Not an ordinary post, but one about the way poetry intrudes when you least expect it. Sometimes my own words, sometimes the words of others, but always images, sounds, feelings, colors, light, darkness, always working their way around my perceptions. Like an artist working a canvas because something just isn't yet right, my words can be the same way. The words of others sometimes inspire, sometimes scold, sometimes goad me.
Sometimes a friend will say something that brings many wonderful, enticing images to mind.
For instance, a tweet from friend earlier asking if dead leaves really HAVE to make that awful scratchy, scuttling sound when they blow down the street.
I say they do, for they speak of the memories of Spring now lost, of the ravages of Winter still here, of the glorious ghosts of Autumn color.
Dead Leaves
By C.K. Armistead
March 2014
Down the street,
The wind accompanies
The army of small victims
Scuttling and scraping their way
Beside us,
Following behind us,
Making us look over our shoulders
To see WHAT is following,
Though we really don't WANT to know.
It's the ghosts of Spring's broken promises
The melancholy memories of Summer sun,
The lost glory of Autumn's colors,
The ghostly garments of trees
Shed, and taken up by who knows what,
Whispering to us on the wind,
To taunt us even now, at Winter's end
With the knowledge of mortality.
No Halloween tale could ever be complete without the atmospheric scuttling of dry leaves underfoot and along the street. Their sound so evocative of fall and desolation, and reminding us of the wind's mercurial and teasing presence.
The daily verses are still being written. Often they are drivel, just for fun. Now and then one I really like shows up, and there has been a couple that are even related to each other.
This is short, but it is what was begging to be written tonight.
Peace.
Showing posts with label images. Show all posts
Showing posts with label images. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Friday, December 13, 2013
Voicing Some Views on Vocabulary
Words have long been my favorite playthings. I learned to read very early, and so read just about everything I could find with print on it when I was a kid. I even read dictionaries. For fun.
My entire career at school, from elementary through university, my vocabulary was always larger than those of my classmates. I often had to consider before I spoke whether the word I had chosen to use would be well received in present company. This is what happens when you are the youngest child by several years in a household of readers. Since my parents and siblings read news stories aloud to me (and each other) at the breakfast table, and I cannot remember a time I could not read, though they tell me I was 3 when they realized I could, it would seem I was destined to have a large collection of words at my beck and call.
My composition professor at university always told me that I wrote in much the same way that I speak: very long and complex sentences. He reminded me that colons and semi colons were my friends, and I should not be afraid to call upon them.
Here then, are a few of the words that interest me. Only a very few. (Winking smiley).
There are words I almost never use in daily conversation and writing, but I love them. The sound of them, the associated meanings of them, the way they fit a particular situation.
Words like Pyrrhic Victory, which refers to a victory won at too great a cost. (After a Greek king who won battles against the Romans, but lost great numbers of men and equipment and animals in the process.)
Slew, which comes from the Gaelic sluah, which means "many", or "a multitude". A whole slew o' things, is a lot of them. It's pretty common in the regions where my ancestors settled in this country. (In the 1780s and '90s in the hills of Kentucky, North Carolina, and later Arkansas.)
Many in my Mom's family, who are from farther South and in the flatter lands, say "a whole mess" of things instead of slew. One meaning of mess, according to the Oxford American Dictionary is "an untidy collection of things." So I guess my Mom's family was more concerned with the quality of the things than the number of them.
Truncated is a word I like because it does indeed give the impression of something cut short, cut off, left unfinished, perhaps. I always will remember a lady who wouldn't believe the "may be truncated" on a list of book titles she was given referred to the fact that the book titles were likely cut short due to the size of the field in the database. She believed it meant SHE could be cut off at any time, either her account or her call, I'm not sure which. I think a manager FINALLY convinced her of the truth.
I also like trudge. "To walk laboriously." Good old Oxford. Use a five syllable word to define a one syllable word! (Big smile here!) Many are the days I have trudged through simply because I felt heavy and weary, whether of spirit or body, or both.
Twitter is a word I like. It does indeed sound like some of the sounds birds make. It is also, of course, the name of a social media platform that is very popular. So, now it has even more positive connotations for me than it did before. Bird watching was a big hobby of mine while we were in Germany. We saw many different kinds of woodpeckers, blackbirds, starlings, birds of prey, magpies, beautiful songbirds like goldfinches, cedar waxwings, and of course, European House Sparrows. They are ubiquitous. (Another word I love.) "Being everywhere at the same time" well, yes, sparrows seem to be. Just look around. You'll see.
Mellifluous is another word I adore. It means "Sweet sounding". It brings to mind a song well sung. I love to sing, I love it even more when I know I am singing well. When it is mellifluous.
There are words I like that are considered odd by some. Woolgather. I like that word, because I find myself woolgathering a lot. It means, of course, to drift a bit mentally, be bemused. Oxford American Dictionary says "Being in a dreamy or absent-minded state." Pretty much describes me most of the time!
Vestments is a word that sometimes makes me smile. I have to wear choir vestments every Sunday. (And every Wednesday evening in Advent.) They actually fit, having been made to measure for me, but now they are lots roomier since I have lost weight. This makes me smile.
Just as there are words I love, there are expressions I love. One that I learned that is Italian in origin is "Fai attenzion. E un venditore di fumo." (Pay attention, or watch out, he's a smoke salesman. ) He's a fake, a con man.
A good con man could seem a lot like he was selling smoke, couldn't he? It's a very colorful and powerful image.
Just found a book today about expressions like this from around the world. Will have to report in once I have a chance to delve into it. I also have a book called Wordbirds to delve into. Talking about words coined to deal with our 21st Century lives. (Reminds me a lot of Sniglets, but maybe more useful and less completely funny.)
The hour grows late, my energy is waning, and I must arise early tomorrow and be about my business in a timely manner, so I will bid you all a fond farewell at this point.
My entire career at school, from elementary through university, my vocabulary was always larger than those of my classmates. I often had to consider before I spoke whether the word I had chosen to use would be well received in present company. This is what happens when you are the youngest child by several years in a household of readers. Since my parents and siblings read news stories aloud to me (and each other) at the breakfast table, and I cannot remember a time I could not read, though they tell me I was 3 when they realized I could, it would seem I was destined to have a large collection of words at my beck and call.
My composition professor at university always told me that I wrote in much the same way that I speak: very long and complex sentences. He reminded me that colons and semi colons were my friends, and I should not be afraid to call upon them.
Here then, are a few of the words that interest me. Only a very few. (Winking smiley).
There are words I almost never use in daily conversation and writing, but I love them. The sound of them, the associated meanings of them, the way they fit a particular situation.
Words like Pyrrhic Victory, which refers to a victory won at too great a cost. (After a Greek king who won battles against the Romans, but lost great numbers of men and equipment and animals in the process.)
Slew, which comes from the Gaelic sluah, which means "many", or "a multitude". A whole slew o' things, is a lot of them. It's pretty common in the regions where my ancestors settled in this country. (In the 1780s and '90s in the hills of Kentucky, North Carolina, and later Arkansas.)
Many in my Mom's family, who are from farther South and in the flatter lands, say "a whole mess" of things instead of slew. One meaning of mess, according to the Oxford American Dictionary is "an untidy collection of things." So I guess my Mom's family was more concerned with the quality of the things than the number of them.
Truncated is a word I like because it does indeed give the impression of something cut short, cut off, left unfinished, perhaps. I always will remember a lady who wouldn't believe the "may be truncated" on a list of book titles she was given referred to the fact that the book titles were likely cut short due to the size of the field in the database. She believed it meant SHE could be cut off at any time, either her account or her call, I'm not sure which. I think a manager FINALLY convinced her of the truth.
I also like trudge. "To walk laboriously." Good old Oxford. Use a five syllable word to define a one syllable word! (Big smile here!) Many are the days I have trudged through simply because I felt heavy and weary, whether of spirit or body, or both.
Twitter is a word I like. It does indeed sound like some of the sounds birds make. It is also, of course, the name of a social media platform that is very popular. So, now it has even more positive connotations for me than it did before. Bird watching was a big hobby of mine while we were in Germany. We saw many different kinds of woodpeckers, blackbirds, starlings, birds of prey, magpies, beautiful songbirds like goldfinches, cedar waxwings, and of course, European House Sparrows. They are ubiquitous. (Another word I love.) "Being everywhere at the same time" well, yes, sparrows seem to be. Just look around. You'll see.
Mellifluous is another word I adore. It means "Sweet sounding". It brings to mind a song well sung. I love to sing, I love it even more when I know I am singing well. When it is mellifluous.
There are words I like that are considered odd by some. Woolgather. I like that word, because I find myself woolgathering a lot. It means, of course, to drift a bit mentally, be bemused. Oxford American Dictionary says "Being in a dreamy or absent-minded state." Pretty much describes me most of the time!
Vestments is a word that sometimes makes me smile. I have to wear choir vestments every Sunday. (And every Wednesday evening in Advent.) They actually fit, having been made to measure for me, but now they are lots roomier since I have lost weight. This makes me smile.
Just as there are words I love, there are expressions I love. One that I learned that is Italian in origin is "Fai attenzion. E un venditore di fumo." (Pay attention, or watch out, he's a smoke salesman. ) He's a fake, a con man.
A good con man could seem a lot like he was selling smoke, couldn't he? It's a very colorful and powerful image.
Just found a book today about expressions like this from around the world. Will have to report in once I have a chance to delve into it. I also have a book called Wordbirds to delve into. Talking about words coined to deal with our 21st Century lives. (Reminds me a lot of Sniglets, but maybe more useful and less completely funny.)
The hour grows late, my energy is waning, and I must arise early tomorrow and be about my business in a timely manner, so I will bid you all a fond farewell at this point.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Making Pictures With Words
I follow someone on Twitter who is an artist. Sometimes, he shares images of his art. He uses color, and shape, and texture to communicate emotions. He is pretty good at it.
I am a bit of an artist myself when I set my mind to it. I paint pictures with words. Sometimes I share the word pictures here or on Facebook. I don't know how good I am at it, really. I get some positive feedback, but I am one that tends to doubt myself, and so I attribute that to people "being nice." Musical expression can also be a way of "painting." One uses dynamics and in opera, anyway, the addition of little ornaments to make a piece more dramatic, or more comical. Usually, the composer sets these out for you, but over the years, many great singers have made certain arias their own, and their ornamentation tends to become "standard".
Back to painting with words. I have done many poetry exercises that ask you to use words to literally describe a scene. In this first one, you are given a word and then asked to list things that the word brings to mind that describe the sensation, feeling, or object.
Speed: swallows racing, air rushing past my ears, Michael Schumacher driving.
Orange: Tangerines in a green glass bowl, Autumn leaves, Oklahoma clay baked in Summer sun, a traffic cone.
Fear: Ice water poured on your head, The air being sucked away from you, falling and falling with nothing to catch hold of.
Greed: The kid who won;t share his toys and takes yours, too. SUV drivers who use 2 lanes at once, the dog who tried to keep more tennis balls than his mouth will hold.
Yellow: Morning sun, an oriole, mustard.
These associations mean something to me because of experiences I have had. Others will have different images, but they should mean enough to all of us to transmit the feeling desired. I particularly like my ice water poured on your head image for fear, because that is exactly how it feels to me when something REALLY scares me. Cold dread starts at the crown of my head and flows over my whole body. Like ice water. My whole being experiences the fear.
Here are a few other images gleaned from exercises:
The moon, broken off like a discarded dinner plate.
A red flower, brilliant as the sequins on a diva's gown.
Her fingers, delicate as hummingbird wings.
The island stretches out from the coast like a yogi embracing dawn.
Your backbone, ridged like an old washboard.
Soft as a baby's kisses.
The bicyclist, careening down the hill like an avalanche.
Crazy bird! It's song like the grate of a rusted roof turbine.
His monotonous voice, like the drone of a thousand computer (cpu) cooling fans.
She spun off like a new series from an old sitcom.
Days pass like the freight trains speeding through town.
Teeth of a comb, feet of a chair, head of cabbage, hand of bananas, hair up in a "bun", Rabbit Ears on old TVs, Heel of bread, eyes on a potato, hands on a clock.
Some of those are fun, some I could probably come up with better images if I sat and thought about it long enough.
Here is a little composition I wrote almost ten years ago about a typical morning for me.
Alarm blare
of radio news
A chattering background
As I shuffle to the bathroom
Where light stabs my eyes
And I struggle awake
With water, soap and toothpaste.
With whiny impatience
The dog awaits release from
His kennel so he
May complete his morning
Requirements
Of excretion and exercise.
The cat stares her displeasure
Upon us all
For her dish is bereft of food.
I set about, once dressed,
As a great fixer of
Domestic calamities
Such as these
Restoring order to bedclothes
and tabletops
Feeding the starving
And waking the house for a new day.
These days, there is no dog, and the radio is usually blasting classical music from KCSC. The morning routine now also includes turning on the cell phone so I won't have to wait for it to boot up when I am ready to go walk. It's pretty fast, but still , once I'm ready to go, I'm ready to GO, not fool with my phone.
At any rate, I am now weary and achy and feeling almost all of my 53 years. Time to go try and sleep.
Try some word pictures of your own. It's fun.
I am a bit of an artist myself when I set my mind to it. I paint pictures with words. Sometimes I share the word pictures here or on Facebook. I don't know how good I am at it, really. I get some positive feedback, but I am one that tends to doubt myself, and so I attribute that to people "being nice." Musical expression can also be a way of "painting." One uses dynamics and in opera, anyway, the addition of little ornaments to make a piece more dramatic, or more comical. Usually, the composer sets these out for you, but over the years, many great singers have made certain arias their own, and their ornamentation tends to become "standard".
Back to painting with words. I have done many poetry exercises that ask you to use words to literally describe a scene. In this first one, you are given a word and then asked to list things that the word brings to mind that describe the sensation, feeling, or object.
Speed: swallows racing, air rushing past my ears, Michael Schumacher driving.
Orange: Tangerines in a green glass bowl, Autumn leaves, Oklahoma clay baked in Summer sun, a traffic cone.
Fear: Ice water poured on your head, The air being sucked away from you, falling and falling with nothing to catch hold of.
Greed: The kid who won;t share his toys and takes yours, too. SUV drivers who use 2 lanes at once, the dog who tried to keep more tennis balls than his mouth will hold.
Yellow: Morning sun, an oriole, mustard.
These associations mean something to me because of experiences I have had. Others will have different images, but they should mean enough to all of us to transmit the feeling desired. I particularly like my ice water poured on your head image for fear, because that is exactly how it feels to me when something REALLY scares me. Cold dread starts at the crown of my head and flows over my whole body. Like ice water. My whole being experiences the fear.
Here are a few other images gleaned from exercises:
The moon, broken off like a discarded dinner plate.
A red flower, brilliant as the sequins on a diva's gown.
Her fingers, delicate as hummingbird wings.
The island stretches out from the coast like a yogi embracing dawn.
Your backbone, ridged like an old washboard.
Soft as a baby's kisses.
The bicyclist, careening down the hill like an avalanche.
Crazy bird! It's song like the grate of a rusted roof turbine.
His monotonous voice, like the drone of a thousand computer (cpu) cooling fans.
She spun off like a new series from an old sitcom.
Days pass like the freight trains speeding through town.
Teeth of a comb, feet of a chair, head of cabbage, hand of bananas, hair up in a "bun", Rabbit Ears on old TVs, Heel of bread, eyes on a potato, hands on a clock.
Some of those are fun, some I could probably come up with better images if I sat and thought about it long enough.
Here is a little composition I wrote almost ten years ago about a typical morning for me.
Alarm blare
of radio news
A chattering background
As I shuffle to the bathroom
Where light stabs my eyes
And I struggle awake
With water, soap and toothpaste.
With whiny impatience
The dog awaits release from
His kennel so he
May complete his morning
Requirements
Of excretion and exercise.
The cat stares her displeasure
Upon us all
For her dish is bereft of food.
I set about, once dressed,
As a great fixer of
Domestic calamities
Such as these
Restoring order to bedclothes
and tabletops
Feeding the starving
And waking the house for a new day.
These days, there is no dog, and the radio is usually blasting classical music from KCSC. The morning routine now also includes turning on the cell phone so I won't have to wait for it to boot up when I am ready to go walk. It's pretty fast, but still , once I'm ready to go, I'm ready to GO, not fool with my phone.
At any rate, I am now weary and achy and feeling almost all of my 53 years. Time to go try and sleep.
Try some word pictures of your own. It's fun.
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