For now, here is a link  ( http://literature.sdsu.edu/onWRITING/vonnegutSTYLE.html ) to an awesome article about writing with your own style, via Kurt Vonnegut.  Maybe this will inspire you!

“Always be sure to look two cars ahead of you for brake lights.
That way, you can see what’s coming.”
 
Even before that, though, when I was very little, my father told me 
something else that will always stick with me.  He said,
“If you don’t ever have a wedding,
I will buy you a car.
Any kind of car you want.” 
At three years old, I thought
that Daddy wanted me to be his little girl forever.
That he didn’t want me to get married and be in love
with some other man.

But before he could buy me a car, I had to learn
to drive one, and I didn’t want to learn 
from him.  He didn’t want to teach me, or if he did
he had a funny way of showing it.
Teasing incessantly, yelling while we were on the road,
not letting me rest until I was perfect.
I figured as long as I didn’t crash into someone in front of me
while he was in the car
I’d be perfect enough.  So I kept looking
two cars ahead to see the brake lights, to see
what was coming.  And I didn’t hit anyone.

It wasn’t until he left us that I really started
playing it safe, trying to predict the outcome
of everything – Where would I get a job?  Where
would I meet a man?  Where
would I be accepted to graduate school? Where
would that man decide to live?  Where
would I decide to live?  Where
would I get enough money to feed myself?  Where
would that man break up with me? Where
would it  all come to a screeching halt?

Instead of looking two cars ahead, I started looking
three, then six, then ten, then a mile or two -
so focused on what could happen up there, I didn’t notice
what was happening in front of me.
By predicting the crash, I caused it.

It looked like my dad was going to buy me that car after all,
since my relationships all crashed and burned.

But then I fell in love.  And we talked about rings and family
and weddings.  And we talked about how much weddings cost.
And we talked about saving ourselves.  And I joked about my Daddy
buying me the car of my dreams if I didn’t
have a wedding. 

I paused.  

If I didn’t have a wedding.  Not
if I didn’t get married.  Daddy realized paying for a car
would be less than paying for a wedding and made an offer.
Daddy’s little girl was his car, which explained the teasing incessantly,
yelling while we were on the road,
not letting me rest until I was perfect.
Which explained why his advice was never
about life or love, but about his car. 

I took a deep breath.
I smiled, and resumed talking and planning 
and started saving, so I could create my own memories
right in front of me.

But I always keep an eye out for that car
two cars ahead.
Just in case.

Across the universe

I call your name

Like dreamers do

I want to tell you

Something

I’m down

I’m a loser

A shot of rhythm and blues

I need you

Love me do

Don’t let me down

Don’t pass me by

You can’t do that

Every little thing

Falling in love again

Some other guy?

I want to be your man

I want to hold your hand

Misery-

Carry that weight.

A day in the life-

Nowhere man-

The fool on the hill

Tomorrow never knows

Yesterday

Happiness is a warm gun

(From you to me)

And I love her

Here comes the sun

Ask me why?

Because

Baby it’s you

p.s. I love you

ubiquitous and billowing, a full-hearted propulsion

across bottomless, unfreezable lakes.

And when the wind dies down,

they tattoo each others’ body parts with blueberry lips

and freckles bloom in unexpected places.

When winter comes, they lash love down tightly,

with practiced practicality and bungee cords,

their midwestern modesty renewed by the lakes turning solemn.

But they keep an eye on love, buried there under three feet of snow.

Watching from picture windows and waiting for the forsythia to bloom.

So here we go I like to call this one…??    Highschool.

The dawn swallowed me whole that day.  The sun slowly crept into my window, finding every crack and opening it could seep into.  The sun’s emission forced life into my cold hollow body.  As it breathed into me I accepted it, and got up out of bed, but I wasn’t happy about it.

I got to school the tangled halls were dank and screamed a smell so loud that I almost couldn’t hear it. People walked by me like I was a forgotten zombie and I was.  I walked these halls every day the same way.  An exquisite corpse drinking blood red wine for lunch and slurping up Nacho Grande every other day.  Is this what we call life?

These days are numbered but I don’t care enough to count down. One day ill dip into a life I longed to have, until then I’ll continue to wait for the ever freeing release of that extra terribly sharp E note that so cleverly sounds at 2:55.

The howl of the wolf at night
is a hollow sound
that carves at your soul
like a dark, winter night.

The magnolia bush blooms
before the last frost,
its scent fills the air
with the life of spring.

But it is not quite spring,
the earth has not warmed,
our toes are left chilly.

And on a not-quite-spring night
the wind can sound like the wolf’s howl,
slowly scraping away at your soul.

This is not a poetry-related post at all, but I just wanted to let you know that you can now reply to your comments on this blog straight from your e-mail.  When you receive an e-mail notification that you have a comment, instead of logging back in to WordPress to reply to the comment, just hit reply to the e-mail and type out your reply and send it.  It’ll show up on the blog in a few minutes, and even in the right place in the thread (under the comment you are replying to).  Pretty cool, huh?

This doesn’t work with past comments, only future ones.

I tried it with my iPhone yesterday, and it didn’t work.  Molly, maybe the next comment you get, you could try it to see if it’s just me?

If you want more info on this, check the WordPress Blog here: http://en.blog.wordpress.com/2009/04/23/comment-reply-via-email-open-to-all/

Happy Poem-ing (and Commenting)!

read a book,
paint,
 start working out,
relax,
 get off my lazy ass

When I can afford to then I’ll:

Pay off debt,
Buy a car,
Go to the doctor,
Try to save some,
Take that trip,

When I’m not so tired then I’ll:

Clean the house,
Do my homework,
Pay these bills,
Do the yard work.

The only time the when/then method works:  When I stop making excuses then I’ll start living in the moment. When I start living in the moment then I’ll start really enjoying my life.  Good intentions, however, wrong.   Only when intentions are turned into actions can you be freed from the When/Then cycle of death.

You told me I seemed like the type of person
who takes everything in,
who soaks up the world, the way a sponge does water.

I don’t know how you,
you tall and lanky in that red t-shirt,
you looking at me in my blue v-neck
and jeans I’ve worked years to fit into again,
you of just a few conversations
on your and my singing and our little bits of history—
how you could know this of me.

I can’t understand how you,
you with that long coat
and black hair
and James Taylor voice,
you as you nonchalantly slip your long arm around my tiny shoulder,
how you can know this of me,
me with my big plans and no time,
me with my short body, you with your tall frame,
how you can know something
that some people I’ve lived with my whole life,
my whole life,
haven’t even begun to know.

I don’t get how I,
I who knows this-is-oh-so-wrong,
I who told myself I wouldn’t,
but I who finds your eyes
magnetically
across the room–
I don’t get how I can let myself
go here.

But I do.

You, you with that black hair
and piercing eyes
and red shirt
you with the long coat and lanky frame,
you with your James Taylor voice
singing husky and shy compliments to me,
you’re right. I am a sponge.
I take everything in,
I let in all the words, I let in all the thoughts and feelings
I can absorb.

And right now, I,
all I want
to soak in
is the sensation—
yes. All I want right now
is the sensation
of your smoky mouth
against mine.

First, the story:
Teaching high school students poetry can be a daunting task.  Most teachers hate doing it, partly because they hated poetry themselves in high school and college, and partly because they know off the bat that most students don’t delight in language the way we English majors do.  For two years, I taught “basic” English 1 (I put that in quotes because the students I encounter should never have been put in a basic English class, they are wonderfully intelligent if you can tap into what makes them tick and play from that), and this year I was assigned an English 1 GAP class, which was comprised of students who had been at the school for two years, but had failed English 1 previously.  With my students before this, I always had an easy time with poetry.  Our curriculum was a little looser at my old school, so I could pick and choose the poems I wanted and teach that way.  Here, it was a little bit different, so we got off on the wrong foot, focusing more on terms they would need for the test than the lovely language and “real life” situations one encounters with poetry.

Encountering much boredom and apathy from my students in learning terms they all probably knew from the year before, I changed my plan and started teaching poetry I liked: “Hanging Fire” by Audre Lorde, “The Fury of Overshoes” by Anne Sexton, “love poem” by Linda Pastan, “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll, etc.  The kids were enthralled.

So, the other  day was a half day, and my students were particularly riled up, so I decided to scrap the poem I had planned to teach, and to try some of Dr. Theune’s pedagogy in a fun, in-class activity.

Second, the process:
I had to alter the process from Dr. Theune’s a little bit, because I find high school students do better with REALLY concrete directions, and they create better poems with shorter lines because it is easier for them to focus on fewer words.  So, first, we did the Exquisite Corpse activity.  For those of you who are not familiar: Exquisite Corpse is a Surrealist parlor game that explores unexpected combinations of words into a sentence.  This is also a great excuse for a grammar lesson.  On the board, I wrote: The exquisite corpse drank the blood red wine.  We briefly discussed subject and predicate, along with the parts of speech present: article, adjective, noun, verb, article, adjective, noun.  We also discussed “good” adjectives and “good” nouns – ones that will be amusing or complex in any situation.  I’ll spare you the whole grammar lesson.

Then, I asked them to each write  a subject in the format: article, adjective, noun.  Then, they folded their paper up so no one could see what they wrote, and switched with someone else in the room.  Without peeking, they needed to write a predicate in the format: verb, article, adjective, noun.  Then, they could look at the whole sentence.  After a few rounds, we had a great discussion about what words are powerful no matter what you pair it with, so we moved to the next step.

I asked them to each write a subject on one piece of paper and a predicate on another piece of paper.  They folded them up, and put the subjects in one box and the predicates in another box.  We shook them up and had two students randomly draw papers from the boxes.  What we ended up with was language that delighted the students, and poetry that they could take ownership of, as well as really good adjectives and nouns.

Third, the results:

1.
I saw a bully
eat a green potato chip

2.
The crusty feet
chased the mischievous kids

3.
The hairy mouse
smelled like Fritos

4.
The smelly bear
eats fingernails for a living

5.
The wild zebra
sat on the baby head

6.
The crusty toed biker
ate the ugly duck

7.
The fat cow
ran from the fish

8.
The pastor’s wife
goes to play with her smelly dolls

9.
The ugly-haired person
ate next to me

10.
The angry old man
makes me happy

11.
The musty man
ate up the furry cat

12.
The president of the USA
cried like a little girl

13.
The jumping cat
ate the celery-green piece of bread