Definition

One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Weekend Mini Challenge: Boats

Welcome to the Weekend Mini Challenge with Kim from writinginnorthnorfolk.com!

When I was a child, the only boats I knew were the pedal boats in the local park and those in songs, like ‘The Skye Boat Song’:

The Skye Boat Song

Chorus:

Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing,
Onward, the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunderclaps rend the air,
Baffled our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.

[Chorus:]

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean's a royal bed.
Rock'd in the deep Flora will keep
Watch o'er your weary head.

[Chorus:]

Burned are our homes, exile and death,
Scattered the loyal man.
Yet ere the sword, cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.

[Chorus:]

This song is about Bonnie Prince Charlie’s escape, when Flora Macdonald took him, disguised as a serving maid, from Uist to Skye in a small boat.



Even on our annual days out at the seaside, I had never seen or been on a boat. That is until I went on a school trip to the Isle of Wight and we had a tour of the HMS Victory before getting on the ferry. 

The first time on a boat I felt seasick but later, when I was a teenager and moved to Germany, I took many ferries and started to enjoy all kinds of boat trips. When I moved back to England and moved to Twickenham by the River Thames, I used to take a small rowing boat ferry across to Ham. I now live on the Norfolk Broads, where I see boats every day. When my husband and I travel abroad, we tend to favour river tours of cities.

I love boats, which is why this weekend I’d like you to write about a boat. It could be a boat you’ve owned; one on which you’ve taken a trip; a famous boat; a dream boat – it’s up to you, as long as your poem is a new one and it has a boat in it.

Happy sailing!

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Fireblossom Friday : "The Distorted Lens"

Bertha Mason, the madwoman in the attic in "Jane Eyre."
Hello, poets. Fireblossom here with another Fireblossom Friday writing challenge for you. This time we're going to put our faces right up to the eyepiece and look at things through a distorted lens.

What happens if we can't trust our senses, or our mind's ability to interpret what they convey? Sometimes an illness or a brain injury can result in some very peculiar states of mind. Oliver Sacks reports about a man who believed that everyone in his life was an exact--yet false--duplicate of the people they pretended to be. It turned out that the pathways in his brain that connected facial recognition with emotional response had been compromised. As a result, this man saw faces he knew, but did not feel anything about them and so concluded that they had to be fakes.  

A stroke victim may lose "right" or "left" altogether, depending upon which side of the brain has been damaged. In her book "Left Neglected", Lisa Genova--author of "Still Alice"--writes about a (fictional) woman who has completely lost the notion of "left." Half the world ceases to exist for her.  

Mental illness can also certainly distort a person's understanding of the world around them. Such conditions as depression, paranoia, schizophrenia and dementia, not to mention alcoholism and drug addiction, can turn the world into a dark or absurd landscape.

So, your task is to write from the point of view of someone who is seeing reality through a distorted lens.  New poems only. No haiku because I have a deathly fear of Oriental forms. Enjoy.