Many of us approach CyberPoet's Niche as an on-line writers' workshop--a place where we can offer up our writings for the review and criticism of other poets. It is not about knit-picking punctuation and spelling although several of us could use help in those areas. It is not about developing a sameness of style--there is certainly an abundance of varying styles within our group, and we would not want it any other way. But it is and can be a place for the development of style, of a voice that is specific to each poet consistent through a body of many works by exploring the ways we communicate and when we fail to do so. As Poetry_Gal recently pointed out: style is not something to be applied after the fact of writing, but should develop organically from within the writing process.
Writing exercises such as the Challenge Poem offer us a unique opportunity to focus on a subject matter and bring to bear individual skills and awareness. Such poems allow us an insight into styles specific to each poet as a sort of baseline for further exploration and understanding of that poet while at the same time allowing the poet to focus on rudimentary elements of the art: symbolism, the creation of textural sensation through rhythm, word choice and variation, and line length.
The current challenge is an exploration of dreams and was issued on the message board with entry #1593 by mgonzalez01 (Mary), our chief founder on September 12th, 1999, topic:
Challenge Poem. She wrote:
These excercises can help us to develop our writing skills. The book I bought, The Art of Poetry Writing: A Guide for Poets, Students and Readers gives you 37 challenge poems that can aid one's writing. Here is one:
Write about one of your most recent dreams.
Use all details as color, symbols, images, feelings. Don't interpert the dream, just write about it. Don't forget to use images.
Mary
Below find entries to this challenge. Please note: only those where we have advanced permission to reprint or showcase are presented here.
Works Presented
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Dream
In the stillness of the night
The muse in me took over
And between darkness and light
I did have the sweetest revarie ever! |
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The sound of a cascading waterfall
like booming thunder..
Took over my soul
And the wonderful sounds and sights of Eden; |
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All the earthtones and soft pastels
Painted the scene....
Soft pinks, blues, and russet browns and dark egg-shells
Were the predominant colors of my dream.. |
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Underneathe the over-sized basin
the babbling brook ran past in gentle motions
as gold fish swam on by in the stream near the Garden..
On their way to aqua-green oceans; |
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Sandwhiched in between,
Two lovers stood bathing
Like a modern couple in a Biblical scene..
A sea of passion..
overwhelmed them
And the Forbidden Fruit of desire
was purified
And made pure again
With love�s fire,
Making right that ancient rite
Which our ancestors made taboo.. |
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He was manly... a broad-shouldered warrior
And his physique overpowered her
Protecting her like some clustred pearl
found in that paradisal shower
And she, being with child...almost a mother
Was exceptionally beautiful..
Like the First Eve....fragile,
yet bold and mystic like the woman that she is..
Made to feel loved and special
By the magic of his kiss
Upon her navel! |
Mary Gonzalez © Copyright, 1999
(1603, 990913)
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The Dream
I trod a shining path,
as black as raven wing and with its sheen,
which stretches out in clean lines,
a radius toward the center
and with greater darkness on either side.
I walk neither with dread,
nor with any quick desire,
but with measured, heavy step somewhere between.
My feet are not mired,
and yet they are not free to move lightly.
They merely move me forward toward my destination,
which I have no care to achieve,
which I have no want to turn away from. |
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Before me, a tower--
white and monolithic in grandeur,
simple and without seam,
a single obelisk pointing to the sky.
It seems to lean over toward me
and bend away, both at once,
and yet remain as hard and unfeeling as stone.
Round its top circle white birds.
Circling in silence and unbent wing,
they seem unnatural feathered creatures.
They make no sound,
but circle so as if waiting for my company. |
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What sound there is
comes from chimes upon the wind,
the sound of frozen glass striking similar object,
and also from the wind itself,
though it ruffles not my hair
neither does it brush my cheek,
but crying out, seems to pass
without troubling anything at all.
And too, there is the sound of my own footsteps
and the beating of my heart,
which seems to thunder, louder and more loud
as if this walking were more a matter of soul's dread
than of footfalls. |
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Forward I go and on.
Never seeming to reach my goal.
I sense voices whispering somewhere near my ear
and yet far removed from me.
Not a voice, but a thousand voices.
If there are words being spoken,
I do not apprehend them as words.
And yet there is message, clear:
"Do not forget me." |
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And then I wake.
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AngelPie_Mouse, September 14, 1999
Angel-Pie Mouse (JB) � Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved
(1609, 990914)
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My Dream
I nodded off
My a little of conscious
Think about
Altered States
Hope into Levitation
My spirit separates
From my body
I am flying over the field
Feeling connect with my body
Downward is green field
But indistinctness and gloomy
None any house and flowers
People, river and timberline
Obscurity
My spirit body goes ahead rather fast
On the dry as dust and colorless plains
With a lilting tune
Till where �cand next step?
Then can't go ahead
Stop over the field
So I thought
By silver rope connect with my body
Maybe go back as I came here
None any sign
I wake up
Then I am
I can't say
I underwent "Out of the body"
Cause of
A deficiency of reality
It is a kind of dream
Probably! |
Itsuki Hiramatu September 15, 1999
Itsuki Hiramatu © Copyright, 1999
(1617, 990915)
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