17. Poetic Forms – Ann Patchett

Prompt 17

It may sound counter-intuitive but sometimes I find creative freedom by venturing into the tightest spaces.

Creativity is a field so vast and open that sometimes I freeze up (Deer. Headlights.). What can I write about? Anything? I do not wish for an infinite number of choices. It may sound counter-intuitive but sometimes I find creative freedom by venturing into the tightest spaces. I am by no means a poet, but I like to write poetry that's incredibly formal and restrictive. When I have to focus on counting syllables and cycling through a small number of words, it's almost as if I'm looking in the other direction and great ideas can walk right up to me.

Start with a simple haiku and see how it feels. Take awhile to practice. If you like it, try a sonnet. There are lots of different kinds of sonnets to choose from. Try out a few and see what fits. My favorite form is a sestina. It's ridiculously complicated and fun. I can't tell you the number of times my sister and I have sat in a restaurant (back in the old days) writing dueling sestinas on the backs of paper placemats. She loves Sudoku and I think it uses the same part of her brain.

I wanted to write something about mice, and so I wrote a sestina from the mouse's perspective. The point of it wasn't the poem for me, it was that I was trying to get into the mouse's head. As weird as it sounds, it works for me. – Ann Patchett

 
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Prompt:

Pick out a poetic form and give it a try.


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Alicia Di Scipio

Location: Santa Monica, California
About: Originally from Boulder, Colorado, I moved to LA to work as a music supervisor for film/TV. I studied Creative Writing in college but this project was the push and routine I needed to remind me of how writing adds to my life. This piece is a sestina written in an old wooden chair from Lucia Lodge in Big Sur, California.
Age: 25

Allergies 

I sit in an old wooden chair outside my room at the top of the cliff

I can hear the muffled echoes of the ocean below

Green hills that look more like Ireland than Central California roll into the blue waves

There are birds everywhere

My eyes are puffy and the roof of my mouth itches until I sneeze and I sneeze until I find a tissue, allergies

My freckled skin is warm despite it being 10am, I don’t want to leave 

I wish I could say I loved to watch you leave

But it was like running full speed off a cliff

I thought you were medicine but it turned out you were the allergies

Being with you felt like flying only to have the floor fall through below

The rubble was everywhere

I used to drown in your eyes, now I drown in the waves 

They look like diamonds, the way they sparkle, the waves

I slip into a ribbed black one piece bathing suit before I leave

There are birds everywhere

The white picket fence couldn’t stop someone from dropping off the cliff

Flowers line the grassy mountain below

A hummingbird flies by right as I sneeze, allergies 

I thought I was immune to your charm, but you came on strong, like Spring allergies

You stained my life like wine yet how strange we never swam in the ocean waves

Being seen with you was like flying and watching our feet dangle below

But the flying ended and it was time to leave

We parted ways on top of a cliff

Missing you was like the birds, fucking everywhere 

There are birds everywhere

There are flowers growing out of gravel, allergies

I’m happy here, on top of this cliff

Bells that sound like church chimes come from the small restaurant up the road, they harmonize with the waves

The sun is now scorching, it’s 10:55, almost time to leave

I push myself out of the old wooden chair and take in the water below 

Funny to think we’ll never sit here, watching the green turn into blue turn into white below

We’ll never say, “there are birds everywhere”

We’ll never dump the ice bucket into the flower bed right before we leave

You’ll never kiss my forehead as my eyes get puffy from allergies

I’ll never sit in that old wooden chair painting the sky while you hum and write about the waves 

Because right now I’m alone, on the hill, on the cliff 

It’s 11:15, my eyes skirt around the room, I clean the sink and check the drawer below

It’s 11:17, my nose starts to run, allergies 

It’s 11:20, I’ll miss having these birds everywhere

11:21, “goodbye my delicate friends,” I think to the waves 

I pack up my car, it’s 11:30, I leave

Oh what a way to pass the time, in an old wooden chair outside a little room at the top of a hill, on the side of a cliff 

I Remember It Hurt 

I remember it hurt, not being able to breathe 

Like getting punched in the stomach while upside down in the shower It was cold and rough and I was sweating 

I remember thinking my head felt fine while my brain was flooded 

The moment I thought I was in the clear,  

There you were with your fist ready to turn on the faucet 

The handle was icy when I grazed the faucet 

I was so shocked I had to remind myself to breathe 

Standing there dripping wet, it was crystal clear 

You never touched me in the shower 

The way you’d turn away, the memories were flooded 

The handle was icy but I was still sweating 

My blue eyes can see us in your bed sweating 

You always got up to fill a tall glass with water from the faucet 

I’d drink laying down until I spilled all over the jersey sheets. Flooded.  You’d kiss me while laughing, with water in my nose, I couldn’t breathe.  You’d say nothing. Just stand up and walk toward the shower.  

We were happy and horny and all feelings were clear.  

Then things became a little less clear 

We didn’t speak when we woke up, you’d go for a run and come back sweating I’d smile, take off my clothes and get in the shower 

Minutes would go by, finally I’d turn off the faucet 

The way you’d pass by me made it hard to breathe 

Two twenty minute showers. The bathroom was flooded 

From then on, I was all in my head. My insecurities unraveled and flooded In hindsight, it was all pretty clear 

This wasn’t the fun type of speechless. Constantly gasping to breathe 

This wasn’t the fun type of exerting energy. The anxious sweating 

The bathroom became a battleground. A child in the middle of custody became of the faucet Of course you never touched me. You never stepped into the shower 

I think a lot about those years. Mainly in the shower 

How my heart felt flooded 

How my love for you was like a broken faucet 

How the idea of you and me together forever seemed so clear 

The way you could look at me for a moment. Or graze my back and I’d start sweating One kiss from you and I couldn’t breathe 

I need to shower.  

My mind is finally clear.  

We were all or nothing. Famine or flooded.  

Ice cold or drenched. Sweating.  

I turn off the faucet.  

I stop thinking of you. I breathe. 


Alison Bartlett

Location: Ontario, Canada
About: Inspired by the format of writing a sestina

On the Nature of Daylight – 

I had a dream, we lay down together

On a bed with no edges.

We faced East towards the ocean & watched the waves.

All you could hear was the wind,

Nothing began or ended

And everything felt alright. 



Suspend all preconceptions, where boundaries dissolve alright?

A transformation is enabled that allows for indeterminacy & freedom to exist together.

How would you feel if everything suddenly ended?

If a field of grass suddenly had thick edges,

If you bore witness to the last gust of wind

And the crests flattened, forever erasing the waves? 



But not everything exists as a means to an end, look at the waves!

They are within a larger system, they are not singular, alright?

Look beneath the surface, that is where we all lay, together.

If you still can only see the edges,

Please know it does not mean it had ended. 



It is within this threshold, where a moment may have passed, but certainly has not ended.

What happens when the crests of the waves relapse into a state of indeterminacy with no edges?

We can exist in liminality and still be alright.

Would it comfort you to know that we lay together?

If it was so simple as returning to the wind? 



However, we can’t place all of the responsibility on the wind –

It can’t delineate what has begun or ended,

Or decipher what stands apart or together.

Nor those who hold a will akin to the waves hold the power to decide. Disregard Nietzsche, it’s alright

To subserve an existence amongst fuzzy lines, with no clear edges 



Why must we run towards light reflecting off sharp edges?

Widen your horizon, kill your ego, everywhere is shining, just listen to the wind.

And maybe you too can transcend complexities & seek salvation in being simply, alright.

Acknowledge that the ocean does not truly have edges,

And that the waves,

Can always remind us despite ourselves, that we exist together.

And if it is alright, I invite you to suspend yourself between the edges,

Where we lay together, to nothing but the wind,

Facing towards what has begun or ended, with the freedom of returning to the will of the waves.

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Elle Cheng Li Ling

Location: Singapore
About: A lot of the time the greatest obstacle to my creating or even engaging in anything is the belief that I'm not enough. During the lockdown I faced books that I wanted to read, activities that I wanted to do but which I was also hesitant to engage with because of the nagging voice in the back of my head about what I have to do with whatever I learn from it, how I have to make it great for myself. My Day 17 journal entry, where I explored a poetic form, was me coming to recognise that, and while my approach was to disappear and erase the pressure to perform through erasing myself, I'm glad I put the whole phenomenon in words.
Age: 19

My floor fan buzzes, my mind kind of blanks

Ann Patchett who is this lady

Maybe one day I'll be enough well read

There are so many things to achieve

To be; scientist, artist, someone you can't forget

I like to watch the waves-- they seem okay with waves alone.

Past the fields, at the end of the creek, she lives alone.

If you tried looking again you'd only find blanks

Blanks to the dotted lines, soon you will forget

Unless somehow you chance upon a solitary lady

With only sugar to acquire and cupcakes to achieve

And occasionally, only occasionally, who allows herself to read

Once upon a time and worlds unimaginable, only will she read

Only about misfits of three fingers and outcasts and those abandoned alone.

Not ready yet for Einstein or Picasso; Achieve, achieve

____, ____

She wishes for alphabets only, this lady

Stirs in her soup to happily forget

What was her name again? You forget

Did you not ask or had you not read

The handbook of the lady

Who wandered the forest alone

(Now you know!) Whose sentences littered blanks

Who only had cupcakes to achieve

How much she could achieve

You think, if only she tried and did not forget

If she spoke less in blanks

With less fantasy to read

A lady of her sort should not loiter, not to mention alone

How dangerous, how unbefitting a lady

No name, The lady

She watches the water flow over her feet, nothing to achieve

Worse is the chatter, better she is alone

How happy although she still tries to forget

Not so much regret but in peace! can't she read

Without voices in her head she tries to fire into blanks

Soon she exists alone and ceases to be the lady

No blanks, not even to 'achieve'

Soon you forget and she can finally read.


Heather Viviano

Location: Seattle, WA
About: I was out on a walk and passed the local school playground. I felt sad that it was empty, all of the children on a "stay at home order." I wrote some lyrical poetry about this, inspired by the schoolyard and the "Poetic Form" prompt.
Age: 51


Since I'm not a writer, I'm not well versed in poetic form, but I gave it a go.

Thought about this after my walk yesterday. It's more like a song than a poem.

The Schoolyard

Walkin' down the same old road

I didn't think I'd find

A field of grass and wildflowers

With no footprints left behind




No traces of the childhood fun

That floats on in with spring

No games of tag, capture the flag

You've cancelled everything




You never asked, just came on in

Hell bent to start a war

You've ruined plans, please understand

You're not welcome anymore




And can you tell me

Who's gonna save our souls?

Can you tell me

All the stories left untold?

Yeah, tell me

When we rise at the break of day

Will all the shadows melt away?




I wonder when the tricks and lies'

Became an option for

The righteous path, those sacred words

From those who've come before




You offer me no answers

Elusive as you are

You're just a thief who's takin' lives

And pushing things too far




I know an army, gloved and masked

Who's come to take you down

Take out your war, show you the door

And you'll stop comin' 'round




And they'll tell me

Who's gonna save our souls

And they'll tell me

All the stories left untold

Yeah, tell me

When we rise at the break of day

If all our shadows will melt away




I'll walk on down that road tomorrow

Waiting for the day

When I can hear the children laughing

Lost inside their play




Blades of grass and wildflowers 

bent beneath their song

This is what the schoolyard wanted, 

asked for all along




And it will tell us

Who's gonna save our souls

And it will tell us

All the stories left untold

Yeah, and tell us

When we rise at the break of day

That all our shadows will melt away




Melt away

In the schoolyard

Wildflowers, the schoolyard, schoolyard

The schoolyard




Katie Wesolek

Location: Nashville, TN
About: I wrote a limerick and some haikus expressing my frustration with the state of the world.
Age: 35

Poetry?  Funny you should ask.  It's not usually my jam, but I do love the challenge of contorting myself into the smallest of spaces, physically and creatively.  Coincidentally, I wrote a bunch of quarantine haikus earlier this week, just for funsies.  This morning, I wrote a limerick.

This virus has all of us stuck

And some of us down on our luck

Let us stock up on booze

And turn off the news

Raise our glasses and not give a fuck

Here are a few of the haikus:

COVID-19 sounds

like generic birth control

or an STI

woke up yesterday

thinking it was tomorrow

what even is time

Zooming with my friends

They have growing kids, but I

scallion in shot glass


sourdough starter

feels like playing Yukon Trail

now let's pan for gold


Marisa Siegel

Location: Westchester, New York
About: Marisa Siegel lives, writes, and edits near NYC. Her essay “Inherited Anger” appears in the anthology BURN IT DOWN (Seal Press, 2019), and her debut poetry chapbook FIXED STARS is forthcoming from Burrow Press. Follow her on Twitter @marisasaystweet.
Age: 37

Pandemic Villanelle

The safety in distance belies the need

for connection on which we’re built—

or, we are built for viruses to breed.

Systems fail with astonishing speed,

and the ground beneath begins to tilt.

We cower, together or alone, in overwhelming need.

We watch with exhaustion as the endless greed

ravages all, blind to blood spilt

and the billionaires watch dollar signs breed.

This is a disaster! buries the lede

and the scope of harm is wider than guilt—

we were never what a healthy Earth would need.


Still, there are poems to write and mouths to feed

and under this pressure what wouldn’t wilt?

We search out strands from which hope might breed.

Take in your hands this very small seed

and carry it with you to plant in the silt

at the river’s edge; give to find what you need—

learn from what’s passed and allow life to breed.


Sydney Wagner

About: Poetry has always intimidated me, so I decided to go for the simplest form I know: the haiku. I ended up with three pages of them, but this one is my favorite.
Age:
23

The water beckons

Come home, it seems to call out 

Come lose yourself here