Let’s talk setting this week. We know, everything happens someplace, in some frame of time. That is the environment of our poetry.
Observe your surroundings. Maybe you’re indoors in a room. How is it appointed? Furnished? Unfurnished? What part of the building is it? What building is it in? Suppose you are outdoors. How’s the weather? What time of year are you experiencing? Urban or rural? What country, region, city or township is it? Year? These are all a part of our setting.
And setting can be categorized in three distinct ways: physical, historical or cultural/social.
PHYSICAL SETTING
- location
- the climate
- natural or topographical features
- architecture
- furnishings
HISTORICAL SETTING
- time and date in history
- events having historical significance (past or present)
CULTURAL/SOCIAL SETTING
- people
- cultural background
- ethnic background
- socioeconomic situation
- religious/philosophical beliefs
Since poetry is a concise expression, the implications of setting are a major function of the rest of the poem.
Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to write your poems this week with a main concentration on the three aspects of setting and less on the characters within your verse. Go into specific detail and inject imagery into the places and settings that inspire you. Ask yourself, “Where am I?” and write about it!
UNDERGROUND RAILROAD
Head north, head north,
ever following the north star;
head north, head north,
and though you falter, go on forth
to stations near and stations far,
to hide in garret, barn, or bar.
Head north. Head north.
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There are a few of those stops ’round my parts….
very nice.
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Strong setting, William.
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GAZING AT THE MEDIEVAL CATHEDRAL
The gargoyles leer
and chill my soul clear to the bone;
the gargoyles leer
with grimace, gesture, snarl, and sneer,
as though for sins I should atone.
Despite their fundament in stone,
the gargoyles leer.
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Ooo…the tone and coloring of this is emotive and rich…excellent, William and I love to say the title out loud…great sounds!
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Both are really good, William. The gargoyles leave me a little unsettled, too.
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[…] https://phoenixrisingpg.wordpress.com/2015/06/07/phoenix-rising-destination-poetry-where-am-i/ And (the) setting can be categorized in three distinct ways: physical, historical or cultural/social. […]
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They can be intimidating…
yet all they can spout is what the sky puts out.
Very nice.
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In my Mother’s Valise I put…
the architecture of my soul
is packed away in a suitcase
once known as a valise
it belonged to my mother
and it wasn’t that small, was quite heavy
adorned with rivets and fraying leather trip
the color of the outside was
like blue and white marbling
for years I kept it, stored old clothes in it
I let it go a few years back
filled with clothes for charity
that architecture of my soul
that belonged to a childhood
that can only be remembered
first through rose colored glasses
then through opaque shades
hiding buckets of ‘what if’ tears, then
finally through the broken mirror of dreams
they say it is healing and healthy
to let go of the past; move on
create new avenues in this present
I am a poet, I am a mother,
now grandmother – my life is full,
my soul now bared upon
pages that strangers eyes read –
they nodding in agreement to some parts
that the architecture of one’s soul
can be ever changing, rearranging
in the physicality
of our mental states
budding in spring, fried in summer,
cooled in autumn and frozen in winter;
as we get carried away…in being lost and found.
©JP/dh
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I love your closing and the way you used the word architecture. 🙂
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Thank you –
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Colored glasses and opaque shades – describes the setting of the mind perfectly.
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I (still) love this valise poem…. the ending I great.
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For me, “valise” set teh tone for teh whole poem. Great choice of words, both in the title and throughout.
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I’m not sure how many still use the word valise. But I remember that’s what it was called then. 🙂
Thank you.
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FRONT PORCH, AS THE BREEZE BLOWS
Freshly repaired and painted,
deck chairs stained and remain
side-by-side. Bamboo screen
hiding the world from the view.
Fields, a dream come to life,
grass undulating in waves
waiting for the next breath.
Cloud pocked skies azure
in hue, through the lattice
the breeze finds its way.
The front porch on a perfect day!
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015
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Heaven!! And I love that you named the wind as breath…so personal and awe inspiring.
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Yes, that struck me too.
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Scent, color, and peace. Perfect portrait.
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That certainly is a perfect day!
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An After-Church Poem
I sit here in my green comfy chair
tapping the keys of my laptop.
The living room is open to the kitchen
where Vanessa pushes away from the table.
My husband wipes her face, while teasing.
Vanessa erupts in a fit of giggles.
She pushes a button on her DynaVox,
“Loren is being crazy again.”
“Loren is being crazy again.”
“Loren is being crazy again.”
She laughs a deep belly laugh.
He wheels her out of the kitchen
so she can watch movies in her room.
Justin sits beside me in the next chair over.
With his knees up to his nose,
he’s falling asleep with his jingle bunny.
His arm is up with a jingle, jingle
then his arm slowly lowers
while his eyes close.
Then up his arm goes, jingle, jingle,
then back down.
Up again, jingle, jingle, back down.
I type my poem while the radio plays,
“Here I am on earth, so I’ll let my words be few.
Jesus, I am so in love with you.”
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Your voice here and the honesty that is you comes through so beautifully, Connie.
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Thanks Hannah. The last two lines are a song by Matt Redman, also sung by Phillips, Craig & Dean.
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Lovely, Connie!
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I love that song and the glimpse into your life- sweet
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These scenes are etched so beautifully.
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Mother’s Embrace
Clover, dandelion greens and grass carpet the loam beneath my bare feet. Nearly clear cloudless blue is my ceiling, (but for thin cottony wisps decorating horizon). Measures of bird-song and feathered goings-on are my source of unending lessons and inspiration. And now to my left – just amazing now – three black-masked cedar waxwing congregate in trembling aspen. I almost can’t take my gaze off them long enough to write this line. I’ve been waiting for these creamy-breasted creatures with mysterious eyes and now – just now – they’ve taken to sky – chased away by a handful of sparrows. There’re three great pines to my right – a beech, birch and a maple, too – I sit near the fringe where fence keeps honeysuckle and bramble at bay. Marsh lives beyond that will soon blink with indigo irises – purple gems shining through thick of growth. Yes, this – beautiful this – this is my blessed sanctuary – my sitting place for morning coffee – my spilling place for words of adoration – awe for the abundance of creation.
Breathe in gratitude
Nature’s arms always open
exhale thankfulness.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2015
Hello everyone! I hope you all are having a great week/weekend…I’ll be back to read…thank you for the inspiration, Walt! This is an important topic and I like the idea of stopping and asking oneself, “Where am I?” A good practice in awareness. :)’s
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You had me at “trembling aspen”! Imagery abounds. I love visualizing people’s places. Therein lies the awe!
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I SO agree!! What a treat to glimpse into the worlds of these people we’re in community with! Thank you, for your comment, Walt…I love “trembling aspen, too…I found the description in my tree identification book and was looking for a poem to place it in! Smiles to you!
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Exhale thankfulness is the key to the enjoyment. wonderful, Hannah.
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I agree, Sara…thank you.
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That sounds like a little slice of heaven
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Thank you, Debi!!
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So captivating, this is, especially, for me, “spilling place.”
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Thank you, William…I’m so appreciative of your feedback and specifics. 🙂
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Interesting concept… I do tend to focus too much on the characters and their emotions. I will definitely give this some thought and try to work it into my poetry this week. Thanks!
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I’ve had a crammed and crowded porch… that I have vowed to tackle so I too can look out without ‘skeeter worry in this now ending spring bounding summer ~
Lovely.
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FRONT PORCH, AS THE THUNDER APPROACHES
End of day plays Jekyll and Hyde,
It’s a bit warm to remain inside.
A hasty retreat is beaten to the cover
of awning with a rainstorm dawning.
Deck chairs edge closer; the center
of the porch as ground zero.
Clouds dance, Lightning brightening
the horizon. Hearing in the distance,
rumbles tumble, a cacophonous cascade;
nature’s serenade played in tympanic
tumult. Nearer the furor approaches.
Rain showers encroach on late spring.
A brilliant display on the front porch at the end of day!
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015
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I am hearing the sounds!
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Me, too, especially “rumbles tumble.”
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That sounds like where my day is headed – storms – bring it on : ) Wonderful mood, Walt
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It’s Always Five Inside
Five years old
and her world
has swirled to a
kaleidoscopic
confusion.
A Picasso reality.
Like Alice, she can’t
get a grip on this craziness.
What do they mean,
Daddy’s in Heaven?
Why is everyone so quiet,
tiptoeing around?
She walks along the
weathered stone wall
dragging her ragdoll.
Poor little lonely girl
this desertion will
dog your steps
even when you’re old.
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So true, those dragging of the feet.
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This is so insightful, so accurate. Marvellous.
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TO THE SEAS
Men must go to the seas.
Sailor and wayfarer share this desire.
Mired in rich tradition, a mission
of heart; determination.
In ships and boats
floats and dinghy and rafts.
Any water-tight craft will serve.
Grey cummulo-ominous clouds
churning, yearning for release.
A treacherous chop,
the surging surf of a spiraling sea.
A dangerous dilemma,
way off shore and a combative oar.
Wishing to not become debris,
men must go to the seas.
God help them all!
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015
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Grey cummulo-ominous clouds… LOVE that
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For me, this calls to mind the Navy Hymn
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Just Down The Road
As evening sky settles pink, four
friends head to a favorite Italian
restaurant. Sign in red
scripted letters on white post
with an arrow leading several steps
down into a grotto setting,
sound of opera playing.
New waiters speak only Italian,
smile graciously, and pick up
a word here and there. Wine flows,
antipasto plate is whisked away,
and the main course arrives.
At meal’s end, collective sighs.
The four leave sated, carrying
containers of leftovers, and dessert,
for which no one had room.
In darkness, with a sliver
of moonlight, they walk
back to their car. The underpass
is filled with homeless people,
young and old, huddling together,
trying to keep the cold at bay.
“This is a sin,” one couple declares,
taking out the pristine containers
of leftovers, and offering them
to a grateful pair of homeless
Veterans. “You should not do that,
the other couple admonishes, “or they
will not even attempt to pull themselves
up.”
Four old friends continue their walk
in chilling silence.
It is also up on my blog: http://Purplepeninportland.wordpress.com/just-down-the-road.
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Hope you don’t mind, Sara. I edited your post to include your piece.
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Thanks, Walt. No problem.
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I read this over and over…. The ending, especially, is so apt.
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Thanks so much, William.
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ART BEAUTIFULLY COMPOSED
A cross the field, ‘neath azure skies,
B eyond the mountains, beyond the seas.
C learly, one can see the signs
D iscovered in the beauty of a Summer’s day.
E verwhere the view proclaims
F orever lives in always dreams,
G iving rise to raise your eyes to the
H eavens, (disguised as azure skies).
I f man were meant to fly, he’d hover o’er fields green
J ust to glimpse the beauty exposed.
K eep your hearts open for
L ove to live within,
M indful of the world around you,
N ot only of yourself. For
O nce this beauty captures your spirit
P ursuit of such scenes are repeated, a
Q uest for the masterpieces of life.
R eclaim your place in the world, your
S tation in this fine and expressive work.
T each your children to appreciate its beauty,
U nderstanding that what you give them
V alidates your reason to exist.
W hether you embrace the world, it is your target.
X marks the spot where your heart will begin.
Y ou are always welcome to share your voice,
Z eniths of art beautifully composed await you.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik
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Prayers don’t come more heartfelt than this.
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FRONT PORCH: EMPTY NEST
The winds have calmed.
The rains have ceased
and now there’s peace.
Two vacant chairs reside
and inside the rooms seem vacuous.
You’ve done your very best
to build this cozy nest and now,
you have earned a needed rest
to reap the fruits of loves labors.
Just you and mother hen,
and a chick who will return
now and again. The walls that bind
confine in the vibrant hues
you choose. Peaches and cream,
lemon yellow and mellow shades
of beige and blue. When through,
there will be little left to do.
The street is rambunctious
with silence. Across the way
the creatures in the field play
and skitter; quite lively critters.
And the birds clutching their branch
sing a sweet sparrow sonata.
Just two facing the world.
They’ve surrendered their nest,
the best is yet to come.
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015
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There is so much to like here, but for me the salient phrase is “rambunctious / with silence.”
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The Lake
Straggly trees covered the embankments
that flanked each side of the lake
which stretched out to the blue sky.
A spattering of fluffy clouds drifted by.
The bench was up the slope a little ways,
perhaps far enough that when the water was high,
people stopping a spell to take in the scene
wouldn’t get their feet wet.
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This lake, for me, conjured up images of a winter beach at oceanside. Wonderful.
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The mountains
circled the pool,
like a giant’s bathtub
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What a startling and sparkling clear image!
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[…] PHOENIX RISING – DESTINATION: POETRY – WHERE AM I? […]
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