So time for another daily poem, with a prompt courtesy of NaPoWriMo.net The prompt is a little complicated today so here it is in their own words.
As you may know, although Dickinson is now considered one of the most original and finest poets the United States has produced, she was not recognized in her own time. One reason her poems took a while to gain a favorable reception is their slippery, dash-filled lines. Those dashes baffled her readers so much that the 1924 edition of her complete poems replaced some with commas, and did away with others completely. Today’s exercise asks you to do something similar, but in the interests of creativity, rather than ill-conceived “correction.” Find an Emily Dickinson poem – preferably one you’ve never previously read – and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it! (Not sure where to find some Dickinson poems? Here’s 59 Dickinson poems to select from).
I felt a Funeral, marching marching,
in my brain, and mourners
fro kept treading treading
till it almost seemed that sense was breaking
through and when they all were seated,
a service, like a drum kept beating beating
till I thought my mind
was going numb and then I heard them
lift a box and creak across my soul
with those same boots of treading
lead, again, then space began to toll, as
all the heavens were a bell, and being,
but an ear, and I, and silence, some strange
race, wrecked, solitary, here and
then a plank in reason, broke,
and I dropped down, and down
and hit a world, at every plunge, and finished knowing
The Ayes Have It
This is no
Lord Of The Flies,
Conch shell’s cries.
As we grow,
It’s no surprise
That some spew lies Into those same
While some are stuck asking,
Do you want fries
The so called proletariat tries
From the pages of gaudy tabloids.
Text in to watch the sunrise
Surrounded by beauty with no compromise In
Or where ever.
Let me summarize;
Nothing is about size,
Everything is about size,
Your fellow man.
We’re all born with nothing,
We all die with nothing.
It’s what you do in between,
That’s how you’ll be epitomized