Guess what? We got to play with words again today but in a different way. Today’s challenge is to get creative with Blackout Poetry. Until today, I had never tried this, other than highlighting college textboks, but somehow I don’t think that counts. Blackout poetry is when you get a book, open it to any page, find words or phrases that stand out to you, then take a marker and black out everything around those words. I’d heard of this and seen it but this was the first time I’d actually done it. Except I think I may have cheated because there is NO WAY I am taking a book off of my shelf and vandalising it like that. Unless it was one I didn’t like. Wanna take a guess how many books on my shelves I don’t like? None. I don’t keep books I don’t like. I’ll donate them, pass them on to someone who wants them, or sell them, but they don’t stay in the house. So, instead, I picked a book, opened it to a random page, then took a pic of the page with my cell phone. Once uploaded to my computer I opened it in a picture editor and began to pick out what appealed to me, blacking out the rest. It was an interesting experience and one I will definitely try again. Also, I can’t seem to NOT write and add more poetry. So, even though I’m all caught up with the challenge, I am including two extra poems that I wrote yesterday just because I can. One is a eulogy of sorts to a wasp, and the other is poking fun at celebrities, just because it was fun and I can. I mean nothing by it other than to get grins. Also, just an fyi, I do actually separate my poems into stanzas but for some reason, formatting tends to bite it here.
So, how’s your weekend going?
By Jessica Scott
The soul plunges through love,
an immense abyss,
without the reckless and promiscuous life,
the lure of rebellion.
I do not say these things to you
about love as a thing of the Devil;
men or women love one another
and desire to live always close,
what one party wishes,
the other desires.
It is spiritual, conceived in God’s name.
Even the love felt by the soul,
it proceeds in disorder.
First, the soul grows tender,
then feels divine love,
and cries out and moans, becomes as stone
flung in the forge to melt; it crackles, licked by the flame.
And is this good love?
But how difficult it is.
How difficult it is when devils tempt your soul.
Feel like the hanged man, his hands tied behind him,
eyes blindfolded, no help, no support, no remedy,
swinging in the empty air. Go now.
On this side, the choir of angels, on that,
the gaping maw of hell.
By Jessica Scott
Kings and queens of the silver screen,
Lords and ladies of dramatic scenes;
New nobility, both heroes and villains,
A new class of people loved by the millions.
What would you do if the rabble stopped
Paying to see you, and those movies that flopped?
What would you do, you of royal blood,
If your name was the one dragged through the mud?
And what if, heaven forbid, you had to live like us
Living check by check and riding the economy bus?
What if that swag that you get for free
Was charity from, oh my god, the bourgeoisie?
Could you go back to being a peasant,
Or is that thought too unpleasant?
And what about those expensive things you owned?
How well would you handle being dethroned?
Throw your parties, drink your champagne
Pat yourselves on the back for being “humane”
Enjoy those dresses, and those idols of gold
Pout at how the awards were, obviously, controlled
But when, oh nobles, you make a mistake
Like telling the rabble “let them eat cake”,
We can hear you, and we don’t forget,
Or haven’t you heard of Marie Antoinette?
By Jessica Scott
I heard the buzzing of its wings, so I searched for it.
You see, it is unusual to hear that particular
sound in your kitchen while you are serenely
drinking your cup of tea and reading the news
and the blogs, and whatever else you do to procrastinate
the morning away, and that fracas disturbs your peace
of mind. It wasn’t hard to find, either, the noise itself
informing you it would be larger than you wanted.
It was a wasp of the yellow jacket variety, it’s black
and yellow abdomen an inch and half long, and it
was stuck between the grids of my kitchen light,
buzzing back and forth between the fluorescents
knowing it was trapped, so I watched it for a time,
trying to decide the best way to capture it
and get it out of my house as I have a reverence
for most life, and besides, it was close to the backdoor,
which is how it probably got in.
But as I watched, I remembered two years ago when
I walked outside my front door and was stabbed in the leg
by a sharp, thin knife with no culprit to be seen, and it
wasn’t until the second stab that I heard the now familiar buzz
and saw the flash of a yellow and gold abdomen about an inch
and a half long. I didn’t hesitate as I left to grab
the yellow and green can of death.
Stab me again, will you? We’ll just see about that.