A Shape Poem is a poem that takes a more concrete shape, such as a poem about cats in the shape of a cat. The words form the shape and for this challenge it will likely be easier to do it by hand, but by all means do it digitally if that’s how you feel better!
The shape you will be using is a self portrait and a portrait of someone/something you care about and don’t worry if it’s not “good” - abstract art is my favourite and as long as there is how your hands and eyes connect, I’ll believe you. Maybe you don’t even see yourself in a “human” shape. Just do what feels right!
You have two queries today. The first, which is your self portrait is: What shapes me into who I am?
The second which is the person/thing you care about is: How do I shape those around me?
Remember to take a picture of your cards, post your poem tag it #divine poetry
“What if the moon was essence of quinine
And high heels were a time of day
When certain birds bled
The chauffeur is telling the cook
The antler would pry into ice floes
Swim with a lamp
And we’d be shivering in a ditch
Biting through a black wing
There would be boats
There would be a dream country
The great quiet humming of the soul at night
The only sound is a shovel
Clearing a place for a mailbox”
In Another Room I Am Drinking Eggs From a Boot, Frank Stanford
In the longer view it doesn’t matter. However, it’s that having lived, it matters. So that every death breaks you apart. You find yourself weeping at the door of your own kitchen, overwhelmed by loss. And you find yourself weeping as you pass the homeless person head in hands resigned on a cement step, the wire basket on wheels right there. Like stopped film, or a line of Vallejo, or a sketch of the mechanics of a wing by Leonardo. All pauses in space, a violent compression of meaning in an instant within the meaningless. Even staring into the dim shapes at the farthest edge; accepting that blur.
Is it sad that I sit around and wonder about you. Day dream about the dates we could have. I thought it would be cute with a touch of nostalgia if I brought flowers and took you by your hand as we walked to the car. I would grab the door for you, in that moment our eyes would meet and it would be like the first time I saw you my freshman year. Then we’d ride off in the moonlight.
At this moment would be the time I would wake up craving your presence.
Note: I’m approaching these readings with honest analysis,
which will include details about my personal life. Poetry does have a way
of stripping down barriers.
What shapes me into who I am?
– Nine of Cups (bliss, wishes granted)
I am the scratch of pencil on paper.
I am the smear of ink. I am the pecking of fingers on a keyboard.
I am the solitary note—A at 440 megahertz—before the cacophony of
tuning. I am synchronized bow strokes. I am wet paint. I am metaphors, allusion, litotes. I
am the calm before the storm. I am the raging wind channeled into the light of a candle. I am beads, shells, wire-wrapped crystals, and the pliers that mold. I am the first star at night. I am the color behind my eyelids. I
am neurons. I am.
How do I shape those around me?
– Four of Swords (stillness, mental power)
And if my spirit, ruled by water, shapes you, may I be the tranquil sea that holds you up, and may you trust that I am here, touching and touched.
I love the shape of your tattoo
The way it curves around your body
The same way my fingertips trace lines down your body
I’m in love with the blue ocean you take me to every time you at me
You call me your woman
My love, yes you
Lay me down under the sheets
Wrap your body around me
After I put a show on for you
I’ve fallen into loves embrace
Pretty baby you give me your sparkle
So I let myself become your woman
I couldn’t take the pain So I wear my heart on a chain. Ripped it outta my chest And dipped it in silver Drilled a little hole So I could wear it around my neck Waiting for someone to come around Who could make the metal melt And shove my heart back where it belongs.
So I was reading a poem for out Creative Writing workshop and its from a prompt where you write from the perspective of your winter boots and this poem was pretty decent and I thought it’s got a really nice shape to it, like the lines start wide then get narrow then wide again and its very smo- it’s a fucking boot print. This person actually made their boot poem into the shape of a bootprint. That’s it. Everyone else can just go home and throw out their boot poems because nothing can beat this. This girl wins everything and I can’t even think of a suggestion/ revision bc of this.