me getting home after doing the bare minimum
Me, after sleeping through an hour long lecture.
Monterey Bay Aquarium
will byers stan first human second
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
NASA

Kiana Khansmith
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
cherry valley forever
Stranger Things

pixel skylines
Claire Keane

oozey mess

⁂
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
hello vonnie
Cosimo Galluzzi
Xuebing Du
occasionally subtle
Cosmic Funnies

Kaledo Art
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Netherlands

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
@doctorwhimsical
me getting home after doing the bare minimum
Me, after sleeping through an hour long lecture.
in the name of the moon 🌙
POUR ONE OUT FOR COMRADE OPPORTUNITY
and send a thank you postcard to the Opportunity team for all their hard work!
Ya girl, Denzelle, won a 10x Battle!! My octoling is pictured here (center octo) with the dream team!
HALP. These long-necked puppies are now an endangered species.
Describing yourself is like trying to describe the outside of a box when ur sitting inside the box
i’m constantly telling my computer exactly what it can do with a lifetime supply of chocolate
What About the Stuff in Poems?
This reflection focuses on the works of Walt Whitman, Fatimah Asghar, and John Berryman. Whitman was an American poet, essayist and journalist, who centered his work around realism and transcendentalism. Asghar is a Pakistani, Kashmiri, Muslim-American poet, performer and educator, who enjoys written spoken word poetry. Berryman was an American poet, and scholar, who remains a major figure in American poetry.
In Walt Whitman’s Poem 2 , he mentions: houses, rooms, atmosphere, perfumes, fragrance, himself (‘I’ or ‘me’), you, smoke, breath, echoes, ripples, whispers, silk-thread, vine, heart, blood, air, lungs, leaves, arms, shore, sea-rocks, hay, barn, sound, words, voice, wind, kisses, embraces, shine, shade, trees, streets, fields, hill-sides, bed, sun, health, noon, acres, earth, eyes, books, poems, delight, day, night.
This stuff that Whitman uses in his poem seem to be a mix of natural things like, trees, atmosphere, vine, and man-made things like, barn, houses, rooms, streets. Isolating the stuff from the rest of the poem creates tension between nature and human-made things. It also creates a relationship between nature and humans, like when the author uses ‘I’ or ‘you’ he’s establishing a connection with persons and the natural world around them. Whitman seems to love nature, and it shows in his mentions of the shore, sea-rocks, hill-sides or fields.
Collectively, the stuff Whitman includes in his poem puts one’s senses on overdrive. The stuff in Poem 2 evokes the feeling of a real place in the countryside. A place away from skyscrapers and smog, immersed in the “fragrances” of the country. Whitman mentions “perfumes,” and words that evoke familiar smells and perfumes, like “shore,” “trees,” and “leaves.” Whitman mentions “sound,” and includes stuff that trigger certain familiar sounds, like “echoes,” “ripples,” and “whispers.” With the smells and sounds, and the evocation of familiar places, Whitman creates a scene of serenity. “Poem 2” serves as a device that allows the reader to tap into their senses, and visualize the peaceful place these words evoke.
The stuff in Fatimah Asghar’s “If They Should Come for Us,” are: people, street, shadow, strangers, blood, old woman, sari, wind, bindi, new moon, forehead, I, kin, star, breast, toddler, stroller, hair, fountain, dandelion seed, bakery, sikh uncle, airport, muslim man, car, traffic light, knees, azan, whiskey, maghrib, khala, park, kurta, crocs, compass, gold, teenager, snapback, high-tops, subway platform, country, image, you, me, winter, flock of aunties, sand, dupattas, ocean, colony of uncles, palms, jasmines, constellations, glass, nights, names wood, fire, years, map, sky, light, lantern.
Asghar stuffs her poem with different people, different religions and tradition cultural attire. She includes “sari,” “kurta,” or “dupatta” all examples of traditional clothes. Asghar mentions many religions like, “sikh,” “muslim,” and “khala.” She includes words associated with light, like “stars,” “fire,” and “lantern.” Asghar also mentions tools that help with sense of direction, like “compass,” “map,” and “constellations.” According to the stuff Asghar includes in her poem, she illustrates separate locations, “airport,” “park,” “sand,” “bakery,” and “subway platform” to name a few. The people she invokes are familial and “strangers,” like “uncles” and “aunties” or “old woman” and “toddler.”
Holistically, this stuff sections the different groups of people Asghar may have encountered in different places. She directly points out various locations, however, even in their difference Asghar seems to thread them together like “constellations” and “maps.” This evokes the idea that they’re connected somehow, and that even if they’re separated, they can find their way to each other. Asghar creates a literal map, not based on geography, but based on certain people. She evokes the feeling of togetherness, despite certain differences. She evokes the appreciation and pride of not being the same, but still being connected like “constellations” in the sky. These people are something like a map to her, something that gives her direction and pride, someplace she can find her way to.
In John Berryman’s “Dream Song 14,” he includes: Life, friends, sky, sea, ourselves, mother, me, boy, you, inner resources, peoples, literature, Henry, plights, gripes, achilles, art, hills, gin, dog, tail, mountains.
Berryman stuffs his poem normal life things, like relationships with “friends,” your “mother,” or “peoples.” He mentions normal life occurrences like, “plights,” and “gripes.” Then we’re given serene places like, “hills,” mountains,” and “sea.” He includes things that might entertain, or educate, like “literature,” “achilles” from Greek mythology, and “art.” These all seem to be outwardly relations, objects or places, which he juxtaposes with “inner resources.” The stuff that he mentions all fall under the category of outer resources, there are no mention of inner resources; that is something that is missing.
The poem evokes the feeling of life in a nut shell. There are relationships with other people, there are things to entertain us, there are places to visit, but sometimes there’s something missing from within. Which I think Berryman emphasizes by not mentioning any inner resources in his poem. Somehow the things we encounter don’t fulfill the internal void in a person. This realization evokes a somber, yet eye-opening mood. This is a real internal conflict people experience, the search to satisfy an inner void.
Poem 5
Inspired by Ada Limon, write a poem that uses and alternates between 3 types of narratives: internal “mythic,” personal non-fiction, and impersonal nonfiction.
I dreamt of my dead grandma
Crisp sound, vivid color
Like a brand-new TV set
If you want me to live forever give me all your blood
I told my dad his mother came to me in a dream
Told him she asked for my blood in order to live
He said it was creepy
She sat on a wheelchair
Pulled my shoulders down.
My ear to her thirsty lips
If you want me to live forever give me all your blood
I did not give my grandma my blood
I pulled away watched her fade
Somewhere I read:
Dreaming of dead people is a good omen
I turned off my dream
Woke up cold
What’s creepy is when my grandma was alive
She didn’t speak a lick of English
Magna Catharsis
“…poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of reaction, the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced… In this mood successful composition generally begins…”
- William Wordsworth, Preface to Lyrical Ballads, 1800.
I think I know what poetry is not: it’s not for the people. It’s for the person who births it, takes time to spill emotions into words and molds it, who publishes it for their own sake. I think it’s not supposed to be like, “I’m writing this because I hope other people will like it.” Poetry is not about having a massive fanbase and suddenly feeding them poems written overnight and printed on pages stamped “Best-Seller.” I think we need poetry that is aged; where the author writes, let’s their work rest, and returns to rewrite what they recollect. We need poems that are the result of experiments. Which means it goes through trials and trials before being finalized.
That’s how we’ll know the words on the pages will be veins where the author’s blood runs through and the pages: a body that becomes alive. I think I know what poetry is not: it’s not for the people. If people so happen to enjoy a poet’s work, so be it. I need to see more poems that are stimulated by personal convictions, emotions, experiences, beliefs, confessions, dreams, imagination, hypothetical situations. I need it to not be for what the crowds demand. I need it to not be part of a trend, ‘cause I feel all genuineness will be forged and lost. But if it’s a trend-setter, so be it.
I think the essence that’s commonly overlooked and usually avoided is the process of catharsis. Today, this fervent outpouring of emotion, laced in words and metaphors, has been forgotten in favor of the explicit superficiality that appeals to fleeting fancies. However, it’s authors like C.D. Wright who pay acute attention to personal emotions and wraps it in layers of specific metaphors. “Everything Good Between Men and Women” in particular, Wright captures the troubles of a real relationship and likens it them to tangible items— “The walls and the floors used to be gorgeous” in a literal sense, Wright describes a home, but figuratively, she illustrates the wear-and-tear of an intimate relationship. Her metaphors seem cryptic, but I think it’s a result of her resting her thoughts, and returning to them; a process approved by Wordsworth centuries ago.
I think in modern times there’s an instinct of internalizing raw emotions and masquerading them under trending guises. Cathartic poetry uncaps the masquerade, it unravels true feelings, it challenges people to find the right string of words that reflects their thoughts and threads them in unity. There should be a relief during this process, an unloading of cooped up gunk sitting on one’s chest waiting to be released. The gratification should be from within; thankful to have written through the burdens of one’s mind. I think poetry should first be for the one who writes it. People will naturally flock to such conjugation of emotional writing pieces, although it’s initial purpose is for the poet. I think I know what poetry is not: it’s not blindly reaching for the approving praise of the mass. Poetry is the consistent flow of words enriched by personal convictions, emotions, experiences, beliefs, confessions, dreams, imagination, hypothetical situations, which in turn brings relief to the one who writes.
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility
William Wordsworth Preface to the Lyrical Ballads, 1801-03
Poem 3
Inspired by Claudia Rankine, write a poem that narrates an everyday moment using “You” and tell the story in detail, including what people say.
Your dream ends, you wake up in bed with rancidly stale breath. You wonder how your date with Mister Stamos felt so real. As real as the piercing screams of the alarm you hit snooze on seventeen times. You say five more minutes oughta do it but you know five minutes is lingo for the everlasting limbo that sucks you in like some kind of demonic, undefeatable black hole. Until the realization of being twenty minutes behind schedule pulls and saves you. Now you greet the sun with the same rancid breath, you snatch the pants closest to the top of the hamper, you yank the dress shirt from its hanger. You kiss your dog goodbye, it whimpers at the stench of your mouth. You grab your keys, you’re out the door praying you don’t smell as unpleasant as you think. All the while your thoughts race to remind you that you’re not in sync with time, new realizations won’t sink in to save you, could your day begin any worse, where the heck is Mister Stamos?
Poem 4
Inspired by Raul Zurita, write a poem with a specific place and a refrain that shifts and changes four times, never exactly the same.#
I swim vigorously across The Nile
You float perpetually in The Dead Sea
Your eyes closed somehow
Awake to a paradise unknown
I tread vigorously along The Nile
You rest sleepily in The Dead Sea
Your hands are folded for now
A scholar in eternal thought
I wade vigorously across The Nile
You lie peacefully in The Dead Sea
Your face encapsulates Mona Lisa’s smile
Paused in an ambiguous relief
I live endlessly in The Nile
You live endlessly in The Dead Sea
Your feet bound to Earthly ground
But you walk on gilded streets