Reader Poem — Daniel de Cullá

Daniel de Cullá wrote this poem in response to the December Poetry Prompts:

GOING ON SIN

O sin i
My business daily
With the Seven Deadly Sins
Lust with the Sky
Gluttony with all its pearls on dishes
Envy with eye traffic
To facilitate explosions of creativity
In our king Pride day, livelong
Greed on a fried egg
On the floor of the Rainbow
Wrath blazing medieval shields
Of lives forgotten on a Planet drum
Bucking the Sloth
To begin this poem with a name.

Deadly Sins rise
From the Life’s current
Within the necessities of all the living
From sin to sin biting
As glad omelet from branch to branch
¿Why don’t we joy sins
If we’ll die tomorrow?
Says the scintilla of Life:
It’s lovely the Idolatry of Self¡
As Max Stirner said
In his “The Ego and It’s Own”
Knowing “the age of the mases”
And in his “The False Principle of Our Education:
Humanism and Realism
Are the history of the present experience
And tragedy of our time:
There is but one necessity for us all:
“Going On Sins”.
Everyone sin; Jesus sinned also:
“What is lovely? To sin for God”
Cheering us on his way to be full.
In a complete state of sin
One is in a sense with haughty eyes
Pride going before.

O sin i
I sin many a day
These:
“I have yet to ask to myself
What do we use for Lifeboats
When the Ship goes down?” (My)
And answering:
Women have in her Bust two lemons
And more down the devil
Near the lemon tree’ flower:
I want to sleep with him¡
Or
As a little sea boat
I’m coming and going with ups and downs
Goodbye¡
I’m going away from World
My lust unloved¡

Advertisement

December Collaborating Poet — Yvonne M. Estrada

In December, poet Yvonne M. Estrada with be collaborating with Terry Wolverton on dis•articulations poems.

Yvonne M. Estrada is the author of the chapbook, My Name on Top of Yours, a crown of sonnets accompanied by original photographs. Her poems have recently appeared in Talking Writing, Fourth & Main, Lit For Life and in the anthologies, Wide Awake: Poets of Los Angeles and Beyond; Like a Girl: Perspectives on Feminine Identity; and Gutters and Alleyways: Perspectives on Poverty and Struggle, which also included one of her photographs.

Winner, dis•articulations Reader Poem for November — Jennifer Hernandez

Jennifer Hernandez teaches immigrant youth, wrangles three sons and writes for her sanity. She lives in Minnesota with her  husband and family, which also includes a black lab and a fat lap cat. She has recently performed her poetry as part of the Cracked Walnut Literary Festival and as honorable mention in the Elephant Rock flash prose contest.  Her work appears in Silver Birch Press and Talking Stick, as well as other print and online journals.

Her poem, “Montage,” was published on this site on November 28, 2015.

To read “Montage,” go to:
https://disarticulations2015.wordpress.com/2015/11/28/reader-poem-jennifer-hernandez-3/

Reader Poem — Michelle Sydney

Michelle Sydney wrote this untitled Reader Poem in response to the prompt: “Not by works of law.”

Not by works of law
Nor might of muscle
Shall my will be bent
Into submission

Not by words or swords
Nor threats of harm
Shall my spirit bow
To your god or mission

Only by fair hearing
Shall my verdict be decided
And only by my pen
Will my misdeeds be confided

September dis•articulations poem — Terry Wolverton

For our collaboration, Terry gave collaborating poet Donna Frazier four writing prompts. Donna engaged in fevered writing with each of them and gave the results back to Terry, who then used the words from that fevered writing to create this dis•articulations poem.

BEHIND THE GARDEN

You, cowboy, did not dream the trail—
needles of red dust circling
in unexpected dialect,
cha-cha of the diamond streets.

I shook a river from my hair;
it still flowed the color of ink.
Tattoos sprouted on my legs — deer
striping a path, shade of cedar.

The conversation was extreme—
not human, but something tender
falling from the tongues of roses,
unanticipated music.

Mouth of cactus, forest of prey.
Why does the turtle try to fly?
Fingers the color of saplings,
we waltz on a green edge alone.

The vibrational speech of skin
cannot be slowed or stopped, sounds like
a lasso tying me to a
swing, odd crunch of leaves as I drop.

July Fevered Writing — Terry Wolverton

Terry Wolverton produced this fevered writing  based on four prompts given her by this month’s collaborating poet, Olga Garcia Echeverria. Olga will be writing a new poem incorporating her choice of these words.

Trust me. Butter is better than spackle on your sandwich, id better than motor oil on your toast, is better than hair gel on your waffle. Butter is one of only a few foods that is yellow and yellow is the color associated with the navel chakra. One’s chakras need to be vibrating, the wheels spinning so the energy can circulate throughout the system. Only then can we trust. The safest place to be is inside your own, strong energy field, my yoga teacher used to say. Maybe no place else is safe at all. The butter drips from my fingers.

Woman gives birth, fights off bees, starts wildfire in Northern California. Yeah, yeah, yeah, we all have such busy lives. My day started cleaning up dog diarrhea. That was before I had to go to the DMV. But no one is writing a newspaper article about me. It doesn’t pay to give birth these days. The planet is already overcrowded, the freeways are a nightmare, and bees are being eradicated by pesticides so soon there won’t be any food for any of us. Why not start a wildfire? It makes as much sense as anything.

What gaining a leap second means for a hummingbird. Just last week my friend was complaining that she needed more time. Then–bam! They stuck another second on the universal clock. How they did this, I’m not sure–and where I spent that second I can’t recall–probably on Facebook or something. Or maybe I took an extra second to look into your eyes and saw some softness there for the first time in a long time. Or msybe I slept in. How the hummingbird spent that second is a mystery to me; perhaps it sipped nectar from the purple salvia in front of our door.

Goldfish the size of dinner plates are multiplying like bunnies. The goldfish keep their secrets. They do not gossip and they do not show their cards. They are poker faced, unlike the bunnies who pretty much let it all hang out all the time. You can always tell what a bunny is thinking, but goldfish are inscrutable. Even at dinner, they say little. They sit serenely with their fins undulating, gills bellowing. They seem attentive, but are not much for small talk.

Readers who are contemplating writing your own poems may work with just the prompts or choose to use one or more passages of fevered writing to inspire your poems. Best Reader poem we receive in July will win a $25 prize.

Reflections on the Process — Angela Peñaredondo

The fevered writing process felt somewhat awkward at first like any creative endeavor starting from scratch. The ego spoke as usual, judging and critiquing, even at times timid and confused, but that only lasted a few seconds. Three minutes is not long so I had get over the self-critic fast. It’s an interesting process when you let the mind open up to whatever washes in and out. It’s almost like being submissive to the words, which was pretty cool!

 

This was one of my favorite poetic collaborations. I would do it again. Terry is awesome to work with, she knows this process and how to lead it. She follows through, which does not happen with all collaborative work. So I deeply respect and adore her for this.

 

Personally, I need deadlines. I can easily lose myself in the small details of anything, become distracted by other projects or acts/performances of mundanity. Deadlines can be pretty crucial  to my creative process. They keep me in check like an alarm clock or a personal trainer. I thought the timeline for this project was perfect.  

April Collaborating Poet: Angela Peñaredondo

In April, Angela Peñaredondo will collaborate with Terry Wolverton on new dis•articulations poems.

Angela Peñaredondo is a poet and artist living in Los Angeles, California. She is a graduate student of creative writing from the University of California, Riverside. She is a recipient of a University of California Institute for Research in the Arts Grant, Gluck Program of the Arts Fellowship, Tin House Scholarship, Dzanc Books International Literary Program Scholarship, Fishtrap Fellowship and University of Los Angeles California Community Access Scholarship in poetry. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in South Dakota Review, Sin Fronteras/Writers Without Borders, Thrush Poetry Journal, Solo Novo, Ghost Town and elsewhere.  She is also a VONA/Voices of Our Nations Art fellow.

March Fevered Writing — Terry Wolverton

Terry Wolverton produced the following fevered writing based on four prompts provided by this month’s collaborating poet, AK Toney.

Two Children May Have Died for You to Have Your Mobile Phone
And two rabbits died for my face cream. I gave up television but it didn’t bring the turtles back to life. There are fewer whales because they are made into lipstick. And my car is causing polar bears to drown. Every step I take makes the world more dirty. I am consuming more than my share of oxygen. The sky has stopped being blue because I grow organic vegetables. Would the world be better off if we all just disappeared? Don’t call me; I’m letting it go straight to voice mail.

yet the name “coltan” elicits quizzical looks.
I tried to change my name but it’s like trying to change a shadow—the old one kept following me around. It looked so sad, like “what am I supposed to do now?” The name took the bus to Skid Row and wandered the streets with all the other souls that have no place to go, but it didn’t fit there either. Its letters were bending and sagging, becoming unpronounceable, its sounds beginning to blur. So it came back to me, asked, “what’s wrong with me?”

What makes anything worth having and owning has a lot to do with preserving art and culture within a natural environment.
I’m so weary of having and owning. My house is overrun with stuff and even when I give it away, more comes. Someday I’ll be entombed with my stuff, suffocated with all that having. I don’t even know what most of it is for. I long for empty rooms with blank walls. Let the art and culture reside inside me as stories, visions, dreams. All the materiality of it, its questions of value and worth, are overwhelming the natural environment, and making me so tired.

New City Election Dates and Schedules; One-Time Adjustment To Align Terms with New Election Dates By 2020. Charter Amendment 1
People don’t vote and I don’t think it matters what day the election is on. People think it’s a big joke and it’s all rigged and no one likes the choices they are given. People would rather go grab a sandwich or a beer, watch TV or take a walk in the sun. In Australia voting is mandatory and even if you’re out of the country on election day you still have to go to your consulate and vote. Or they track you down and arrest you. Even so, the Australian government doesn’t seem so much better than ours. Corporations run everything anyway.

 

Readers are encouraged to write your own poems inspired by the prompts or the fevered writing and post them to comments. The best poem we receive this month will be awarded a $25 prize.

Winner of the dis•articulations 2015 Reader Poem for February

Shelly Krehbiel holds an M.F.A. from Antioch University Los Angeles. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Midwest Quarterly, Sulphur River Literary Review and The Fourth River.

Her poem, “How we lost track of real happiness” appeared on this blog on February 7, 2015.   https://disarticulations2015.wordpress.com/2015/02/07/reader-poem-by-shelly-krehbiel/

Shelly will receive a $25 honorarium for the prize. We encourage readers to be inspired by the process and play along. Each month, we’ll award one $25 prize for the best reader poem we receive.