Poem in 6 images

Description and example of an exercise in process

This poem found its home at WORLD HUNGER MAGAZINE (ONLINE). ANOTHER LINK https://worldhungermag.com/236-2/

I am always looking for novel ways to give me a poetic shell. The majority of my writing that I've been able to pour immense revisionary effort into has been non-direct, and hasn't been written with conscious thought. Moreso these poems initially were random, arbitrary images dredged from unconscious writing, freewriting, or other means. Not unlike a hermit crab wandering the beach for an empty carapace to fill. Arbitrary images allow my mind to fill the blanks, flexing connective muscles more than executing on a specific vision, which is a process which often exhausts me. I believe this is because I'm most often spurred on to write about specific matters because of unresolved emotional distress. These subjects require a discipline in revision that I lack. An apt comparison would be that of a rock collectors most prized or valued finds being unpolished for fear of breaking them, whereas his finest rocks would be rather ordinary if he hadn't polished them.

The initial prompt, 6 images.

Random Image Generator

Generate 3 random pictures, stare at each picture and slowly count to 5 while focusing intensely on the picture and closing your mind to all other distraction (total of 15 seconds for all three pictures). Then, close your eyes and count to five while taking a deep inhalation, and start writing as fast as you can without exhaling, continuing to write until you gasp for breath. When you exhale, and breathe in again stop your train of thought, cease typing. Repeat this three more times. Don't pay attention to form or spend any time thinking, the point is to exceed the rate of your interlinking, conscious mind through writing as quickly as possible. Put no care to writing relevant things, just write quickly and dont worry about anything except the next word.

Repeat this twice. After which you will have six separate sections based off of six different images. Then start editing and changing words around, cutting out what you dont like and finish the poem by putting however much effort as youd like into it! By this point it is up to you to guide whatever youve put down as a shitty predraft into something entirely unique.

Draft 1

msuhroom king, glory, pain and trial and the spring dew so lightly like the rain falls, 
all those clouds clumping in the skly like theyre about to burst, and the auger is out of townk, 

red pissed on well pissed on hydrant standing to the brick plastered with stucco and painted over grafiti  
and public expenditures and monsters lurking with their cans, public nuisances, defacing everything. dogs pissing

we set out for ice to ice fish, we cracked our rods down deep and it split the lake into fractals, 
nd it split the ice a thousand times and i thought we were going to die, but it was like looking down
 from a glass bridge half broke, glass cracked but still holding, and we fished anyways 
because if it didnt crack from the splintered ice it would never crack from our staying still 

the dead dragonfly soaked in morning dew, caught in a web soaked in morning drew, 
an abandoned web, an empty house, the monster is out for good. 

he broke through the water in a straight like leaping skyward
aligator, get out of the water theres an alligator. Nobody tried. 

shes on her puter, shes on her phone. 
getting her heart flayed by strangers cuz its beats being alone.

her heart beats alone and the mushroom king fights for glory pain and trial and the spring dew so round like the rainfall frozen all the clouds clump the sky like they might burst but the augur is out of town red pissed on well pissed on hydrant standing to the brick plastered with stucco painted graffiti over public expenditures monsters lurk with their cans at the ready they know they're public nuisances, defacing everything in their warped image like dogs pissing. an underpass plastered with the marks of maladaption. disgruntled youth we set out on the ice to ice fish we cracked our rods down deep splitting the lake to fractals and it split the ice a thousand times and i thought we were going to die but it was like looking down at a glass bridge cracking over drowned cities cracked glass but still holding so we fished anyways because if it didnt crack from the spiderwebs splaying about it would never crack from our still tugging, kidnapping, filleting, flaying the little children of the lake. the dead dragonfly soaked in morning dew caught in a web soaked in morning dew it died of waiting for a killer with fangs killed by the morning dew of an abandoned web an empty house, where the monster is out for good he broke through the water in a straight line leaping skyward, leaping alligator through ice get out of the water theres an aligator, nobody moved we were so frozen nobody even tried. the ice rippled and shattered, and she stared at the scared face in the web, his tears were like the morning dew.

This time start editing and rewording things that seem out of place or can be changed. you can change things to be more beautiful, you can change imagery, now it is less about the unconscious brimming at youre fingers and more about warping and weaving what is now here into coherence. it is focus time. You may rearrange stanzas, which were previously organized by the order of random images generated. Now you may leak images, all the images here compete for dominance. Understand your palette you are working with. It was given to you by chance.

The dead dragonfly marbled in morning dew, frozen in a web soaked in morning dew, he died of waiting to be killed. When his wings were stilled with exhaustion, and his energy waned, hope did not leave him. He died but he did not die knowing. Killed by the morning dew of an empty web, an house emptied by a spider skipping town. Her heart beats alone while the menfolk fight for glory trial and pain and spring dew so round like rainfall frozen. Clouds clump the sky but do not burst, the augur is out of town and noone is calling. A red pissed on well pissed on hydrant standing near brick, plastered, stuccoed, painted, anything to erase its past stained with graffiti. Still, shadows lurk with cans at the ready, self aware public nuisances, defacing everything in their warped image like dogs pissing. An underpass plastered with the marks of maladaption. Disgruntled youth fighting against their tearing mouths ripped upward by the hooks of the hungering who want to scale and eat them. We set out on the ice to fish, cracking our rods down deep with hammers. The mist swelled and we shattered the icy veil, splitting the lake to fractals, and it split the ice a thousand times, and it split a thousand times more, and I thought we were going to die. When our unease was lifted, it was like looking down at a glass bridge cracking over a drowned city. The glass cracked but held our weight. So we fished anyways, because if it didnt break from the spiderwebs splaying frosted cracks, it would never crack from our still tugging, stealing, filleting, flaying the little children of the lake. He erupted from the lake like splintered crystal leaping skyward, leaping gator through ice get out of the water theres an aligator that lept through the veil slipping and thrashing nobody moved we were so frozen in shock, the ice rippled and shattered, and she stared at the scared face in the web, his tears were like the morning dew and his wings were still.

Record yourself reading this in a vocaroo, and then listen to yourself read it aloud three times. Make further changes to the rhythm and images and try to start sewing things that go against the symbolic flow of the poem. It is time to start sewing things together until they fit together. Add lines, do not subtract lines yet though.

The dead dragonfly marbled in morning dew, frozen in a web soaked by morning dew. Hope did not leave him when his wings stilled with exhaustion. Faith did not leave him when his energy waned and the night set on him. He died but he didn't die knowing. Slain by the morning dew of an empty web, a house emptied by spiders skipping town. Her heart beats alone while the menfolk compete for glory: trial and pain and spring dew so round like rainfall frozen. Clouds swallow the sky full but do not burst, the augur is out for lunch and noone is calling. A red pissed on well pissed on hydrant stands near brick, plastered, painted, anything to erase its previous past stained with graffiti. Still, shadows lurk at the ready. Cans in hand, half aware public nuisances defacing everything in their warped image like dogs pissing. An underpass scarred with the marks of maladaption. Disgruntled youth fighting against their ripping mouths torn upward by the hooks of the hungering, patiently reeling to scale and eat them. We too set out on the ice to fish, hungry, cracking our rods down deep with hammers. The mist swelled and we shattered the icy veil, splintering the lake to fractals, and it split the ice a thousand times, and it split a thousand times more, and I knew there that we too were going to die. When our unease was lifted, it was like looking down at a glass bridge cracking over a drowned city. The glass cracked but held our weight so we fished anyways, because if it didnt break from the spiderwebs splaying frosted cracks, it would never crack from our still tugging, filleting, and flaying the little children of the lake. He erupted from the water like splintered crystal leaping skyward, leaping angel to sinning world. He lept through the veil, fins thrashing with hope. Nobody moved. We were so frozen in shock, the ice rippled and shattered, and she stared at the scared face in the web, his tears were like morning dew and his wings were still.

The dead dragonfly was marbled in morning dew, frozen in a web soaked by morning dew. Hope never abandoned him when his wings stilled with exhaustion. Faith never left him when his energy waned and night set on him. He died but he didn't die knowing. Slain by the morning dew of an empty web, abandoned by widows skipping town. Her heart beat alone while the menfolk thrashed for glory: trial and pain and spring dew so round like rainfall frozen. Clouds swallowed the sky full but didn't burst, the augur is out for lunch and noone is calling. A red pissed on well pissed on hydrant stands near a brick wall plastered and painted: anything to erase its stained past faded with graffiti. Now, shadows lurk at the ready. Cans in hand, half aware public nuisances defacing all that is bare in their warped image like dogs pissing. An underpass scarred with the marks of maladaption. Thrashed youth fighting against their ripping mouths torn upward by the hooks of the hungering, reeling patiently to scale and eat them. We too set out on the ice to fish, hungry, cracking our rods down deep with hammers. The mist swelled and we shattered the icy veil, splintering the lake to fractals. It split the lake a thousand times, while the water gasped for air. and I knew there that we too were going to die and be consumed. When our unease was lifted, it was like peering down from a glass bridge cracking over a drowned city. The glass cracked but held our weight so we fished anyways, because if it didnt break from the spiderwebs splaying frosted cracks, it would never crack from our still tugging, flaying, and filleting the little children of the lake. He erupted from the water like splintered crystal leaping skyward, leaping angel to sinning world. Ripped through the veil, his fins thrashed with hope. Nobody moved. We were so frozen in shock, the ice rippled and shattered, and she stared at the scared face in the web, his tears stained his face like morning dew and his wings were still.

Make him give poetic feedback mid scansion while he fights against sleep. implement his advice as much as possible in a single burst of effort without procrastinating:

-So far it introduces strong images, but explain the images rather than let them stand alone -Pay attention to breaths and readability as there are run on sentences that trail. -Write sentences that are less mouthfuls -Don’t mix abstract with actual -Too much thrown on the eye in a short space of time --a la: Ice lake, glass bridge, drowned city -"If it hadn’t broken then it would never break" better meter -fuck unease being lifted thats weak sauce -mixing too many images, -look for ability to create plurality in images -multivalent in its reading

He erupted like splintered crystal, like leaping angel to sinning world. The dragonfly emmarbled in morning dew, frozen in a web weighed by morning dew. Hope never abandoned him when his wings stilled with exhaustion. Faith never left him as his chances waned with the night settling. He died loved but he didn't die knowing. Slain by the morning dew meshed to silk, spun round brazen youth who'd take no warning. "It's as if the world is numb to my words." Clouds swallowed the sky whole but did not burst--the augur remained truthful, but none were counting. Her heart beat alone while men thrashed through her pain, and her trials, and webbed dew round like rainfall frozen. We parked near a well pissed-on hydrant near a brick wall plastered and painted gray: anything to forget a past stained by shadows longing to reemerge: Half-aware nuisances, defacing all that's bare with their warped hands like dogs pissing. An underpass scarred with the marks of mal-adaption. Thrashed youth fighting against their ripping mouths, torn upward by the hooks of the hungering. We set over the frozen lake to fish, His hammer thundered for a novel hole: Crack. Shatter. The mists swelled with spray, and he splintered the ice to fractals. He freed the lake a thousand times, and the water gasped against the blue air. I knew there that we, too, were going to die and be consumed. The ice cracked but held our weight. She said it felt like peering down from the glass bridge to Heaven, as it broke over our raptured bodies. Our feet atop the frozen web of cracks, "If it hasn’t broken yet, will it ever break" from our catching, flaying, and filleting the little children of the lake. He erupted swimming skyward like splintered crystal, like leaping angel to sinning world. Ripped beyond the veil, his hopeful fins thrashing in space. She cried out as the ice rippled, as the ice ruptured, as she stared out at that same boy from the web. Tears stained his face like morning dew and his wings were frozen still.

Use a throwaway email without including an author bio. Title it Sodom because the fish imagery related to the line about angels and it gave you some bizarre sodomic multivalent subnarrative you can further express through titularity, possibly misleading readers. Stress edit the poem with further last minute changes as the poems raw text sits in the email box.

Sodom

He erupted like splintered crystal, like leaping angel to sinning world. The dragonfly emmarbled in morning dew, frozen in a web weighed by morning dew. Hope never abandoned him when his wings stilled with exhaustion. Faith never left him as his chances waned with the night settling. He died loved but he did not die knowing. Slain by the morning dew meshed to silk, spun round brazen youth who'd take no warning. "It's as if the world is numb to my words." Clouds swallowed the sky whole but did not burst--the augur remained truthful, but none were counting. Her heart beat alone while men thrashed through her pain, and her trials, and webbed dew round like rainfall frozen. We parked near a well pissed-on hydrant near a brick wall plastered and painted gray Half-aware nuisances, defacing all that's bare like dogs pissing. Cold beneath an underpass scarred with the marks of mal-adaption. Left by thrashed youth fighting against their ripping mouths, torn upwards by the hooks of the hungering. We set out over the frozen lake to fish, His hammer thundered for a novel hole: Crack. Shatter. The mists swelled with spray as he splintered the ice to fractals. He freed the lake a thousand times, and the water gasped with blue air. I knew there that we, too, were going to die and be consumed. The ice cracked but held our weight. She said it felt like peering down from the glass bridge to Heaven, while it crumbled above our raptured bodies. Our feet atop the crystal web of veins, "If it hasn’t broken yet, will it ever break," catching, flaying, and filleting the little children of the lake. He erupted skyward, swimming like a splintered child, like leaping angel to sinning world. Ripped beyond the veil, his hopeful fins thrashing with faith. She cried out when the ice rippled, when the ice ruptured, when she stared out at that same boy from the web. Tears stained his face like morning dew and his wings were frozen still.

Record this in a vocaroo emphatically, with great attention to rhythm, and then listen to its playback. Pay attention to the meter and rhythm which is evoked from the text, and make small changes if possible. Stare at the poem for an afternoon then ask your mother to read it. Make edits in the poem knowing this. Say goodbye to the fish.

Sodom

He erupted like splintered crystals, like leaping angel to sinning world. A dragonfly emmarbled in morning dew, frozen in a web weighed by morning dew. Hope never abandoned him when his wings stilled with exhaustion. Faith never left him while his chances waned with the night's onset. He died loved but he did not die knowing. By the morning, dew meshed across silk, spun round a brazen youth who heeded no warning. "It's as if the world has numbed to our words." Said she. Cloud swallowed sky without stopping to breath --the augur remained truthful, though none were counting. Her heart beat alone while men thrashed past her ghosts, without pause for the webbed dew, round like rainfall frozen. We'd parked near a well pissed-on hydrant, near a brick wall plastered and painted gray-- Half-aware nuisances were defacing all that's bare and young like dogs pissing. Goosebumps beneath the underpass scarred with the marks of mal-adaption, left by thrashed youth fighting against their ripping mouths, torn upwards by the hooks of the hungering. We set out over the frozen lake to fish, His hammer thundered for a novel hole: Crack. Shatter. Mists swelling with spray as he splintered the ice to fractals. He freed the lake a thousand times, and the water gasped for air. I knew there that we, too, would one day die and be consumed. The ice cracked but held our weight. She said it felt like peering down from the glass bridge to Heaven, while it crumbled above our raptured bodies. "If it hasn’t broken yet, will it ever break," Our feet atop the crystal web, catching, flaying, and filleting the little children of the lake. He erupted skyward, swimming like boy ripped from her hands, like leaping angel to sinning world, blue hands thrashing with faith hopeful. Only ten minutes to the hospital. She cried out when the lake rumbled, Crack. Shatter when she stared out at the boy laid in the web. Her tears stained his face like morning dew and his wings were still.

Record this in a vocaroo again, give an evening go at a revision, listen for metrical errors and clunkyness, still too early in revisions to kill your children yet. Still too early in your juvenilia to kill your children yet. Think how if you thought of using ichthus five revisions before this you could have left an acrostic too. Ask the last poetry professor you had to read it over because you've exhausted all other semi-literary peers even though she won't respond because she's an adjunct swimming in perfunction and you're a derelict poetaster who didn't read enough Mary Oliver. See if you can play around a little with syntax and enjambment. Think how that professor stressed Mary Oliver's definition of poetic delineation, going "prose is printed (or written) within the confines of margins, while poetry is written in lines that do not necessarily pay any attention to the margins, especially the right margin."

Sodom

He erupted like splintered crystals, like leaping angel meets sinning world. A dragonfly emmarbled in morning dew, frozen in a web weighed by morning dew. Faith never left him as his chances waned with the night's onset. When his wings were exhaustion-stilled hope did not leave him. He died loved but he didn't die knowing. By the morning, dew meshed sun to white silk, spun for a brazen youth who needed no warnings. "It's as if the world had numbed to our words." Said she. Clouds swallowed the skies without breathing --the augur remained truthful, though by now none were counting. Her heart beat alone while men thrashed past her ghosts, without pause for the webbed dew, round like rainfall frozen. We'd parked near a well pissed-on hydrant, near a brick wall plastered painted gray-- Half-aware nuisances were defacing all that's bare and young like dogs pissing. Goosebumps beneath the underpass, scarred with the marks of mal-adaption, left by caned youth fighting against their ripping mouths, torn upwards by the hooks of the hungering. We trawled over the frozen lake to fish, His hammer thundered an ichthus hole: Crack. Shatter. Mists swelling with spray as he splintered the ice to fractals. He freed the lake ten thousand ways, and the water gasped for air. I knew there that we, too, would one day die and be consumed. The ice shattered but held our weight. She said it felt like peering down from the glass bridge to Heaven, while it crumbled above our raptured bodies. "If it hasn’t broken yet, will it ever break," Our feet atop the crystal web, catching, flaying, and filleting the little children of the lake. He erupted skyward, swimming like boy ripped from her hands, like leaping angel to sinning world, blue hands thrashing-faith-hopeful. Ten minutes now to the hospital. She cried out when the lake rumbled, Crack. Shatter when she stared at the softlaid boy in the web. Tears stained his face like rain on morning dew and his wings were still.

A poem in six images

Description and example of an exercise in process

The initial prompt, 6 images.

Acclimating yourself to the colors of your palette.

Read through draft 1 aloud three times.

Read through draft 2 aloud three times.

Record yourself reading this in a vocaroo.

Force Leon to read this aloud to you while it is 4:00am in London.

Submit this poem to an online poetry magazine with 7 followers.

Sodom

Feel the words for the first time. Allow your heart to pause when you realize what you've written about.

Sodom

Regret wasting 7 years in community college when the professors you went to class for won't even respond to you anymore.

Sodom

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