the burlesque poetess(s)

*writing ex. dithering

20 Little Poetry Projects by Jim Simmerman (a form i’ve loved since high school. his words to follow!)

1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.
2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
4. Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
8. Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
10. Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) …”
12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
13. Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
15. Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.
19. Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.

Open the poem with the first project and close it with the last. Otherwise use the projects in whatever order you like, giving each project at least one line. Try to use all twenty projects. Feel free to repeat those you like. Fool around. Enjoy.

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jojo saysss : unfortunately there’s not an example poem up on (http://sn.im/twentyyy) to follow along with, and mine are many versions/edits past the strict form, but maybe seeing them will help/amuse/something. i often use this form as a jumping off point. i guess because i’ve been doing it since high school, so i feel very familiar with it. this is a crutch, so i haven’t done one in a year at least. but some of the instructions have become habitual. especially the using new vocab/overheard talk! i usually write several versions of each proposed exercise and ignore ones til later if i want, and re order and eventually ruthlessly edit. but be-low are poems of mine that have come out of this form, and i think they bear a lot of obvious traces. the sensory lines, contradicting something you said earlier in the poem. etc. etc. enjoy? have fun! post your own drafts in the comments! all fun no ego zone here! poetry is for lovahs and winos. well, this poetesss tumble log is! *gag* /hippy poetry workshop

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every dish a caricature of itself (from 2006)

“We’re late because our taxi driver got farblondzhet.”
Sitting at the table for ten while the waitstaff is clearing
is like daring to feed the animals at the zoo.

Beatrice, the infant specialist has a perm
from Providence, a penchant for the Victorian.
She borrows my butternut squash enchilada
for her husband,
a carbohydrate-deprived Classics professor.
My enchilada is actually a female/tamale.

“She’s a spring chicken to me.”
The entrée fork of function and tarnish
slips beneath my seat.
I can smell the bleach in the tablecloths
the chair legs are varnished like toenails.

My mother’s colleague asks my major,
I tell him, “International Politics,
with a minor in Manipulative Economics.”
Cookie cannot finish her chardonnay,
the goblet soapy against lips.

The dessert menu licks my palm,
but distrusting the restaurant’s
affinity for watercress
I catch a cab.

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(last line is a quote from Diane Wakoski)

i’ll neglect to mention the dancing (from 2006, too, gosh.)

6:15 appears
a mirror steaming over.
I wrestle my tweezers from the stovetop.
My eyeshadow looks polyesther,
my daddy long leg eyes.

Jehuda Reinharz sits at a table in the Park Plaza balcony,
we expect ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina’ before dessert.
The vegans are served fruit cups,
the kosher po’ toy with their plastic flatware.
My breath smells like a freshman’s.

“Don’t worry, Table 46 will be invited to the finale.”
The bloated waiters of wit
clear our spin-the-bottle from the table.
We pucker like seersucker.
I introduce myself after slipping
the preppy kid some tongue.
The lady wants a martini.

“Just like the POET wants eau, de l’eau,
and sex.”

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obviously especially the last one got ruthlessly edited and tightened past the first strict draft, but yay, i haven’t shared much non-commissioned poetry (in this journal, anyway) so i wanted to share, a few of you had mentioned you wanted to not just hear, but read some of me. i’m in day 3 of my 10 day grad residency in creative writing. 4th semester. workshop logic on the brain! totally cracked out on metaphor/tenor/vehicle/metonym talk and sleep dep! goo nigh!

maybe this writing exercise/blogging about writing should become a regular thing a long with my ustream web debauch party “nightcap with jojo?” eh? eh?

poems by your @poetesss, j.m. lazar. please re-spect. copywright, you know.