Monday, September 06, 2010

Monday Poetry Stretch - Contradictions

In Whales Weep Not by D.H. Lawrence, the poem begins this way.
They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.
I thought it might be fun to to write a contradictory poem that begins with the words "They say .... but" and describes something or someone in a very different fashion.

So, are you up for the challenge? What will you write? Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.

9 comments:

  1. Love, They Say

    They say love burns as hot
    as the sun in the Sahara,
    so why does sitting beside you
    feel cool and fresh as a slice
    of watermelon?

    They say passion rages,
    blasting the sky like lightning,
    so why does my stuttering heart
    find calm in the pond ripples
    of your voice?

    And love is for the young,
    they say. Then why has my love
    woken up so late, yawning
    and reaching, surprised,
    for its glasses?

    Love is a vampire, they say,
    drinking all in a grand red pain.
    So why is our love
    more like splitting a sandwich
    at the deli?

    --Kate Coombs, 2010, all rights reserved

    ReplyDelete
  2. A FEW DISCREPANCIES
    By Steven Withrow


    They say the broken watch fixed time,
    but the water clock and the hourglass run on.

    They say the old grow wise and circumspect,
    but toddlers learn to lie and split the difference.

    They say the sharper knife cuts quick,
    but the duller dulls the whetstone equally.

    They say what's done is done, enough's enough,
    but are they the same who spoke of knives and time?

    They say the aster and the rose, but I,
    I say the withered marigold, the baby's breath, the balm.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Lovely poems, you two!

    Here's my pitiful attempt.

    They Say


    They say a child grows up, but a child
    grows down as well, crawling to discover
    the world in miniature scrawling in italics
    more about the world than you could ever teach them.
    They say a child leaves home, but home
    goes with the child, like the hermit crab, turtle, snail,
    like a blanket clutched between sleeping fingers,
    a first birthday card, a teddy bear, a favorite book.
    They say a child grows distant but to a child
    that distance is not measured in miles,
    but Skype syllables, FaceBook pages,
    or frantic phone calls asking for money.
    They say a child cleaves to another, but the child remembers
    birthdays, anniversaries, yours and theirs,
    makes surprise visits with caravans and friends,
    and then there’s the one day of the year
    you actually set the alarm when you went out
    having changed the code, returning
    to find your daughter and a policeman
    in passionate conversation,
    remembering their wild adolescent days.
    They say a child never really returns.
    They forget to tell you about the grandchildren.

    ©2010 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved

    ReplyDelete
  4. Jane--"hermit crab, turtle, snail...blanket...teddy bear..." Yes! When my mom moved out of state, I wept. To which an older gentleman remarked, "They have these things called telephones, you know." (Not the same!)

    ReplyDelete
  5. Mmmm...lovely poems.

    Favorite bits so far:

    Then why has my love
    woken up so late, yawning
    and reaching, surprised,
    for its glasses?

    and

    They say the broken watch fixed time,
    but the water clock and the hourglass run on.

    and

    but home
    goes with the child, like the hermit crab, turtle, snail,
    like a blanket clutched between sleeping fingers,
    a first birthday card, a teddy bear, a favorite book.

    and

    They say a child never really returns.
    They forget to tell you about the grandchildren.

    Wow.

    OK, here's mine. I haven't been doing my daily poem since all hell broke loose in my life in late July. It felt good to have a Poetry Stretch. Thanks, Tricia!


    Fall Fashion Show

    They say you shouldn’t wear white after Labor Day
    but the froth of foam swirling along shore’s runway
    and bottomless blue skies wearing white necklace clouds
    and night’s marble moon pendant

    say different
    They say

    fall owns every color
    so don’t hold back
    don’t limit her to orange and gold and scarlet
    with goose feathers and falling leaves

    Fall uses a full palette
    including lime green and downy grey and Easter pink
    and white

    snowberries, waxy and oval
    swans gliding over dark water
    onions dusted with garden dirt
    fleece on sheep dotting the hillside
    mini-marshallows in hot cocoa
    eggshells on the counter
    fresh notebook paper
    Elmer’s school glue
    sparks of bonfires
    calendar squares whipping by

    Especially white

    --Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved

    ReplyDelete
  6. Trust

    They say you can’t trust anyone
    but today we picked berries
    all alone at a roadside farm.

    A wooden sign beckoned
    U-PICK RASPBERRIES
    so we poured out of our car
    into the homestretch of summer.

    Berries dangled like earrings.
    Tying pails around our waists
    we danced bush-to-bush
    tickling them loose
    wiping juice from our chins.
    Dreaming of jam in winter
    we wanted to pick forever.

    Two hours later
    filled with fruit
    we weighed our pails
    counting carefully
    adding with the little pencil
    in the little notebook.

    We dropped dollars
    in the red coffee can
    knowing we’d be back.
    A berry farmer trusted us.
    And we paid.

    © Amy Ludwig VanDerwater

    ReplyDelete
  7. Laura - Hope life is smoother now. Here's a contradictory poem just for you:

    They say all Hell breaks loose.
    I'd say some days it draws in tight
    as a hangman's noose.

    They say that Paradise
    rolls out like Heaven-come-eleven.
    I'd say some days a lucky pair of dice
    won't do, though mint tea would be nice.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Julie--Thank you for that poem. You are so right. Hell is like a noose, drawing tight and clawing at my neck. Powerful, horrible image.

    Even poems about awful things can make me happy. That, along with a mug of mint tea, can definitely make a day heavenly:>)

    ReplyDelete
  9. Great poems! Here's one involving a literal stretch:

    They say you're only as old as
    you feel.

    I felt the blow in spring
    when my Achilles tore,
    could almost hear the roar of blood
    in my calf.

    "This doesn't happen to couch potatoes,"
    the doctor said.
    "It doesn't mean you're old."

    Barely limping now, I'm off
    to therapy,
    a little mashed, twice-baked.

    I feel a hint of fall, swirling
    in the wild, winsome wind.
    I grin,
    pick up my pace.

    ReplyDelete