Let’s Write!

For the past two days I’ve featured poems from my Creative Writing class inspired by Irene Latham’s Live Your Poem workshop. Today I’d like to invite you to participate in a Live Your Poem activity! It’s simple! Take a look at this image and tell me what word comes to mind.  Don’t say “phone,” but tell me what this image of a phone makes you think about. What do you associate this image with?What memory do you connect it to? What does it represent in your mind?

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Put your word (or words) in the comment box and over the next few days let’s see if we (or I) can put the words together to make a poem! I’ll post the finished product of our “collaborative” poem and you can tell me if we/I capture the essence of the image (yikes!) No pressure…

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Keys

Here’s another installment in the Irene Latham iconic images poetry! Tyhara Tyrell is another one of my lovely and talented students who chose this striking image and wondered about the significance and symbolism of keys.

What do your keys unlock?
do they unlock anything at all?
or do you simply like their antique jingle?
why do you have so many?
must you compartmentalize all aspects of your life

into separate boxes…?

are they tangible expressions of the secrets that you keep?
are they there to comfort your fingers when you feel lost?
do they reassure you of yourself

to know you hold the key,
the answers,
the truth,
knowing that they are yours
to share,
to never be used if so you choose,
to never be touched

by any other fingers other than your own.
They are yours.
your secrets,
and you don’t owe us any answers.
You don’t owe us any keys.

-Tyhara Tyrell

Check out my other creative student, Darlyze’s, poem “Woman Enough” and other creative works here on Books & Coffee!

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Woman Enough

Well, Poetry month has passed now; I had wanted to post my students’ poetry while it was still APRIL! But I had to BEG to get this ONE! Nonetheless, it is a good one, by Darlyze Calixte, a talented young lady whose not even an English major (Chemistry, go figure)! Anyway, better late than never, right?

So, you may remember my earlier post in which poet, Irene Latham shared some lovely postcards with us and asked us to craft poems from the inspirational images. This is the image that inspired Darlyze to write “Woman Enough”

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He was a man who had just buried years of self loathing into the womb of a woman more handsome than he was.

Each inhale of the black gummy herb, burnt as an offering to the body to bribe it to forget what had led him there in the first place.

Each breath of it brings him no closer so he paints a new memory of her instead.

In his Art, her hair lovingly kisses her back, her  hips provide handles for grip, her bosom is a soft pillow for his head.

Cupid bow lips, porcelain skin unmarred by reality.

With every delicate stroke..hmm, every different stroke…a new “her” was created.

In his painting, she sat like a delicate and limp flower, waiting to be plucked but reality had painted the woman handsome. A cactus. Strong, sturdy, thorny.

And yet,

Just woman enough for him to bury his insecurities in.

Click here for more from my Creative Writing students. For more poetry check out CRACK! and if you like short fiction check out The Looking Glass. Check back soon as I plan to round up more creative works from my students and me!

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CRACK!

i love to rub the small of his back &

glide my hand to the top of the crack

his skin is smooth and muscles taut,

yet none can see what is knot.

the shoulders carry the weight of his kin,

pressures threaten to do him in.

he hides the fears in the folds of his neck,

buries the ache and introspect.

no one knew Samson was weak

‘til one small hand reached to pique,

but the hand of love has healing power

to bolster any leaning tower.

this hand knows well what others see,

his eyes his smile are sweet to me,

but the sweetest is the chocolate silk.

it is the texture of his ilk

beneath the surface where all is calm.

i offer my touch as a sealing balm,

my hand will keep dissenters at bay

allow him respite from the fray.

keeping his soul and strength in tact,

my fingers glide along his back

from the nape of his neck to the top of his crack

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A Day Late

So, I’m not much of a poet, but occasionally I’ll try my hand at it. I thought I would share this poem that I wrote some years ago when I was in a pretty bad slump. I’m sharing this in response to the Daily Post prompt “Gone” because it’s all about missed opportunities and all those great things that are no longer available.

A Day Late 

second-guessing, full of doubt

i’m the one who just missed out.

always get there when it’s done

“oh! you just missed the fun!”

what’s new to me, they knew back when.

I’m ready! now, they’re gone again.

my nose in a book, life passed me by.

What good are words when I die?

“such promise she had,” or so they’ll say

success never came my way.

perhaps it was to keep me humble

that God allowed me to stumble

along…blind as a mole,

comfy in my little hole.

perhaps I had too much pride

hidden deep down inside

whatever.  It’s safe down here, out of sight

i think I’ll stay… it’s quite alright

who needs sunshine? shadows are fine

no crowd to please, to wine or dine

so what, the life I wanted never came?

i overslept and missed the game!

thinking, studying…not fool-hardy

yet messed around and missed the party!

my nose to the window glass,

i long for fame that another has.

i am here, though no one knows

pressing shirts and washing clothes

a hero to my children now

‘til they figure out just how

little I have really done

how few the accolades I’ve won

they’ll go far, do more, excel!

and I’ll be there to wish them well.

success just wasn’t meant for me.

my promise I’ve passed on—they’ll be

everything I never was.

since doubt and worry kept me back

focused on my loss and lack,

when I finally got ready to play

the night had o’ertaken the day

but, of course! you know, i’m just the sort

to get there late…and a dollar short

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