EXERCISE National Poetry Month 2016: April 17

Discussion in 'REFINING WRITING' started by RiverNotch, Apr 17, 2016.

  1. Again, the rule is you've got to write something on the topic or form described, with yer poems being in different posts. And that month thing -- prompts'll stop by April 30.

    TODAY'S TOPIC: "Leanne thinks "rubber" would make a great prompt. Write a poem inspired by rubber, rubbers, or things that bounce."
    FORM: Any
    LINE REQUIREMENTS: 8 lines or more

    Credit where it's due; the idea and the prompts come from this site:
    Poetry Forum - - Post poetry, get feedback, give critique.
     
  2. Quote from L'Inconnue de la Seine - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

    RUBBER

    The pathologist poured wax plaster
    over the peaceful face of the woman
    who drowned smiling in the Seine,
    afterwards saying, "Her beauty was breathtaking,
    and showed few signs of distress
    at the time of passing -- so bewitching,
    that I knew beauty as such
    must be preserved."
    If he lived now, he would have poured latex, instead.

    Juan Luna, meanwhile, used oil
    paint, splashing and pouring it onto the canvas
    like light striking a piece of film,
    to create his masterpiece, the "Spoliarium",
    apparently a thinly veiled protest
    against Spanish oppression.
    Some of us now would use a camera,
    arranging the composition on a stage
    with a dozen living models, but most others,
    knowing to achieve his same expressive effect,
    would prefer acrylic.

    Here in the Philippines, his magnum opus
    hangs in the main gallery
    of the National Museum, where the gigantic scene
    of gladiators cloaked in chiaroscuro
    pulling away their dead for the next entertainment
    would be the first work to greet visitors' eyes.
    I've only ever seen it in the pictures,
    though this girl I like once told me
    seeing it through a screen
    was completely different
    from observing it in person,
    intimately, feeling one's breath
    bounce back from the canvas.
    I nodded, and showed her the next week
    my coffee table book on the Tretyakov.

    Sometimes I wonder why I've seen
    all the sights of other countries,
    but not my own. And then I remember:
    her father owns a rubber plantation
    down south, in Davao. Just west,
    in Cotabato, rice farmers
    a few weeks ago went to rally
    against a governor who refused to give them food
    in the middle of a famine, not knowing
    the reserves were already being sold
    in the markets of Manila. Their bodies
    still lie on the streets, I imagine,
    their brothers too afraid to pull them away.
    Nothing ever changes.