Poetry boring? No way! Join us at 7:00 p.m. Thursday, July 21 for a performance of Poetry Alive!
This nationally traveling poetry performance troupe mesmerizes audience with their high energy. Their wild and crazy antics have kids barking like dogs, quacking like ducks, and buzzing like bees. Poetry Alive! shows kids that poems are more than words on a page. This is performance like nothing else! Never see poetry the same way again.
This is not a couple people standing around reciting limp rhymes. Come and see language come to life!
For more information go to www.wcfls.org and click on the Summer Library Program or call Alice Baker Library at 262-594-2800.
Teen poetry slam 2007
The Scotcheroo by Alex H.
Y’know, people are so weird.
They’re always like, “oh No, I don’t wanna DIE!”
And so, like, being eaten is a bad thing.
What? Not for me.
I was made to be eaten – it’s my destiny.
And people love me for it, too.
And then, it’s like, I become part of them.
So no, I’m not really dying.
The world is coming to an end by Katie L.
The world is coming to an end.
It is destiny that it would.
Sickness, famine, flaming balls of fire. Short lived lives are coming to an end.
There is good new though.
If you believe in Jesus Christ
Your life will not be short lived,
But you will have eternal life.
It is destiny that Jesus will come back,
That He will rule for a thousand years time.
So don’t worry,
The world may come to an end,
But your life with Christ will never end.
Candy on every table by Maria H.
Children need candy at every table,
Piles of leaves under every tree,
Sand at every beach,
Straws in every drink.
Dogs need rawhide bones in their bowls,
Fire hydrants on every street,
Squirrels in every park,
Petting on every couch.
Parents need long hours of sleep every night,
Sick days at every job,
Cars that work every day,
Cameras at every moment.
Hearts need hugs every day,
Air in every breath,
Pain in every life,
Joy in every year.
It is their destiny.
Smoking Clowns by Teresa S.
After the big top is closed, I light up.
All those kids get on my nerves.
Geez. Look at all the teeth they got.
Creepy. And those high voices. Yikes.
They bite, you know, bite hard.
I lost my second toe on my right foot
To a 2-year old in 1972.
Now I wear steel-toed big floppy shoes
Kid comes after my feet, I’m protected.
Mr. Ed’s Destiny by Alex H.
Ugh, what a day-
I think I godda have a smoke,
Maybe grab a Bud from da frig’ r so’n’,
Nhm. I godda remember ta fix that,
- but anyways, what’s on? Aaah, ya stupid-
--hey, what you smallin’ mbout?
So, a’m a “red-neck,” a “blue-colla” or whateve’
DON’T MATTA, I presenally don’t care
What da hell you think.
So I don’t have cable. A’m still smallin’.
So shut up.
I'm feeling obligated to point out more poetry since this is National Poetry Month. Every once in awhile I'll come across a poem and be utterly transported, but most of the time I guess I don't take the time to be transported.
This is a genre I don't read enough of, and I bet you don't either. That's why National Poetry Month is a good idea. It's a good reminder to step out of the box occasionally. Powell's Blog has a review of a new poetry anthology called World Beat: International Poetry Now, edited by Eliot Weinberger.
This book is a veritable feast. Having said that, I feel compelled to add the obvious observation that not every poem or poet will appeal to every reader, but I feel very strongly that this book contains something of intense pleasure for everyone. Anne Carson. Kamau Brathwaite. Nicanor Parra. Bei Dao. Octavio Paz. How can you go wrong?
Internet culture is continually amazing and fun.
A couple weeks ago, a writer named Gregory K. Pincus wrote a blog post challenging readers to write "Fibs", poems based on a mathematical progression called the Fibonacci Sequence, which would dictate the number of syllables in each line. A Fibonacci Sequence would go like this: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, etc.
The post was referenced last week at slashdot.org, a website delivering "news for nerds", and the idea has taken off like gangbusters. I read about it a couple days ago on a knitting blog, of all places. This blogger challenged readers to write fibs about knitting:
I'd have all the yarn I could want
...contributed by a reader named Carey in The Knitting Curmudgeon's comments.
What a fun and vibrant salute to National Poetry Month...
Poetry seems to be the most unapproachable form of literature. So many people claim to not understand it, to not like it, to not have time for it. April is National Poetry Month and it's a good time to stretch a bit and take a look at something different. And for many of us, poetry would fill the bill.
More thoughts on poetry for this National Poetry Month:
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
whistles far and wee
That poem has introduced many a child to the fun of free verse, where the words run unleashed, punctuation runs amok, and the imagination follows. And what is there not to love about words such as mudluscious?
Slate offers an appreciative essay on E.E. Cummings by poet Billy Collins:
In 1957, on television's Nitebeat, Mike Wallace asked William Carlos Williams if he thought that E.E. Cummings' poem "(im)c-a-t(mo) / b,i;l: e" was really a poem. (Television was different back then.) Williams said no. Maybe the question was too blunt; maybe the poet considered this print ideogram of a motionless cat too juvenile. But if William Carlos Williams, himself a leading experimental poet of the time, was not able to recognize that outburst of phonemes and punctuation marks as poetry, what hope was there for the average readers of the time—"mostpeople," as Cummings liked to call them—not to mention all the folks residing in Televisionland?
April is National Poetry Month. And of course--there is a website, which is full of ideas and activities to bring poetry into your life. So many people claim to be put off by poetry--perhaps some of them will take a moment this month to read a poem and give a thought or two to this most evocative of literary genres.
Poetry isn't always an instant gratification fix. Poems require some delving-into, some reflection, some slowing down. And our modern face-paced lives could certainly benefit from all of the above.
The official poster for National Poetry Month features an image of a dress that belonged to Emily Dickinson with a quote from a letter she wrote: "Nature is a haunted house—but Art—is a house that tries to be haunted."
Your skin glows like the mango,
blossoms juicy as the bleeding heart in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your cello voice
and leaps like a panther at the whisper of your name.
Wow! I didn't know I could write like that! Well actually, I can't. But help is here for frustrated poets everywhere. You barely have to warm up your brain and you can kiss your thesaurus goodbye. Thanks to The Love Poem Generator, we no longer have to settle for being Wordsworth or Shelley wannabes.
Courtesy of Blog of a Bookslut.