Tag: creative writing

poetry, writing exercise

Creative Writing Workshop 2 – Writing an Ode

carolyncordon

An Ode is a celebration, a lyrical poem praising something. It can be something wondrous, or it may be something so-so that the poet can make wondrous through their words in praise of it. John Keats has a well known Ode – Ode to a Grecian Urn, and another titled Ode to a Nightingale. They are both fine Odes, but today we are going to look to more contemporary times with the odes we will write. When writing a ode, you have permission to go overboard with the imagery and metaphor!

 

 

And that’s it. With an Ode, you can rhyme or not, as you choose, you can be as silly or serious as you wish, it’s all up to you and your thoughts. The most important thing is to go beyond the obvious, and take your love of your chosen thing as far as you can, lauding it all the way to the sky and stars!

Ode to the Op Shop

Oh wondrous home to much –

glorious treasure trove  

Of love and possibility

Staffed by precious volunteers

Those whose freely-given time benefits many –

Small-time hoarders like me,

Or those in the know who buy much

Then onsell to many

But a delight for those searching

Looking for their next fashionable fancy

And when finding such, our joy

Is met with smiles.

Named junk shops by some

Those who think a label

Rather than a look, is the fashionable thing

But limited new ‘range’ to choose from

Is just the so-called latest thing

Ignoring the clothes of yesteryear –

The best of their time, made best again,

At a bargain price, when payment gives back

To those who have little.

My wardrobe & drawers

Are filled with many found treasures

from within your worthy walls

And walls of other stores like you,

Clothes that have lived a life

Before they came to me,

That could tell such stories!

Each item willingly given up

To be worn again with pride and thanks

Is testament to the love shared

In one of these slices of community

And humanity, wonderful Op Shops,

Shared spaces, filled with memories of the past

And hopes for the future.

Op Shops, oh how I love you, Op Shops

Fine resting places for my unwanted items,

That I bring to an Op Shop such as you,

Knowing that when my need for them is over,

They will be with those who understand

The Op Shop’s fine and long tradition

And who realise the wonders to be found

In the taking up of clothes, both pre-worn and pre-loved,

Knowing the impermanence of such clothes

And relishing it. What has been with one,

Can be again with another, and once lived with

For a while, can move on again, via an Op Shop

And so it goes on, treasure donated by one

Found by another, one who in time,

May donate again, and so it goes,

Op Shops building community,

Community loving Op Shops,

All sharing the love, and the clothes.

We are many, those who share the love

of these wonderful Op Shops –

Treat them well, care for the treasures

found within, and share them with others

at an Op Shop when the proper time comes …

                                                         © 2017 Carolyn Cordon

 

 

You could choose to write an ode to your football team, your pet, a flower, anything, just as long as it’s something you love and have many thoughts about!

 

So think of the subject of your Ode, and start writing down thoughts about why you love it so much, then get working!

 

Carolyn
Carolyn Cordon, kittycordo@gmail.com

writing exercise

Creative Writing Workshop 1 – Acrostic & Cordonostic

carolyncordon

For this exercise we will concentrate on two different Poetry Forms, Acrostic poetry, and Cordonostic Poetry.

Acrostic poetry has been around for a long time, and is much favoured by school teachers, I think, who find it an easy way for their students to get into writing poems. With this style, a single word can be chosen, and then the first letter of each line begins with each of the letters of the word, in order. So, with my chosen word – Autumn, the first line begins with the letter, A, the second line, U, the third line, T, and so on, all the way to the final letter, N.

 

You can choose to use just one word for each line, or you can write a short phrase, whichever you wish. But a poem is not a novel, so keep those phrases short. Autumn is my favourite season, and I enjoyed writing this poem, some years ago.

 

The poem just below is my own Acrostic poem, based on Autumn, my favourite season. Attendees are to choose one of the four seasons, for their own two poems.

 

Autumn

April comes along, trees

Until then heat struck, though

Tended well, and watered

Ultimately recover,

Managing leaf colour changes –

Nature’s amazing beauty …

 

 

Next Poetic Form – Cordonostic Poem We may have looked at this form previously, but I will clarify what it is all about:

 

The Cordonostic poem is based on syllable counts, with the first line having three syllables, the second line having five syllables, and the third and final line of the first stanza (verse) having seven syllables.

 

For the second stanza, start with seven syllables for the first line, then five syllables for the second line, and three again for the last line. For the third stanza, follow the stanza count as the first stanza, and for the fourth stanza, follow the second stanza, and so on.

 

Using the same season as you used for your first poem, write a poem, using words and phrases about your chosen season, bearing in mind the necessary syllable counts for each line. For the title of your poem, choose a word that is relevant to what you have written.

You don’t have to concern yourself about the poem title first though, often you need to finish a poem to see what it’s about, and so what the title could be.

 

This poem below was written after I had done some research into why leaves changed their colours, and I feel it is a fitting tribute to the wondrous way Autumn brings on this colourful phenomonem.

 

Photosynthesis

trees, their leaves

red, orange, yellow

lovely, chemically changed

 

trees and branches a backdrop,

and a gallery

for the leaves

 

wind-released

they drift off downward,

as ground becomes a carpet

 

then leaves, in decay, produce

nutrients, and trees,

fed, grow more –

 

trunk, and leaves

then blossom, perhaps

and after blossom, come seeds

 

and then, wondrous, welcome fruit.

the process goes on,

always will,

 

so long as

trees get the water

they need, fruit will come again.

 

autumn – colour, winter – rest

spring – blossom, then fruit –

nature’s way …

 

Thank you, I hope you have enjoyed this poetry session today, and I look forward to our next session!

 

Carolyn Cordon,

 

Writer, Poet, Community member, lover of Nature

www.carolyncordonwriter.wordpress.com

 

kittycordo@gmail.com

 

0418806490

Writing

Watching the Screens

carolyncordon

On my television screen are couples dancing on ice, zooming effortlessly, creatively on their ice skates, swirling around, waving arms in unison, throw, catch, zoom, zoom! Beautiful, and so elegant!

On the screen of my laptop though, there is nothing as creative and beautiful happening. Nothing creative at all, really. I have been zipping from Facebook to Twitter, and back to Facebook, then back to Twitter, leaving a caring comment here or there with my friends on Facebook, and cutting, even scathing, comments on Twitter. I know people, real people, see my words, because they comment on them, or give a heart or thumbs up, or tweet them, as they feel appropriate.

But, given the fact that I call myself a writer, poet, etc, where are the signs of my own elegant proofs of my talents? Nowhere to be seen. I have two novels I could be working on, and a poetry chapbook I’d like to have published, as well as the beginnings of a longer poetry collection, a better one than the one I most recently submitted to a publisher, that was quite rightly rejected … I can and will do much better than that effort!

But at the moment, I’m flaffing about, doing nothing that could be called creative, and really, it may not even be of interest to any other person – (except for that word back there, “flaffing” don’t you love it!?) My screen is indicating it isn’t an actual real word, judging by the squiggly red line underneath the word. That’s fine though, I am going to use “flaffing” because it beautifully describes the languid and useless way I’ve been wandering around today, and wondering about things too.

My poetry, my novels, oh and that non fiction book I’ve begun too, will they ever come to life as published books? Well, no, not if I don’t manage to go from wondering, to actually writing, there is no way that can happen. Writers have to actually write, if they wish to be published.

Thinking about the two screens I’ve been looking at today, the action on the TV screen was far more interesting than the action happening on the sofa, where I am currently sitting, writing this blog post … The only action happening here is when my dog Missy, lying on her own sofa, moves her ear, in response to a sound; or me, when I get up to make coffee, and then reach over to take another mouthful of coffee.

IMAG0306

I’m hoping this third cup of the day may finally make something creative happen in my head,  but in reality, I suppose I’d be better off if I opened one of my creative writing files and just started writing more of that novel, or the other, or one of my poetry things, or the non fiction one.

Filming me writing wouldn’t even be as interesting as watching grass grow, because at least outside, there would be birds flying around and doing the things birds do all day. Getting food, nesting, flying, flying, and flying. If the growing grass got too boring, you could point the video camera at the birds, for sure. Sparrows, starlings, maybe crows, honeyeaters of a couple of different kinds, it’s all happening outside, as well, of course, as the grass which grows, and grows.

The skating has finished now, there seems to have been a bit of uproar regarding a low score one of the couples received, I’m not sure, I was only watching the zooming skaters in passing, not intently or anything like that. All I know about ice skating anyway, is how it feels when you crash to the ground, which happened to me when I was a lot younger than I am now. I bruise too much to ever want to be a skater. And I don’t like being cold either.

Anyway, enough of this wandering and wondering, I am going to actually look at one of my writing-related projects, and see if I can add anything useful to any of them. Seeya later!

 

poetry

Is Prose Poetry Actually Cheating?

carolyncordon

Yesterday, for my poem a day (#poemadayfeb), I wrote a prose poem based on the theme of ‘first’. The prose poem flowed, and gained a little bit of attention from other poets, online, which was lovely. I didn’t feel like that prose poem was cheating, because quite a bit of thought went into the writing of it, as it does for more ‘form’ related poetry written.

My poem today though, as soon as I saw the prompt, I felt the urge to make it another prose poem, and the words just flowed, and flowed, with only a bare minimum of editing needed, so it really did feel a little bit like cheating – is poetry supposed to be as easy as just thinking a bit and letting the words flow? Really?

If it is allowed to be that easy, is there truly real merit? But of course, the mind that holds all of the ‘stuff’ that flows onto the page/screen, that mind is working hard at scratching up the relevant bits, and piecing them all together in a harmonious way (I hope that’s how it will seem to others, anyway) …

I certainly enjoyed the writing of this prose poem today, but I suspect tomorrow will bring back my more usual poetic format of writing poems in short lines, either rhyming or not … We’ll see what happens when I see tomorrow’s poetry prompt.

So to today’s poem, as I said, another Prose Poem, a shorter one this time, and one that may not have as much impact as yesterday’s prose poem, we shall see. So here it is:

thinking on too many things perhaps? or just the correct number …

I’m almost shivering on this rain & wind struck day, Summer hiding, as I too hide, from the unseasonable cold. Walls holding most of this inclement weather at bay, but the open window on my left, is open to … to what? To let the fresh air in? … as if there probably isn’t already enough air, fresh enough for good health, inside this home, as most comfortable middle-class homes, already have, probably. Especially this home, my home, my rural but not farmhouse home, set amongst farmland, but far enough away from the farms, that I don’t have to worry too much, about bad things blowing in, from any of the agriculturalists’ toxic chemical weaponry, used to assist to bring good food to our nation, keeping unwanted things – fungus, insects, weeds, and so on, at bay … Farming, such a lovely thing, those gentle cows, those placid sheep, from where I watch, anyway – I’m well away from the abattoir, so I can pretend a little bit, and not gag at the idea of meat cooking on the bbq, but enjoy the work of the livestock producers instead … Changing ideas, or back to the original one, really … apparently it will be hot again in the week, an app told me that, when I looked on my mobile source of knowledge, formerly known as a ‘phone’, (which I sometimes actually use to talk to people on, but not often) … anyway looking with my eyes right now, through the opened window on my left, it looks like Summer has signed off for the season, and has let Autumn in, reminding me that climate and seasons, both change …

poetry, writing exercise

Covering Same Issues

carolyncordon

With these writing prompts, that I write on every new day, I don’t know at the the start which direction my muse may take me. But the direction I headed straight away today, was to a place I’ve been before. Thoughts on ‘Hidden’ things have been a huge theme for my creative writing, and have brought good results, of various types, financial, therapeutic, and for the broader community too.

I have written more about the kind of thing I write about in today’s poem, on another of my blog, this one. I created that blog to help with promoting my poetry collection of the same name.

I don’t think I need to go to much further here now though, the poem I wrote for today, which is Day 6 of #poemadayfeb, will tell the story. I have been very much enjoying being involved with this daily poetry writing idea, & I hope I definitely stick with it to the rest of February, and perhaps beyond, using writing prompts from somewhere else. I have a box of writing prompts hidden away somewhere, and I have plenty of time to find them …

 

So here it is, my poem for this sixth day of February:

 

Finally Healing

 

It hurt so much, you kept it hidden,

your shame at what you’d done,

& knowing doing that was wrong.

 

But talk of ‘love’, was always there –

on radio, tv, movies, ever present,

& ‘love’ was what he’d  claimed …

 

But love in childhood isn’t that,

love for a child is pure & sweet,

what he did to you, wasn’t pure.

 

You held your story close inside,

until clarity & truth arrived at last –

with realisation fault wasn’t yours.

 

The adult, he was to blame for this,

you didn’t do it, it was done to you –

a child – the fault, all of it, was his.

 

He died alone, his crime unknown

except by other victims, perhaps.

& you’re all alive, your secrets told

 

& in telling, finding needed peace,

forgiving yourself, confident now

to tell your truth, & in telling, heal