on his ragged hair as Jennings wondered why those kids cared what he looked like or wore.

            As far as he was concerned, his faded T-shirts were all he needed for farm work – after all, his grandfather wore the same green wool jumper every day. There was no point in his grandparents spending their money on posh new clothes when all he did was climb trees and help muck out the pigs. Besides, he often heard his grandparents grumbling that there was no money in farming, and cursing the men who came to collect eggs and milk in big vans.

            “You’re driving us into the dirt!” his grandfather had yelled one day as a particularly frowny man had driven away.

“It’s the market” he shrugged out of the driver’s window. Jennings had watched from the cowshed as his grandfather’s face fell when the man had finished unfolding notes into his palm. It creased with a desolate mixture of distress and concern, and it gave Jennings a tight feeling in his chest.

He knew that things cost money, so he didn’t ask for anything. He just wanted to have fun with Skye and somehow evade a life looking after the farm.