National Poetry Month is very special at YARN, and it would not be complete without a little friendly literary competition that encourages you to write, write, write!
YARN’s Random Word Challenge (RWC) is inspired by a poetry project John Corey Whaley and Randi Anderson shared with us back in 2012 in which they provided one another with words that needed to be used in a poem. You can read their results, and see for yourself what a uniquely inspirational and yet easy to accomplish project it was.
His new book, hot off the presses! Have you ordered it yet?
And now, YARN wants to challenge you! And none other than John Corey Whaley is going to JUDGE!
Your words and poetry will come from four poems written by four wonderful poets we featured during last year’s National Poetry Month.
Here are the rules and guidelines:
- Pick one of the following poems for each poem you write and choose ten words excluding articles like “the” and conjunctions like “and” to appear in your poem/s. (All the words must appear so choose carefully.) Please note which poem you pick in your submission and highlight in bold the words you chose or list them after your poem/s. Choose from: old photo albums by Mo Fowler; Perfect You by Nisha Sharma; I Could Drown You by Cameron MacDonald; the white witch’s heart by Shirley Kuo
- Share your poem/s on our Facebook wall, @ us on Twitter with a link to your submission, or post your poem on Tumblr by @ing our page in your submission, or post your poem/s in the Comments section below. All entries must be tagged #NPMRWC14, and be sure to include your name and contact info!!!
- Your poem/s can be videos, photography – from handwritten to magnetic poetry – GIFS, typography, and so much more. The creative frontier is endless, so blow us away. Each participant can submit up to three poems.
- Submissions will be open from April 1st and will close on April 20th 5pm EST.
- We will compile all the entries and have our guest judge, the mastermind himself, John Corey Whaley – author of the Printz and Morris award-winning novel “Where Things Come Back” and the forthcoming “Noggin” out April 8 – choose a winner.
- The winner will receive an editors’ bundle composed of our Fiction Editor Diana Renn’s upcoming YA mystery “Latitude Zero,” our Editor Kerri Majors’s writing memoir “This Is Not a Writing Manual,” and John Corey Whaley’s “Noggin“! Plus s/he’ll be given the opportunity to have MORE of his/her fiction/nonfiction/poetry published on YARN!
So there you have it. You know you want it.
Now, go forth and remember e.e. cummings’s words: “Well, write poetry, for God’s sake, it’s the only thing that matters.”
IMage courtesy of MinimalistPhotography101.com (flickr.com)
[…] my literary journal YARN is hosting this super cool contest during National Poetry Month. In brief: Pick 10 words from one of four poems we published last year during NPM, and write your […]
Mayonnaise, olive oil, beer, pickle juice
Become a veritable feast for our hair,
Chapped by the afternoon heat.
An unacknowledged preview
Of the future wrinkles.
Etchings of our sun worshipping past
We would bemoan in ten, twenty, thirty years.
In the uniform of terra cotta soldiers –
(And the same shade of earthy brown) –
We sunbathe in the garden
Head tipped back in the basement bathroom,
Washing the mixture into the drain,
It shimmies through the pipes below the house.
And standing guard by the leaky pipe,
The dog will lap up the diluted solution
Wag his way upstairs
And assault us with kisses.
Words from “I Could Drown You” (http://yareview.net/2013/04/i-could-drown-you/): pickle, chapped, afternoon, wrinkles, garden, basement, bathroom,drain, pipes, leaky
Ambrosio for Dry Hair
Mayonnaise, olive oil, beer, pickle juice
Become a veritable feast for our hair,
Chapped by the afternoon heat.
An unacknowledged preview
Of the future wrinkles.
Etchings of our sun worshipping past
We would bemoan in ten, twenty, thirty years.
In the uniform of terra cotta soldiers –
(And the same shade of earthy brown) –
We sunbathe in the garden
Head tipped back in the basement bathroom,
Washing the mixture into the drain,
It shimmies through the pipes below the house.
And standing guard by the leaky pipe,
The dog will lap up the diluted solution
Wag his way upstairs
And assault us with kisses.
words taken from “I Could Drown You”
dribbling, lost, stories, wrinkles, yawning,
cracks, midnight, teeth, glass, words.
“somniloquy”
stars dribbling lost stories
across superstitious skies—
we study the wrinkles
in yawning constellations.
c r a c k s in our life where secrets
are smoked into midnight air—
our innocent teeth ache
as we silently taste
these glass words.
Words from Old Photo Album:
graveyards, ribbons, tongues, god, avoid, searching, horrible, hate, pain, end
Daughter, I Miss You
I visit the graveyards in my heart
miles of unused ribbons, clothes that never fit
and birthday candles
never lit
Never blown out.
Tongues of shoes crack, brittle from the start.
Mary Jane’s and ballet slippers and spit shined penny loafers
sparkling in the dark recess of my heart.
God will avoid me now because I am searching
for answers that explain the horrible hitch in my breath,
the swelling in my brain, the leaking behind my eyes
that spreads
with the decaying stench of hate.
I clutch my chest as I drop down
the electric currents of pain shooting up my knees
Waiting, praying, begging
Please
Let me come to the same end
so I may see her once again.
Words from I Could Drown You:
drown, dribbling, rainwater, underneath, wormy, pantry, brass, salt, leaky, drain
Meditation
Close your Eyes
Count to ten
Drown in the forgotten memories
dribbling past your outstretched fingertips
like the trickle of rainwater against a fogged up
pane of glass.
Underneath the layers of self-loathing and shame
are the wormy contents of your dying heart
Locked on the topmost shelf of an unused pantry
the brass key rusty and forgotten in a drawer full of
old batteries, used twist ties, and spilt salt.
Focus on the cadence of your breath
In
and Out
like the rhythm of the consistent drips
of a leaky faucet
swirling down the drain of life.
Words from Perfect You:
wish, walk, belly, dark, tight, indenting, skin, swollen, eyes, perfect
American
I wish you weren’t Czech or Chechnyan or
Irish with your drunken walk
that slams your beer-bloated belly
into the dark corner of the bed
that is waiting
Empty
for you every night.
I wish you weren’t Australian
Holding that damn koala so tight,
Indenting the palms of your hands
with fingertips
that glide over my cold and lonely skin
Your nostrils swollen from the stink of the rancid koala.
I wish you weren’t German or Canadian or Japanese
Your misshaped eyes downcast with a love
too strong to share.
Almost perfect
if you were only American.
words taken from “old photo albums”
sadness, scribbled, graveyards, memories,
photographs, pain, pen, tongues, ribbons, bubblegum
“dead tattooed trees”
our sadness is scribbled
across our palms,
we take turns
reading the future.
lines like minefields
and graveyards–
memories buried
in war-torn skin.
we burn timeworn
photographs–
fresh ash coating the air,
our breath a blank page.
we dig out the pain
with a pen.
our tongues
are ribbons–
wrapped around
bubblegum words.
we chomp and chew
our thoughts until
poetry pops
into an endless mess.
Words taken from: the white witch’s heart by Shirley Kuo
pale, listen, restless, empty, moon, touch, stars, dance, circles, know
Her face has become
A pale and restless moon
That listens to the gossip of stars
As their empty chatter
Drones glitter on the evening
Absentmindedly she circles me
Edgeless, hard and yet yielding
I wish there was a way to let her know
None other would compare
We are locked in this endless dance
We will never touch
She cannot see
While I am a slave to the sun
It is only her I look upon for comfort
“Combatant”
I’ve knelt in baser conditions,
thigh-deep in wormy garbage piles,
scouring under faucet rain.
Still, desert salt invades
my boots,
my teeth.
Chapped skin and trigger finger,
the days are scored on
my calendar, scarred deep into paper.
Monday, Sunday, Wednesday, Friday,
all the same and all are hot,
sweltering under the vindictive sun.
My mirage comes in the form of
a glass of water.
Gourmet dinner.
Bouquet of peonies.
I tell myself,
I’ve knelt in baser conditions.
I’ve knelt in baser conditions.
Words taken from Cameron MacDonald’s “I Could Drown You”: Peonies, wormy, soils, creaky, faucet, chapped, salt, teeth, Sunday, glass
“She Has Her Whole Life Ahead of Her”
The carpet is circles and stars
and I can’t stop staring at
patterns woven into the fibers.
Restless music plays low,
background noise wrapping
around the mundane dance of
nurses and doctors and receptionists.
Across from me,
a ghostly girl,
spine curving under the weight of
a growing belly.
Microscopic heart and brain,
foot and fist.
The antiseptic smell follows me
to the bowels of the small office building.
There’s touch and feel and numbness.
Wallpaper peeling away at the corner
where the wall meets the ceiling.
Words taken from Shirley Kuo’s “the white witch’s heart”: music, restless, spine, ghostly, touch, fist, peeling, dance, circles, stars
I chose ten words from “Perfect You,” then wrote my poem on postcards. This was probably the most fun I’ve ever had writing a poem!
Link with pictures: http://deborahrocheleau.wordpress.com/2014/04/19/yarn-poetry-contest/
Contact Info: rocheleaudgr@aol.com
Bottle Rockets
I got a postcard once that said
Live your life like a disposable camera
strapped to a homemade bottle rocket
bound for the stars and slapped together
with double bubble gum and a hundred and fifty dollars.
I’d like to see a hundred grand get a view like that
Earth’s rounded curve the straightedge
By which to measure the universe
Larger-than-life
Breath-taking
Amazing!
And other billboard adjectives.
It changes you
a road trip with no itinerary
and a healthy dose of Discovery!
How far can a tank of gas take you
and which way do you turn at the international space station?
I hear the cell reception’s great out there.
Until the truck runs out of gas
the sparkler refuses to ignite
highway lines and mile marks
fading on the fuel station map
like the uncropped edges of amateur photography.
I’d send occasional postcards
with snapshots of the stratosphere
and Wish You Were Here
scrawled under the stamps of Greek astronomers.
You’d complain about the graininess
the jiggle of the camera upon reentry
sun flares and solar eclipses blotting the image
film blackening, low on juice or atmosphere.
I’d leave nothing but moon-dusty footprints
Nothing to show for my travels
but saggy tires and lousy pictures
What’d you expect for a hundred and fifty bucks?
The ten words: Double, Rounded, Measure, Amazing, Wish, You, Jiggle, Lines, Marks, Saggy
[…] In honor of National Poetry Month, YARN review is hosting a Random Words Poetry Contest. […]
Oops! Edit to “Combatant” because I have a five month old and am sleep deprived. I only used nine words in the last one and forgot to update the list. OK, here is the revision with the correct list of words used, please ignore the previous post! Sorry!! 🙂
“Combatant”
I’ve knelt in baser conditions,
thigh-deep in wormy garbage piles,
scouring under faucet rain.
Still, desert salt invades
my boots,
my teeth.
Chapped skin and trigger finger,
the days are scored on
my calendar, scarred deep into paper.
Monday, Sunday, Wednesday, Friday,
all the same and all are dry,
sweltering under the vindictive sun.
My mirage comes in the form of
a glass of water.
Gourmet dinner.
Bouquet of peonies.
I tell myself,
I’ve knelt in baser conditions.
I’ve knelt in baser conditions.
Words taken from Cameron MacDonald’s “I Could Drown You”: Peonies, wormy, dinner, dry, faucet, chapped, salt, teeth, Sunday, glass
Fair (words from “Old Photo Albums” bubblegum (x2) , tongue, graveyard, faces, tribal, scribbled, fair, flip, cry, ribbons).
Bubblegum, bubblegum
tongue on my shoe
walking in the graveyard
tattered ribbons
the stone cold faces
felt damp and dry.
Why doesn’t nature cry?
The tribal people who came before me
scribbled on the changes
It doesn’t seem fair.
I flip out on the table and almost throw a chair
then they scream,
“It’s not fair.”
Small Town (words from “Old Photo Albums” fair, photo, albums, tribal, pain, fit, bubblegum, flip, tongues, I)
I am most fond of the fair photo,
My albums hold nothing like it.
The tribal man’s fit body,
pain of bubblegum and stilettos
walking over a teenage heart.
A hair flip and tongues mashing.
Simple preservation is why I love it.
Wormy (” I Could Drown You” jar, wormy, ceramic , basement, garden, moon, blanket, afternoon, rainwater, told, furniture)
In the jar,
the wormy ceramic furniture
wiggled in the basement.
The garden is on the moon,
surrounded by a blanket.
In the afternoon, the rainwater came.
I know it did,
the worms told me.
They tell me secrets
(accidentally posted above before I was finished)
Wormy (” I Could Drown You” jar, wormy, ceramic , basement, garden, moon, blanket, afternoon, rainwater, told, furniture)
In the jar,
the wormy ceramic furniture
wiggled in the basement.
The garden is on the moon,
surrounded by a blanket.
In the afternoon, the rainwater came.
I know it did,
the worms told me.
They tell me secrets.
ALL secrets.
They travel to the garden and listen.
They sit on the blanket and tell me things.
The secrets.
Albums (from “Old Photo Albums” photo, albums, fair, bubblegum, tongues, pain, tribal, fit, I, flip)
Photo albums
are the best storytellers
they recall tales of long ago
a time spent at a fair,
bubblegum rolling on tongues.
Times of pain, a tragic loss,
a tribal celebration, fit and fun
I flip through, observing.
No Hot Tea (from “I Could Drown You” furniture, basement, moon, afternoon, wormy, jar, ceramic, rainwater, garden, blanket)
Upon itchy mesh furniture
I see the moon in the afternoon sky
before me is a garden
and the rest be gestured by Vanna White.
Keeping me warm?
A plaid blanket.
The jar I’m drinking from?
The fiery ceramic torments my finger
worms crawling through the rainwater
drenched in dirt?
Wormy.
Everything I see?
Two different views
In one eye I miss colors
In the other; high definition.
I sip scorching tea in the winter afternoon
I spit take and look at the moon.