POETRY INVITATIONAL

Genesis

I feel the color in my cheeks rising

again.

White

What is it with all the immaculate

blondes?                                       

Everything else is white – ceiling,

floors, and walls.            

& Adonis still sinks gracefully into

one of the white leather chairs

opposite me.  

Dark

I’m running through dark places

with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t

know if I ‘m running toward

something or                      away

from it…

it’s just not clear.

It’s just not clear if it is

a dark melted chocolate fudge caramel…

or something else.

Red

just a mattress covered in red leather

and red satin cushions piled at one end.

a Red Room of Pain still waiting.

Blue

I drum my fingers impatiently

waiting for the blue

screen to appear.

Exodus

I can’t tell the color under the pulsating

heat of the flashing

lights.

Me and My Teeth

Me and my teeth

all have wavy hair.

After years of braces

I still had a mouthful

of pearls from a broken

necklace.  

Here's what's gone down in my mouth:

a hellish sweatfest I'll never forget,

followed by a gush of blood

the size of a chicken bone.

[A]way from the desk, something else, like planting native grasses in a canyon, a better song for the world.

—Ali Znaidi

POETRY INVITATIONAL 48 HOUR FOUND POETRY CHALLENGE Two Day Submission Period: April 1 & April 2

HELLO WRITERS We’ve got a treat of a challenge for you guys. It's almost as good as chocolate, and it is totally NOT an April Fools Day joke: FOUND POETRY!

A found poem is made of outside text: street signs, speeches, newspaper articles, advertisements, books, the recorded announcement they make on the subway—whatever—reframed as poetry.

WAIT, HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO WRITE THIS POEM? You will find your text somewhere out in the great wide world. Who knows where!?!? The police blotter in your local newspaper HAS to be a great place to start. Or anywhere there is language. Anywhere! Switch the words around a little, take some out, add some in, throw in line breaks, and voila! You've got yourself a found poem.

Read more tasty tidbits about found poetry here. (Or check out some cool examples!) Ready to get going?  

2 FREAKING DAYS!!! Here's the thing—you’ve only got 2 days to do it.  Today, April 1st, and tomorrow, April 2nd. Like all the way until midnight or whatever you call the end of the day, but still, 48 hours.

Don’t overthink! Just make!                                                                                    

NOW WHAT DO I DO?

1. Write that FOUND POEM! Or like...find the thing. We are here for you as POETRY COACHES so email us your found poem (or found poem questions) and we will workshop!

2. SUBMIT Submission Period: April 1—April 2 Submit RIGHT HERE or via email at [email protected] and attach an original picture or artwork or an image along with your poem, if you want.

3. READ ALL THE FOUND POEMS FROM YOUR PALS! Check out poetryinvitational.com for found poems from humans you know and humans you don't, here on planet Earth.

4. SHARE Share your poem once it's posted AND share the challenge with more writer friends!                                                                                                                    

GO FORTH AND FIND! This challenge/writing exercise is an awesome way to start off your April. Open your eyeballs and look out into the world and you'll be surprised by what presents itself. See what you find. See what you can make!

Happy poem hunting,

Beth and Marcella

Honor in death is in truth all in vain The hands of war at your throat hold steel And so blood and metal taste the same

We sacrifice ourselves, each other, in their name While the wheels of war grind bones to meal Honor in death is in truth all in vain

The lengths to which we go proving our faith is insane The truths we imagine are empty; nothing they reveal And so blood and metal taste the same

Understanding and reason we’ll not entertain Rather we fight over myths we insist are real Honor in death is in truth all in vain

Without comprehension of guilt or of pain We’re blind to humanity and lose our ability to feel And so blood and metal taste the same

I would not think it altogether wise, notwithstanding things I may have said, for you to look with longing in my eyes

nor with a gentle, acquiescent sigh to lay your soft, pale body in my bed. I would not think it altogether wise,

though in my youth I may have seized the prize had not my indecision turned to dread when you once looked with longing in my eyes

and I, a foolish boy, was paralyzed. Now, by my soul, I'd surely act instead, still I would not think it altogether wise.

If passing time, like music, would reprise, the interceding years be struck down dead, then, oh then! you could look with longing in my eyes.

I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you Anything you’re asking But I won’t fight you

When I’m not I am nothing but blue When I am it’s like the sun just basking I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you

It seems that you construe My tenderness for lacking But I won’t fight you

Do you see through How much I want to be giving I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you

Perhaps it is taboo How I am thrashing But I won’t fight you

I’ve done something bad Claire your faith in me will not stay sound this horrid thing that isn’t fair

I’ve knocked a man from his chair so steep a fall he won’t rebound I’ve done something bad Claire

my ears deaf to his love’s despair pleas for mercy, no answer found this horrid thing that isn’t fair

to help him up, I wouldn’t dare fear and delight found common ground I've done something bad Claire

his corpse I did not even spare I tied him up and dragged him ‘round this horrid thing that isn’t fair

I need to find a rhyme, I must commit. But sometimes pressure makes it hard to think— (A poem is built, not born, you little shit.)

It's all invisible until I fit Intention, syntax, plot enough to link— (I need to find a rhyme, I must commit.)

I'll choose an awful truth I can admit, One light enough that most of me won't sink— (A poem is built, not born, you little shit.)

There’s cost of course, a suffering to quit. I try to catch up with myself and drink— I need to find a rhyme, I must commit.

You might read this, somewhere, where you sit, And now I’ve said too much, and now I shrink— A poem is built, not born, you little shit.

I wake in the middle of the night, afraid My worries bigger than I thought Haunted by choices I might have made

If I were smarter, I would have prayed (Or maybe that’s silly, to ask the Big Shot) I wake in the middle of the night, afraid

If I were quicker, and not delayed Better guidance I might have sought Haunted by choices I should have made

If I could speak, I might have conveyed – (but I’m inarticulate, distraught) I wake in the middle of the night, afraid

If I could argue, then I’d persuade Myself that I’m just being overwrought: I mean, “Haunted by choices I ought to have made”?

IT AIN'T EASY OR ERRBODY WOULD BE A POET

Hello Writers,

Here we are, halfway through the challenge. Have you started anything yet? Other than in your brains? ME EITHER.

What helps me to find my path (and momentum) is to hunt for a starting point. A cliff from which to jump, metaphorically. And oh golly, here's how I'd suggest jumping into this whole (maybe sorta intimidating) Villanelle situation:

1. POACH FROM YOURSELF Go look in your old journals/documents on your desktop/wherever you put that stuff and poach a line you like. Use it as your refrain! Then you only need 13 more lines!

2. ASK A STRANGER Find a hot one and ask them to write a line on a bar napkin. Then ask for their number, you little scamp!

3. LISTEN TO SOME BIGGIE Seriously, I get so much inspiration from listening to early 90s hip hop. IT WAS ALL A DREAM.

4. GO ON A HISTORICAL EXCAVATION Of your own life! Pull out a notebook you used during college (or during the dark years of high school or the dark years of elementary school). I bet you find something amazing/completely humiliating/totally inspirational.

5. OPEN YOUR EAR HOLES Go to a public place and listen to all the weirdos talk about their wonderful weirdo lives. I bet someone says a sentence. I bet that sentence can be manipulated/used for good/used for evil.

6. GO FOR A WALK I feel like Einstein would give you this advice, too—and he was brilliant and had better hair than all of us. Go walk somewhere. Even your creepy local mall will work for this! Walking will give you space to contemplate what you want to say in your Villanelle, which now might be about Einstein. DO IT!!

7. TRY WRITING UPSIDE DOWN And take a picture of yourself doing it. Then send it to us so we can all have a good giggle.

8. MAKE IT FICTION, BABY! Your Villanelle doesn't have to come from a place of truth. It can come from a place of lies! No one will even know, unless it is obvious, but then you're writing "fiction" so who cares!

9. GET LOST Hit the road (or the public transportation) and go somewhere you've never been, all by your lonesome. You'll get all existential and see something new and become a new person, even just a little. Maybe THAT person can write a Villanelle.

10. FAKE IT UNTIL YOU MAKE IT Put on a disguise (a wig, spectacles, a merkin, a glam ensemble that makes you look like Blanche Devereaux, whatever it takes). See if THAT person has better luck writing a Villanelle than you do.

YOU CAN DO THIS! Or at least some version of you can do this. Take my advice or send it to the trash heap. Beth and I are rooting for you and we KNOW this is possible. We want to read your Villanelles! Not that we're some sort of poem goblins that feed on your words, but aren't we all sort of poem goblins that feed on each other's words?

Conquer this form, and who knows what you can conquer next?

Happy Villanelle-ing, Marcella

SUBMISSION DEADLINE 11:59pm EST on Wednesday, March 11. Hangover submissions will be accepted because we are all adults here and sometimes you just have a hangover. We don't judge.

POETRY INVITATIONAL VILLANELLE CHALLENGE Two Week Submission Period: February 25—March 11

HELLO WRITERS! If you're anything like us, sometimes the hardest part of being who we are—creative, driven, moderately-to-highly tortured and angsty—is making time in your life for the work. Not the job, the work. It's tough to sit down and be the writer, to take words and intent and make something out of them that isn't a client email or status update.

There's people scuttling about the planet doing all kinds of good and bad and here WE are—so how do we manage? What do we do next? How do we begin again, every single day, even if there may have been some...delays in our creative work?

TRY THIS: WRITE A VILLANELLE Structure can save us, sometimes. It gives us purpose and something concrete, something comfortable, something to make us feel slightly less adrift in the universe for a few brief moments. And a villanelle is a tough but surmountable challenge that is now in front of you—it's so close you can see the whites of its eyeballs! The villanelle goes right for the gut, and maybe that's what you need right now. We sure do!

Think of it like writing a song. Villanelles are 19 lines, but you really only need to write 13, because your first and third line keep repeating. The meter is up to you, as long as it’s consistent.

We’ll let our homies at poets.org explain it in detail:

“The highly structured villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. The form is made up of five tercets followed by a quatrain. The first and third lines of the opening tercet are repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem’s two concluding lines. Using capitals for the refrains and lowercase letters for the rhymes, the form could be expressed as: A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.”

SOUND COMPLICATED? It’s really not, we swear. Check out the examples below and just follow the form. If you need more help, here’s a great description of how to write one.

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

HERE'S SOME MORE The Waking by Theodore Roethke A Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas

NOW WHAT DO I DO?

1. Write that VILLANELLE! We are here for you as POETRY COACHES so email us your villanelle (or villanelle questions) and we will workshop!

2. SUBMIT Submission Period: February 25—March 11 Submit RIGHT HERE or via email at [email protected] and attach an original picture or artwork or an image along with your poem, if you want.

3. READ ALL THE VILLANELLES FROM YOUR PALS! Check out poetryinvitational.tumblr.com for villanelles from humans you know and humans you don't, here on planet Earth.

4. SHARE Share your poem once it's posted AND share the challenge with more writer friends! The Poetry Invitational community (and poetic awesomeness) keeps growing because of the poems YOU are sending forth into the universe. So sharpen those pencils/typing fingers. Let's see what you've got!

LET'S DO IT, WRITERS! This is a tough challenge, but think of how good it will feel when you are done. It'll make you feel better than putting kale AND flax seed in your morning smoothie. Give it a shot, you badass poet!

Happy writing and rhyming, Beth and Marcella