Yet Another Face of Poetry

Slam poetry, sometimes also called spoken word poetry is something I’ve already written about. Here’s another one, a slam by a teacher. The name’s Tylor Mali.

What do teachers make?

I have always been doubtful of our education system, but even I can’t deny the work of teachers. I have laughed at the thought of being a teacher, because I never thought they mattered. I know better now.

I’ve had had a few teachers who were much more than what they were paid to be. Those teachers changed my view of teaching. They make a difference. But not everyone, not everyone who’s taught can be a teacher. That is probably the most annoying thing about the profession.

Teachers do make a difference, and a god damn good one too.

Anyway, here’s Tylor Mali himself slamming.

Here’s the poem in cartoon form. From Zenpencils | “What teachers make”

High on Haiku

It’s quite unfortunate that just when I began trying my hand at Haiku, my inspiration site, Haiku Heights is gone for good. But I did find this post buried deep in my drafts.

The prompt was clap, and the date was something I don’t remember. Anyway, here goes,

For Haiku Heights

Prompt: CLAP

———————

Clap, clap, clap

he saw them do,

unhearing

——–

She clapped; young saw

wide eyes winced

as pain seared

——–

The bird clapped wings

the girl, she watched

wonder eyes widen

——–

The mother left

soared, clapping and flying

while waited the nestling

——–

Palms come together

applause — you and I,

joy

The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere

April is National Poetry Month. And although I didn’t publish a single poem of my own, this is the time to celebrate poetry.

It’s kind of funny how this poem, first published in 1798, is relevant still.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

This has become the state of our world now. We have water — too much of it — but it won’t quench our thirst. Blame it on global warming, or air conditioners or even the UV rays.Whatever it is, it’s melting snow, and all we have left is water. And it’s useless.

Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

Why am I posting this?

Enjoyed this poem and thought you should too.

You’re welcome.

The Road Not Taken

For a long time, I’ve been wanting to write about this poem. I’ve felt a certain closeness to this particular poem, ever since my teacher introduced me to it. It was love at sight, and though I wasn’t new to the experience, it kept haunting me. It seemed to probe me to do what I felt was right. (but it is tougher than I expected it to be)

What, in the world, is so special about this poem? I can hear you wondering.

Well, it has beautiful words.

No, really. Apart from conveying the greatest piece of advice, the words were beautiful; the wording was artistic and the story it portrayed was an absolute classic.

Go ahead and read it, if you haven’t already.

The Road Not Taken.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost

I told you so!

Another Face of Poetry

I am utterly surprised at how useful Quora is. I love poetry, and though I may not be the greatest of amateur poets, I enjoy the company of good poetry. It was all thanks to Quora that I discovered this new form of poetry, (OK, it’s not entirely new; it’s just so to my knowledge. (Though that reminds me to be a bit more mindful of the things that interest me. #NoteToSelf)) that they call ‘Spoken Word Poetry’.

I’ve heard poets narrate their works, but this is different. It’s not about narrating a poem that fits on a paper so well; this, is something that cannot be recorded (and is ineffective) on paper. It’s the ultimate power of speech merged with the art of poetry. A little bit of digging into the topic made me realize that it is indeed a long-existent form of poetry and that it is I who was stuck in the medieval age.

I must say that I enjoy this form, as much as I appreciate the written form. (Though I have to admit, nothing beats the smell of print (fresh or old) on paper!))

For your auditory pleasure, here’s Sarah Kay, delivering her poem “If I should have a daughter” on TED Talks. (The poem is only a segment of her speech.)

Enjoy!

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