A poetry form!
This is the beginning of John's Gospel which I think is one of the most beautiful parts of the whole bible:
1In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
2He was with God in the beginning.
3Through him all things were made;
without him nothing was made that has been made.
4In him was life,
and that life was the light of men.
5The light shines in the darkness,
but the darkness has not understood it.
6There came a man who was sent from God;
his name was John.
7He came as a witness to testify concerning that light,
so that through him all men might believe.
8He himself was not the light;
he came only as a witness to the light.
9The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world.[b]
and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
2He was with God in the beginning.
3Through him all things were made;
without him nothing was made that has been made.
4In him was life,
and that life was the light of men.
5The light shines in the darkness,
but the darkness has not understood it.
6There came a man who was sent from God;
his name was John.
7He came as a witness to testify concerning that light,
so that through him all men might believe.
8He himself was not the light;
he came only as a witness to the light.
9The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world.[b]
John continues this form (do you see what the pattern is?) for several more stanzas.
I'm not sure how it differs from the original Greek--the original might stick more closely to the form. My Bible informs me that the form was pretty popular back in the day.
This is it:
-----------a
a----------b
b----------c
c----------d
d----------e
so write a line, and begin the next line with the last word or two of the first line.
make sense?
Here is a poem that I wrote:
The rain pours from the sky spout spiket
the spout spiket tumbles the water around
around us the wrath of God throws cold stones
cold stones knock on our windows and doors
doors that stay closed, insulating us from thunder
thunder that shakes our bones,
bones that want to shudder,
to shudder would make us feel alive.
Feeling alive is what we all want
wanting not to stare at a computer screen this afternoon
but this afternoon we are Western, advanced,
advanced enough to live in strong houses
houses that protect us.
protect us from the storms.
the storms that would make us feel alive.
Your prompt is to write a poem like this in less than TEN MINUTES and to post it here. So just do it! right now! go!
oh..
and as for Moho Jojo...
"Now to catch up on the world's latest events that have happened that this paper has reported with the words that they wrote."- Mojo Jojo
... I think John (even with translation) sticks to the form better than Mojo Jojo, but Mojo Jojo is a monkey, after all. (right? He's a monkey?)
5 comments:
Nice prompt!
DISCLAIMER: I think it messed up my spacing (sorry!) and also, I took a little bit of liberty with it.
This was a great prompt, Leah!
I.
When my mother asks if I miss St. Louis, I don’t know what to say.
Say home. Say homesick. Say to miss fingertips and toes is to miss home. Say home is lovers.
Say home is lovers who say it’s just about the sex. Say it’s easier that way. If I tell my mother this,
this half-truth, she’d stop asking if I miss metro stops and brisket and city blocks. If I miss him,
the him of half-cooked eggs and lukewarm baths and bookshelves,
always more bookshelves, always more books than I could read in one summer.
II.
One summer, he begged me to stay. He said if I flew across an ocean to Germany
Germany would swallow me whole, spit me out all bone, a sac of loose skin. He had turned the shower off
offensively, watched me shiver and drip in the white tub. Something about the water in the mouth of the drain
drained me too, then. I’m not sure that it would anymore.
Here's my offering:
Before Friday I need to pack up the guts of my apartment
my new apartment is the scraped-out shell of a whale
whales way out in the gray-green are singing again
again they’re swimming up next to boats floating on;
on floating rafts I stack these clothes and books in boxes
boxes of fabric and paper and rubber and plastic,
plastic bags around everything to waterproof
the proof that I’m here, artifacts of my life, my messes
messes I tie up in plastic, float out for someone to find
I find throwing things out gets easier as I grow up,
up and older, learning not every artifact will be my last,
will last me forever. Before Friday I need to pack
my pack rat self up to my apartment, another temporary space
space inside the belly of a swimming beast much older
and older and more musical than I.
Beginning the zero stage of our lives, is the realization we are single
Single, meaning alone, meaning by our lonesome, meaning not coupled
Coupled being a state of mind in which pairing is more important the vital triplicate
Triplicate because the most important things in our world came in threes, not fours
For four is a number reserved for quartets, quarters, and precursors to quintets
Quintets representing an odd structural shape outclassed by the hexagon
Hexagon, a strange portmanteau of hexes being gone, something reserved for the pentagram
The pentagram, the very same symbol, we used to banish the horseman four
For four is the bases of most structures, even if we only need three
Three points in place make a plane for two
Two, being the two of us, finally becoming one
One entity, one love, that simply reduces to zero
Zero, not being the end, but the very beginning
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