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> Scarecrow Fair, Prose poem/sonnet
Guest_Kathy_*
post May 22 07, 14:31
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Scarecrow Fair.

as young folk gather for this festival they're quite a scruffy lot in knitted hats
and sandals ragged coats against the chill both sexes wearing feathers some have mats
as if they've come to pray inside they've set up stalls recycled clothes and books some art
a place behind a veil where you can get an oriental massage there's a part
with tables for petitions save the trees the land musicians come and go they sing
of eagles oceans mountains tigers pleas to stop the carnage start reforesting
at last I see a revolution here a people's army in defence of gaia


Scarecrow Fair.

Now young folk gather for this festival.
They're quite a scruffy lot, in knitted hats
and sandals, ragged coats against the chill,
both sexes wearing feathers. Some have mats
as if they've come to pray. Inside they've set
up stalls; recycled clothes and books, some art,
a place behind a veil where you can get
an oriental massage. There's a part

with tables for petitions: save the trees,
the land. Musicians come and go, they sing
of eagles, oceans, mountains, tigers...pleas
to stop the carnage, start reforesting.

At last I see a revolution here;
a people's army in defence of Gaia.
 
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Guest_merganser_*
post May 22 07, 14:38
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interesting variation in iambic decameter internal rhyme no punctuation capitalization but internal rhyme and good internal bostonian rhyme for the erstwhile couplet though I guess I just see this as a pretty good sonnet thinly veiling itself as prose
 
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Guest_Kathy_*
post May 22 07, 16:52
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i guess youre right i was just coming to take it off and though i thought it might illustrate prosepoetry for you i have a better one but it will have to wait
 
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Judi
post May 24 07, 09:47
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QUOTE (Kathy @ May 22 07, 15:31 ) [snapback]96467[/snapback]
Scarecrow Fair.

as young folk gather for this festival they're quite a scruffy lot in knitted hats
and sandals ragged coats against the chill both sexes wearing feathers some have mats
as if they've come to pray inside they've set up stalls recycled clothes and books some art
a place behind a veil where you can get an oriental massage there's a part
with tables for petitions save the trees the land musicians come and go they sing
of eagles oceans mountains tigers pleas to stop the carnage start reforesting
at last I see a revolution here a people's army in defence of gaia


I really like the words in this. I think it would be more effective if you used capitals and commas ..
When reading this aloud, it is almost like reading it in monotone, and the words are very colorful

I think that presenting it in a more formal way would enhance the sound of it as it is read aloud.
If the individual lines were shorter you might be able to use this type of style because the line
breaks take the place of punctuation.

I have no nits with the words! It is a great poem...as yours usually are! Just a thought to use or lose.

Judy


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Guest_Kathy_*
post May 24 07, 16:07
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Thanks Judi. I did it this way to illustrate the concept of prose poetry, but I'll post it again as a sonnet. I wrote it years ago and thought Gaia was pronounced 'Guy-ah,' but it's 'Jee-ah.'

K
 
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Judi
post May 24 07, 20:12
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QUOTE (Kathy @ May 24 07, 17:07 ) [snapback]96567[/snapback]
Thanks Judi. I did it this way to illustrate the concept of prose poetry, but I'll post it again as a sonnet. I wrote it years ago and thought Gaia was pronounced 'Guy-ah,' but it's 'Jee-ah.'

K


It makes a wonderful sonnet.. Judi


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Guest_Kathy_*
post May 24 07, 20:41
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Thank you. It's another very early one.

As I understand it, prose poetry doesn't have punctuation. I love 'archy and mehitabel' by Don Marquis. The poems are supposed to have been written by a cockroach who is a reincarnated vers libre poet. The cockroach can't work the case keys...

http://www.donmarquis.com/readingroom/archybooks/warty.html

Here's an example of the world as seen through an insect's eyes:

warty bliggens the toad

i met a toad
the other day by the name
of warty bliggens
he was sitting under
a toadstool
feeling contented
he explained that when the cosmos
was created
that toadstool was especially
planned for his personal
shelter from sun and rain
thought out and prepared
for him

do not tell me
said warty bliggens
that there is not a purpose
in the universe
the thought is blasphemy
a little more
conversation revealed
that warty bliggens
considers himself to be
the center of the same
universe
the earth exists
to grow toadstools for him
to sit under
the sun to give him light
by day and the moon
and wheeling constellations
to make beautiful
the night for the sake of
warty bliggens

to what act of yours
do you impute
this interest on the part
of the creator
of the universe
i asked him
why is it that you
are so greatly favored

ask rather
said warty bliggens
what the universe
has done to deserve me
if i were a
human being i would
not laugh
too complacently
at poor warty bliggens
for similar
absurdities
have only too often
lodged in the crinkles
of the human cerebrum

archy

And this one, which I think is hilarious:

http://www.altheim.com/lit/robnworm.html
 
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Judi
post May 24 07, 21:05
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Real Name: Judith Labriola
Writer of: Poetry



QUOTE (Kathy @ May 24 07, 21:41 ) [snapback]96593[/snapback]
Thank you. It's another very early one.

As I understand it, prose poetry doesn't have punctuation. I love 'archy and mehitabel' by Don Marquis. The poems are supposed to have been written by a cockroach who is a reincarnated vers libre poet. The cockroach can't work the case keys...

http://www.donmarquis.com/readingroom/archybooks/warty.html

Here's an example of the world as seen through an insect's eyes:

warty bliggens the toad

i met a toad
the other day by the name
of warty bliggens
he was sitting under
a toadstool
feeling contented
he explained that when the cosmos
was created
that toadstool was especially
planned for his personal
shelter from sun and rain
thought out and prepared
for him

do not tell me
said warty bliggens
that there is not a purpose
in the universe
the thought is blasphemy
a little more
conversation revealed
that warty bliggens
considers himself to be
the center of the same
universe
the earth exists
to grow toadstools for him
to sit under
the sun to give him light
by day and the moon
and wheeling constellations
to make beautiful
the night for the sake of
warty bliggens

to what act of yours
do you impute
this interest on the part
of the creator
of the universe
i asked him
why is it that you
are so greatly favored

ask rather
said warty bliggens
what the universe
has done to deserve me
if i were a
human being i would
not laugh
too complacently
at poor warty bliggens
for similar
absurdities
have only too often
lodged in the crinkles
of the human cerebrum

archy

And this one, which I think is hilarious:

http://www.altheim.com/lit/robnworm.html


LOL, that other poem looks like a rant to me...a very long one!!! Judi


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bbnixon
post May 25 07, 06:49
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Member No.: 409
Real Name: Brenda Nixon Cook
Writer of: Poetry
Referred By:Sampo



Hi Kathy,

I like it either as prose or as a sonnet. My preference is the sonnet. R & M something I struggle with, but yours are beautiful.

I really like Archy's poem, especially the one about the worm, the bird and the cat. Thank you for sharing.

If I was going to transform yours into more prose/free verse I would make each of your lines a strophe...so that it is not so hard for the reader, give him smaller tidbits.. comprehend...maye something like this. I am

young folk gather
for this festive day
a scruffy lot
in knitted hats
and sandals

ragged coats
against the chill
both sexes wearing feathers
some have mats
as if they've come
to pray

I am just playing around with your concept of switching between styles. A very cool thought.

Hope your day is very good

:) brenda


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Guest_Kathy_*
post May 25 07, 07:29
Post #10





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Thanks Brenda. I like your playings. smile.gif

I wrote the same idea as a freeform too. It's a good exercise to write the same thing in different forms, I think.

Best wishes,

K

Verse libra #2

The young people are arriving
for this street theatre menage thing,
and they look like a bunch of scarecrows,
(penny for the guy,)
I remember making effagies long ago
when we dressed our stick and cloth people
in old clothes,
and like armaggedon,
when the graves will open,
here are resurrected discarded rag-pile people
congregating.

Yet they all seem to be so happy.
I don't understand.
Well, I know they are poor,
most of them unemployed,
but they could find something halfway decent
in the opshops to wear,
if they wanted to do it.
Maybe that's significant in some way.

I notice that they seem to favour little knitted beenies
and layer on layer of cotton or wool garments
irregardless of colour or style,
and they all wear leather shoes, mostly sandals,
or else they just go barefoot.
They must have dressed like this on purpose,
perhaps it is a subculture of the young
who eschew all the rules,
subvert the dominant paradigm.

Oh yes! They are here to support each other
and to participate in alternatives;
they buy things from the art displays,
and the aromatherapy stall
spread out on the floor
beside the face painting girl
who is doing quite a business there
as people weave past the massage table
sipping mulled wine
and eating oriental fast food
cooked just over here

next to the banner asking for signatures
to protest against
the destruction of forests and
the freeing of political prisoners and
multinational domination and
the protection of wildlife.

There is a girl on stilts dressed as a tree,
she dances to music from the stage,
where they sing of
social injustice and
racial dysharmony and
personal pain and
they sing the precious beauty of our planet.

Some of the talent is amazing,
that girl's voice is exquisite,
the passion in their songs and poems is tangible.

Emotion seems to
sweep the crowd as
people spontaneously rise
to dance with the tree-lady;
some are dressed
to match her wild spirit,
wearing leaves and flowers,
shells and dangling pendants,
most of them hand made, and

they have feathers in their hair;
one girl has an Indian headdress.
Their dances are just as individual as they are,
some are swaying, some cavorting wildly,
all of them seem happy and fulfilled.

When I wander out to have a smoke
I see that a boy with dreadlocks
has set up a blacksmith's forge
where he is making tongs and ornaments
which he gives away,
"I have no need for money," he tells me,
smiling happily, his face lit like
a saint's in an old painting.

Behind him in the side street
another group are twirling fire sticks,
where a girl dressed as a tiger
dances absorbed in her personal tigerness,
and suddenly I realise
I am in the presence of an army
defending Gaia.
 
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jgdittier
post Jun 2 07, 06:11
Post #11


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Member No.: 58
Real Name: Ron Jones
Writer of: Poetry



Dear Kathy,
A fascinating piece you have here, Goodness to Gaia!
Anything good enough to trip a thought of Mr. Marquis
just has to be great.
Cheers, Ron jgd


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