Freedom and Guilt

Innocence.

Cocooned within a flawless form of what
should be, perfection follows soon behind.
I sometimes try to doubt its presence-but
then slowly it seeks refuge in my mind.
Emotions need to be abused some may
say, yet to those who curse and howl and many
oppose. I simply ask for them to please obey
commands they may receive. Although any
may seek demise from deep inside-observe
for I do not repeat my words, a spell
so binding few escape. Killing their verve,
the innocence once prized now forms a cell
for those to gullible to understand.
I weep abandoned-searching for a hand.

Guilt.

Perhaps I do not understand, correct
me if I'm wrong. Yet to my knowledge exists
no more a suffocating soul. Neglect
from all that was once real soon persists,
it leaves me dying from inside-this jars
my psyche out of sync, my mind is scarred.
I'm now another captive; penned by bars
that I can only cease to thwart, though hard
I try. This prison keeps me safe, so safe.
Imprisoned deep within my mind remains
what once persisted. Freedom used to chafe
until a point of no return. The chains
of guilt now bind me to a wall of pain,
which if removed-I'll always live in vain.

Monsoon and Drought

Monsoon

Wet rain will come to bless wet lands again,
The men are occupied securing land,
Now after annual work should clouds attain,
Monsoon reveals its wet, watery hand.
Worn out, the farmers need a hand with fields,
The farmers need some help with crops and trees,
The villagers make shelters as their shields,
When unprotected, seek mercy on knees.
We celebrate because we'll have fresh crops,
We'll sing and dance and worship our great God,
Anticipated when the rain will drop,
The clouds will burst like all the peas in pods.
It's time for the monsoon the come once more,
And time to end our great long year of bore!

Drought

A hot, dry drought falls over the wet lands,
It seems as though the water will vanish,
As drought his parched and arid hand,
The villagers prepare to be famished.
The crops will drain and might become useless,
the villager will thirst for rain and clouds,
The youngsters suffer much from this dryness,
And long for drink and a very moist ground.
The sun bores down with heat on the dry place,
The people wonder when they will be quenched,
The thirst of people is shown on their faces,
And hung in the air, starved dead bodies' stench.
When drought will draw his dry and arid hand,
Chaos and dullness will sweep through the land.

Touching Distance

Touching

It’s time for me to wave goodbye and bid
Your tantalising touch farewell; the days
You held my hand embed themselves amidst
My soul; my heart shall always crave the way
You cupped it delicately in your palms.
I love you. Touch me twice and time will freeze
To watch as passion chases frantic calm
Away. But now your touch is cold, a tease,
A vial of distant emptiness. The fire
Is dead; the love is done; your touch is stale
And now is none. The distance drove desire
Away and found a dying fairytale.
A well meant touch can free an “I love you”,
One thing that yours now never seem to do.

Distance

To you a love must be assisted by
The hand of touch. Yet distance harvests strength
And unifies two lovers. They can fly
With wings of trust, defying laws of length
That stand to stop their flight of happiness.
I love you. Love can span a thousand miles
Across a raging ocean. Emptiness
Is in the space but you are in my smile.
And yet you are unhappy. Why? To be
With you is harder than to love you from
Afar. It does not take a lot to see
That you have given up on me. Succumbed
Are you to that of touch, a craving I
Will have to use to say my last goodbye.

Life and Death

Life

A blooming rose is blowing in the breeze.
The night is old and ending really fast.
The shadows soon appear beneath the trees
And sunshine gleams. With beauty unsurpassed
It shines its light. The morning has begun.
The sun set is as beautiful as you,
None can compare. White as snow like a swan
My love to you is so great and so true.
The rainbow is now full, all colours here
Your smile attracts me in every way
You are my life and so you are my dear
Now my life starts with you right now, today.
The world is a wonderful place, you see
I am here. You and me will always be.

Death

The river weeps of sorrow and bleeds blood,
The sun died and the world is at an end
The whispers in my ear scare me but flood
My brain with wanted information. Dead.
The leaves on the trees turn evil. Dark, black.
No body knowes how it happens. Power,
Takes control on our actions we lack.
Leaves drop dead. Even things like a flower,
Die. Nothing moves, nothing breathes, death is here
Life can no longer exist, without you
My mind is full of hectic thoughts. I fear,
I fear my life has come to an end too.
We all were young once and now we are old
We shall wait for a new light to unfold.

Hope and Despair (Exemplar)

Hope

The clouds may hang lead-heavy in the sky
And sun may seem a stranger to this land,
But there amid the nimbus I can spy
A fleck of blue. It reaches out its hand
And, bright with backlight, spreads its fingers wide.
The dirt-grey sky is temporary. Mark
How quickly all the clouds now stand aside
To frame a sun which banishes the dark.
The sky is just a metaphor. Beware
The clouds which seek to infiltrate your mind.
If you are not alert, that fiend, despair,
Will shroud you in its shadow from behind.
The sky will soon explode with brightest blue
And we can bask beneath it, me and you.

Despair

Prepare yourself for too much painful truth.
The clouds are here to stay. The sun is cold
And weary. Grey remains the colour. Youth
Is just a breath. Too soon you will be old.
For every war that ends, another starts.
For every healthy child, another dies.
In time all lovers suffer broken hearts.
Each laugh is drowned by half a million cries.
What use is hope? A mirage in our midst.
Beware before you drink its heady brew
And drift without the power to resist
Intoxicating promises untrue.
The glass is empty; and there is no light
Beyond this tunnel’s everlasting night.

Task 40: A Tale of Two Sonnets

Welcome to the NEW wordvoodoo!

Please don't be confused by the fact that this task is called Task 40. There were 39 tasks on wordvoodoo in the past two years - and it will just confuse the blog TOO much if I go back to calling this Task 1. :)

If you have read this weekend's newsletter you will be well aware that tasks will become even more challenging now - and my expectations of your work will increase commensurately too. The stakes are high: the George Mitchell students will not want to be outdone by students from Connaught, Leytonstone or Norlington; and the Connaught, Leytonstone and Norlington students will want to outdo each other AND the George Mitchell students. I am hoping that a bit of healthy competition will inject a certain chemistry into the tasks - to everyone's benefit!

With Task 40, we return to that most perfect and yet elusive of poetic forms: the SONNET.

So, before I go any further, let me remind you all of the rules of sonnet writing...

1. A sonnet should have 14 lines
2. Each line should be written in iambic pentameter (i.e. 5 iambic feet) - dee-DUM
   
3. I am looking for the following rhyme scheme: ababcdcd efefgg
4. Ideally, there will be a subtle change of mood/theme between the octave (lines 1-8) and the sestet (lines 9-14)
5. Not all lines should be end-stopped - and enjambement is recommended, as is the use of caesura within some lines

Have a look at the following tasks to remind you how to go about this:

• Task 5
• Task 19
• Task 30
• Task 31
• Task 32

As well as the tasks themselves, you would do well to read some of the attempts by the students blogging at those times - and the comments they received too.

Make no mistake - I shall be looking for pretty perfect iambic pentameter from ALL of you this week; and some very inventive caesura and enjambement from those of you with a real flair for this sort of stuff.

But Task 40 isn't just to write a sonnet. ANY wordvoodoo blogger worth anything can do that!

Task 40 requires you to write TWO sonnets; and the SECOND sonnet should be a direct response to the FIRST sonnet...

The world is full of binary opposition - conflicting ideas which are diametrically opposed to each other: love and hate; truth and deceit; peace and war; childhood and adulthood; hope and despair; the city and the countryside; Arsenal and Spurs; comedy and tragedy; vegetarianism and carnivorousness; faith and atheism... The list could go on forever.

You need to choose a pair of opposites - either from the list above (if you want) or completely of your own choice.

Then your FIRST sonnet needs to be written in the 1st person, from the point of view of one of your conflicting ideas. Subsequently, your SECOND sonnet should respond, also in the 1st person, to the first sonnet.

Kind of like 'answer poems', I guess: Ralegh's "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd" to Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love". Or even 'answer songs': The Pirates' "You should really know" to Mario Winans' "I don't wanna know" or Sporty Thievz's "No Pigeons" to TLC's "No Scrubs".

You have two weeks to complete this task - and the deadline is midnight on Saturday 4th July. (So those of you with me on the residential need to make sure they do not leave it until the last minute!)

As always, I shall post an exemplar shortly, which will give you an idea of what I am looking for, and how to lay it out too.

And remember, this is wordvoodoo; so I am looking for:

• flawless adherence to the rules above
• freshness and originality (with a healthy dose of risktaking and experimentation thrown in for good measure!)
  
• accessibility coupled with complexity - so that it works on more than one level
  
• control over rhyme and form (rather than letting rhyme and form control you!)

If you get stuck, or want any help at all - just email me. Seriously.

Good luck!

Task 39. Blood Meridian and The End

Part 1
My favourite extract was Cormac Macarthys Blood Meridian. I was really chilled by the cold and clinical definite article he used for 'the child'. This reflected the description of the cold upbringing and also, i feel, added tension to the piece. If this was the beginning of the book, i'll presume it is, it was a brilliant way of starting. I paticularly liked the way he summed the character of the child up in a short exerpt. This, for me, is a relief because i can't bear the brussel sprouts before the meat.


Part 2
The End. (This is meant to be read aloud)

Each beat hit the floor running. Rippling through the souls of every bystander, cutting through the tension and loosening inhibitions. There isn’t a place for alcohol here. Soulless people aren’t allowed. You can speak softly here, but most prefer to shout
Loud
And
Proud.
Each ender has no reason. That’s the reason they come. They don’t seek applause or appraisal. They judge each other by just one thing.
Their love for love.
If beats aren’t rippling they’ll make their own. In this franchise of frivolity each crowd is alone. Each mistake is forgot. No one has a stake in what this lot do.
No one.
Some Enders say that it’s a state of mind... It’s just a house built on an old quarry really.
But soon they will find, that happiness, freedom and peace don’t come without planning permission.

Bureaucrats wince through their monocle at The End. Their spectacles skew the image:
They mistake purple for grey
They mistake orange for grey
They mistake yellow for grey.
Each clone is an individual and each individual is an enemy.
Each one would distort creativity and at the end put a word completely out of context just so it would rhyme, like…
Lemony.
They wait in the bushes. They leave their mother earth insurance details by the crushed flowers. When they fight and they wreck, the Enders can’t do anything.
After all they have the system by the
Scruff of its neck.