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a wordle poem for big tent poetry

September 17, 2010

Our prompt this week at Big Tent Poetry is a wordle, a challenge to use all the words in the fancy graphic in a poem. There were twelve words: child, half-eaten, skirt, debris, swarm, dock, evidence, chant, embellish, answer, backbone and temporary. Here’s how I did:

POEM REMOVED FOR EDITING.

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*I added this parenthetical phrase only to get the word “temporary” in. When I started to look through for places to add “chant” and “embellish,” the only other two I was missing, I decided to stop the madness. I am happy with it as it is!

I can’t quite explain my fascination with the seasons right now (reflected in this piece in the title). I am quite sure there are enough poems about the seasons. And crows.

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Go see how many different kinds of poems everyone gets from the same words!

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38 Comments
  1. September 17, 2010 6:31 am

    The first three stanzas as so reflective of the title that the fourth comes as a shock and then continues the schizophrenic journey.

    • September 17, 2010 9:52 pm

      it does take a bit of a turn in that fourth stanza.

  2. September 17, 2010 7:32 am

    “Until recently, I had been carrying
    three female versions of myself in the trunk.
    This morning from the bridge, just before dawn,
    I heaved the last one into the river.”

    Superb!

    timeless flies search for fries

  3. September 17, 2010 8:54 am

    Sometimes I have trouble (imagine that a writer having trouble) with words. This one really makes me think. I really enjoyed it. Love and Light, Sender

    • September 17, 2010 9:53 pm

      yes, sender, it’s not light or easy. thanks for reading!

  4. September 17, 2010 9:54 am

    love the nature of this piece.
    well done!

  5. September 17, 2010 10:41 am

    Beautifully written, if a tad macabre at the end, but it kept me reading!

    • September 17, 2010 9:54 pm

      i’ll take “macabre”! especially when it’s preceded by “beautifully written.” thanks, viv!

  6. September 17, 2010 12:23 pm

    Oh my, Carolee, this is a glorious romp through the broken shards of the mirror held up to the insides of your heart. I caught it, caught the wave of it. I laughed out loud at the three versions of you, and wanted to shout to you on the bridge, “No, no, wait!” Then I realized there’s plenty more where those three come from πŸ˜€

    Giving Them Air

    That’s why I switched cars
    and bought my new wagon.
    I really got sore.
    The noise from my trunk
    became unbearable when
    my impatience rose
    among the shadows
    kept there and now I let them
    roam free in the back.

    • September 17, 2010 9:56 pm

      how many bodies do you think i’m carrying around in my trunk? πŸ˜‰ though i can relate to him some, i am not the narrator. and i am not sure exactly what he’s been up to.

  7. September 17, 2010 2:09 pm

    I too, love the three different versions kept in the trunk, it hit quite close to home. I really like this poem and how it seems to dance back and forth between the inner and outer worlds as well as the seasons.

    Elizabeth

    • September 17, 2010 9:57 pm

      thanks, elizabeth. good thing i don’t always know where the line is between the inner/outer worlds. makes it a bit easier. πŸ™‚

  8. September 17, 2010 4:28 pm

    we are always in one season or another, either welling up, or falling away

  9. September 17, 2010 4:49 pm

    Wow.

    • September 17, 2010 9:59 pm

      hi, dale! good to see you around — glad you’re here reading!

  10. September 17, 2010 5:05 pm

    I like the sense of menace you convey in this. Those changing seasons reveal things we might not always care to see. I also like how the line “this is not a drill” foreshadows the end of the piece. Great read.

    And, you can’t have too many poems about crows…

    • September 17, 2010 10:00 pm

      that’s exactly right, james. the drill foreshadows the invasion. phew. glad it is noticeable. πŸ™‚

  11. September 17, 2010 6:34 pm

    A surprise in the poem, liked the unexpected!

    • September 17, 2010 10:00 pm

      this piece surprised me all along the way while i was writing it. i love when that happens.

  12. September 17, 2010 7:40 pm

    This rocks.

  13. September 17, 2010 8:18 pm

    OK, I am going to be unoriginal and say the same thing a few others have said. I loved the three different versions in a trunk. Priceless.I too am fascinated with seasons right now. Though I don’t mind autumn, I hate the transition…as I so very much love summer and hate winter. Yours is a wordle at its best

    • September 17, 2010 10:01 pm

      hi, mary! i don’t hate any of the seasons except february and humidity. i know those aren’t their real names, but that’s what i hate. πŸ™‚

      i’m so glad you enjoyed the poem.

  14. September 17, 2010 9:55 pm

    well done Carolee…thanks for sharing your words

  15. September 17, 2010 10:04 pm

    A fine, fine wordle poem – intriguing and slightly chilling. A trunk full of she/me’s is handy.

  16. September 17, 2010 10:28 pm

    a lovely adventure into the dark side of things..and oh so poetic… little hints of there and here… transposing life and death… trunks always come in handy… the surprise shock of one found behind the shed… subtle and divine… maybe it was the half-eaten apple one couldn’t throw away… dorothy calling

  17. September 17, 2010 11:48 pm

    you are a girl after my own heart!You were not kidding when you said we were both dark this week but this is awesome! I was inspired by the prompts this week because of my background in Criminal Justice one of my main focus’s was the study of serial killers! Whoa then I read this! Carrying 3 female versions of myself in the trunk? Amazing! great work!!!

  18. September 18, 2010 2:31 am

    Mice make beds/in any dead thing they choose:

    The child did not know what to expect:
    a hand over her mouth, one up her skirt.
    Mud in her teeth holds evidence

    a half-eaten apple./It has your bite marks in it, so I keep it.

    three female versions of myself in the trunk.

    slow bees

    I read this poem several times; it’s a cracker. I’ve highlighted my absolute favourite lines (‘slow bees’ -awesome) but the whole is just wonderful. And frightening.

  19. September 18, 2010 9:25 am

    Carolee a beautifully written piece!
    Pamela

  20. September 18, 2010 1:26 pm

    Rotting on the floor of my car,
    debris from our romance, a half-eaten apple.
    It has your bite marks in it, so I keep it…

    I love these lines

  21. September 18, 2010 2:34 pm

    (There cannot be too many crow poems.)

    I like how the poem is (for me) a serial in and of itself because each stanza feels like its own poem. That adds to the foreboding sense, which is how I personally come to each change in seasons.

    I love the lonely bees best, but it is because they speak to me. πŸ™‚ Thank you for channeling them on my behalf. πŸ™‚

  22. September 18, 2010 6:39 pm

    I reread this several times and found new things to appreciate each time. I think you’ve done an amazing job capturing the tone of impending winter.

  23. September 18, 2010 8:29 pm

    A lot of pondering in this poem. If you threw out the versions what is left, the original? I also feel sorry for the comatosed bees
    developing a nicotine habit and I like the souvenir sentimentality of the bite marks in the apple.An excellent exercise in surrealism.I could never do one as well as this.

  24. September 20, 2010 4:19 pm

    Such a richness of words and images, the splay of images suggest to me trying to connect all the images of the world into even a temporary sense. The construction and sequence of words/images is breathtaking. Thank-you.

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