'Urchin Songs for a Universe' by Kate Hawk

1.

Life forms appear on the sand
like warm blooded animals.
Like spinning moon blood that
rises and falls in the pulse.

2.

The red moon humming
like a hissing beetle,
walking on a heartbroken sea,
of naked black urchins.

3.

The sun falls down onto civilization
like a spaceship and hits
during lunchtime while people
sit and eat Watermelon gazpacho.

4.

The red ball sits on the horizon
like the ominous thrill
of a stranger’s hands
ending up on your waist.

5.

A million black needles
tease you
when the water rushes by
with closed eyes and an open mouth.

6.

Little spines make love
with pieces of stars
so the sky doesn’t fall away.
So the night seems long and soft.

7.

Someone dropped cherries
on the sand when they came
and made footprints,
under the moonlight.

8.

Deep in your body,
the dark pulsates
like a prisoner who killed you
years ago and can now finally die.

9.

Holy water rushes into the city.
I hold holy water in my hand
and borrow it’s salt for a minute
so I can remember how the planets taste.

10.

At the edge of a city the
tide breaks, like
like the fishing lines
of helpless mystics looking for luck.

11.

The sound of vastness,
is the silent clashing of
atoms further away than
your life a second ago.

12.

The total unity of the sea and sky.
All that travels above and below,
that nighttime swallows,
before releasing the gold of the sun.

13.

Emotional ecstasy,
when the harshness of space comes
and strikes your face
with dark starlight.

'... And All That Jazz', by Ahmed

Smoke, warmth and mirrors,

felt and velvet, laughing love,

brothel gently sways.

Dark man fingers chord,

pulse and beat syncopate yet,

unsympathetic.

Sip dry liquid fire,

mix darkness sound and colour,

lost in C sharp blue

A minor flavour,

a taste of lips and tobacco,

D per the silence.

Baby it’s cold out,

Let me pour that drink for you

While the record plays

Fiddling with the mood,

Trumpeting the quiet ragtimes,

ragged heart sorrow

Contrabass patterns,

they underline the gaping

maws of broken oak.

'Water and Air' by Ahmed

Bubbles,

How can you say “bubbles” with gravity?

How can you imbue the word ‘bubbles’ with anger, and sorrow?

There are other words with less levity,

There is froth, froth is great for fury, fizz is much more hollow,

and then spume sounds slightly vomit-y,

scum, now, scum is downright vile; a word of filth and horror,

scud is swft and cold and without sentimentality,

spray is domestic and horticultural,

with perhaps a whiff of cetacean breath

suds, now, suds are downright sanitary,

and spin-drift, tightly combinational

a fresh mix of twisty, whirling health,

and listless, gentle scantuary…

To be honest, I don’t feel I have the vocabulary,

to describe the simple, banal epic,

that plays in my ears, and in my sinews,

when I crawl on the waters swiftly,

and my hunger for speed and force renews

as the wather thunders and crashés

silencing my mind in this dampened sancutary.

A poem without a name, by Cameron

the experience of self as separate

as entity

we have a word

at least

but to transmit the experience itself –

how imperfect our means,

even in trying to recite an instant

                a painting, a moment

                constructed from hours

                of labor and thought

                or a photograph

                pieces of pose and exposure

to feel only one

in a sea of other selves

and barely that,

so much of the self

trapped in semantics

to forget

we fuck, we love

to feel someone else

and to be felt

wordless

'Blossoms of Brevity', by Cameron

blossoms of brevity:

scent, and impermanent glow

floating nectars awash in meadow and straw

see how several moons hang

there, and there

breath becomes prayer

a gong in the ghost monastery

so ephemeral, this crystal

of memory worn out of the edges

sheering and sheered by time

transformed through use, by water

passing through the lattice of fingers

what could be gained in reversal?

the pathways repolarized, cortex to thalamus

light projected out to face, to sun

untasted, and unforgettable

'No Names' by Nemo

You bones are exotic

As dark as the light 

Beneath your trace skin 

I drink your blessing slowly 

Nursing each sip, as on our final bed 

I kneel beneath your rosetta stone, 

Plumed like a stolen dove

Breathless I learn you're a tax accountant. 

I love your figures, your exponential curves, 

Your firm grasp of numbers 

I feel as safe as a sonnet 

After we learn, we yearn, for love.

'The Shaman' by Ahmed Amine Ramdani

The shaman paused, the shaman knew,

You wish to escape, and yet remain true.

The road you walk is small indeed,

The route is a circle, we call it routine,

Listlessly you go down your tidy little lists,

Acupuncutring your heart,

one bullet-point at a time,

drawing circles like fences;

isn’t it so nice of you,

to keep yourself in check?

Your manager esteems you, are you not fulfilled?

Your spouse respects you, don’t you pay the bills?

Your children, however, are not impressed,

your inner child, your greater man, they rattle their bars,

they scream their hunger, they feed on your heart,

out of starvatation, to stave off cold death.

This hollow heart makes for a poor tutor,

for your tender saplings to grow on.

Come with me, says the Shaman,

Gaze with me, says the Mystic,

Cast with me, says the Mage,

Word and verb and speak,

Stand and stay and grow,

But don’t you dare to let it go,

Don’t you hide yourself alone,

The Hermit’s cave is stifling,

a hermetic, sealed coffin,

You’re a living treasure

those can’t hide

in leaden safes

no bars, but feathers;

under the sky

is where you’re safe.

A club of lonely hearts,

is an oxymoron;

we sit around the hearth

and we know love again,

we sing together,

'Dawn' by Mike Zhai

This new day that approaches
Like the pale sand
Of a foreign land,
My bed a little boat
Still afloat
On the dark waves of night.
Yesterday's folk, all left behind
In the old country, their kind
Looks, as I looked away
Still aching in my mind.
The window slowly fills with light;
The keel digs in through the foam--
What is this strange new day
That I will call home?

Agenda, May 14 2014: The Exotic

POETRY WORKSHOP AGENDA, MAY 14, 2014.

‘THE EXOTIC’

Introductions

Sharing of poems on theme, current work, work in progress, published poems.

2 Minute Meditation

Freewrite On Theme. Prompts: 

• Are you a hunter for the exotic in life? If so where do you find it and how do you experience it? OR...
• How in your opinion does the exotic vary from culture to culture? How do we classify the exotic and what does that mean in terms of the way we relate to one another as humans from different countries/lands/places. OR... 
• At what point does exotic overlap with erotic? OR...
• What is your most exotic fantasy and how do the five senses play into this dream?

Review and reading of Freewrites.

15 MINUTE BREAK

Readings and Discussion on theme :

‘The Goblin Market,’- Christina Rossetti (1862)

‘The Voyage,’ - Charles Baudelaire (1857)

-Group Poem if time allows!

POETRY AGENDA, APRIL 30, 2014: “THE BODY”

8:20- 8:30 : Introductions

8:30-8:50 : Sharing of poems brought to group

8:50- 9:00: Reading and discussion of ‘Your Feet,’ and ‘Your Hands,’ - Pablo Neruda

Two Minute Meditation

9:00- 9:20 : Freewrite on theme.

Prompts:

1. If you are someone that believes in the ‘soul,’ do you think there is a separation between it and the body? Where or how do you experience that separation?

2. Is there a particular area or part of the body (besides the obvious sexy parts, though this is fine to write about too,) that especially attracts you or you are drawn too?

3.How has your own body changed with time or carried you through the world?

9:20-9:30 : Sharing of freewrites

BREAK (15 MINUTES)

9:45-10:00 : Reading and discussion of, ‘I sing the body electric,’- Walt Whitman

10:00- 10:30 : Writing exercise on theme with group contributed questions.

10:30-11:00 : A variety of other shenanigans and writing games/ recorded group poem.

FIN!

Today's Agenda

8:20-8:30 : INTRODUCTIONS

8:30-8:50 : SHARING OF POEMS

2 MINUTE MEDITATION

9:00-9:20 : FREEWRITE ON THEME. PROMPTS: The City.


9:20-9:30 : SHARING OF FREEWRITES

BREAK ( 15 MINUTES )

9:45- 10:30 : READING AND DISCUSSION OF WALT WHITMAN'S SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD


10:30- 10:45 : SHORT WRITING GROUP EXERCISE: CONTRIBUTED QUESTIONS.

OUT LOUD POEM IF TIME ALLOWS!

Poem: "If you could, I believe you would", by Kate Hawk

If you could, I believe you would

If you could fit both of your hands into my chest
and wrap your tight possessive fingers around my heart
and squeeze every drop of blood out of it
with your eyes closed
I believe you would
And, if you could take the blood and drink it with your claws
and place large grey rocks in the vacant cavity where
there once was a beating force of life
I believe you would
If when you were finished you could slyly
hide in a silver cape and iridescent knee socks and like
a rocket, jet yourself into the cloudy sky, and enter
the heavens through a crack of light between
two heavy rain clouds,
I believe you would,with a belly full of my blood, and pieces of my
flesh stuck underneath your nails.

Submissions and Feedback: the Might of G-Docs

Mike Zhai just submitted a poignant work for feedback; here's a full transcription:

Jacaleena 

I'm used to the smell of your enchanted perfume,
That famous perfume I first saw on a midnight
Infomercial, on a night as predictable as its soundtrack
Sung by a singer who couldn't speak the language,
Bringing tears to a million eyes, and proving
You and I are not so different after all.

We're only different symptoms of the same world;
In a year you spent jogging on the treadmill,
Eating raw vegan Chinese and watching the tide roll in,
In a year somewhat before this world ended—
I've been a minor glitch in the weather, another frightnik
Round the corner, an uninvited guest. 

I'm used to your curls hanging down like vines
Blackened by the heat of a shadeless summer
Your arm with the barbed-wire rose tattoo,
Your eyes as blue as the deepest lakes—
As if bathing in them might have saved me
Like baptism might have saved the Jews, 

I chased these sounds that enticed and ravished
Even as they cried out in utter strangeness—
The music of people long ago extinct,
Or of those dedicated to my extinction:
As if they held the key to the secret code of life,
They prod me to dance at my execution. 

You who were born on this remorseless earth,
Mother's milk gone sour in cactus breasts;
This coldness is older than we can imagine,
Like the screams we don’t hear through the scream of the metro
In the desolate rites the earth at evening
Burying the mobs of unhappy people... 

"It's the kind of love you only read about,
The only yogurt you'll want to have day after day!"
So slowly we'll get used to knowing each other
A little less each time we happen to meet
Till finally we turn to strangers, waiting
To meet for the first time over again 

From this city you are leaving; in another
You arrive, a new face bringing new hope,
New heartbreak, already long in the making.
We'll meet again as a thousand other people
Reacquainted with the wind that's always speaking
Neither of expectation, nor of loss...

The story of Gatsby and Daisy keeps repeating itself over and over; will we ever stop disappointing each other? I couldn't help but think of Jack White's cover of Love is Blindness while reading this...

Okay, okay, on second thought, it might not be as topical as I first thought; Mike's poem has an altogether different tone; more accepting and contemplative. You folks are welcome to suggest something, in person or in the comments section—you do know that this blog has a comment section, yes? It's at the bottom of every post.

Now, I'll take this opportunity to introduce my favourite tool for collaborative work of any sort: Google Docs. This Youtube tutorial explores what we can do with a google file in great and excellent detail (and covers other tools such as Google Presentations and Google Sheets), but this level of mastery is not necessary for what I would like to do here. Nevertheless, here it is;

Now,  here's a link to a Google Docs version of Mike's poem. Here's the first thing we're gonna do with those;  highlight a piece of text with your mouse, and summon the menu (right click, cmnd key, whatever works on your platform).

Among the many options, you'll have the option to "comment", which has a little speech bubble in front of it. Clicking on it will allow you to add your own little comment, things like "I loved this verse! Such wording, much metric, wow!" or "I notice that I am confused" or "This reminded me of...".

This is especially useful when the work being submitted is a work in progress, looking for feedback and corrections and improvements. And the best part is that you can answer each other's comments, thus allowing for multiple commenters and editors to work with the author interactively and in real time in improving the concerned piece. Or, you know, just gush to each other on how wonderful a particular piece is.

Next time, we'll expand on this, and tackle something more advanced; actual collaborative writing. There is an epic to be wrought!

POETRY AGENDA, APRIL SIXTEENTH, TWO THOUSAND AND FOURTEEN: “Somebody Else”

8:20-8:30 : INTRODUCTIONS

8:30-8:50 : SHARING OF POEMS

2 MINUTE MEDITATION

9:00-9:20 : FREEWRITE ON THEME. PROMPTS: If this person is not longer in your life, do you wish they were? And if they were what would life look like with them? OR How does or did this person influence who you are? OR If you had a chance to tell this person something you haven’t told them what would it be? OR Describe what the perfect day with this person is.


9:20-9:30 : SHARING OF FREEWRITES

BREAK ( 15 MINUTES )

9:45- 10:30 : READING AND DISCUSSION OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH’S ‘LUCY POEMS’

• Strange Fits of Passion Have I known
• She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways
• Three Years she Grew in Sun and Shower
• I travelled Among Unknown Men
• A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal

10:30- 10:45 : SHORT WRITING GROUP EXERCISE: CONTRIBUTED QUESTIONS.

OUT LOUD POEM IF TIME ALLOWS!

First!

Hello, everyone. This is your favourite web-jockey Ahmed releasing the first post of the website for our poetry group, which has yet to be named besides "BARCELONA ENGLISH SPEAKING POETRY GROUP", which, while descriptive, lacks a certain je-ne-sais-quoi (that's Fancee for "wossname") that one would expect of this kind of crew. So we called it Barcelona Poetry Workshop, because we're subversively simple like that.

Now, I'll quote the general description we have of our group on the Meetup site; seeing as it's excellent and representative and otherwise awesome, I think any alternate description would be a paraphrase. So here we go:

Every week we follow an agenda on a theme of some sort. Examples in the past: 'City life,' ' Passion,' ' Animals,' 'Sex and Lust,' 'Food tasting and writing,' 'Childhood.' etc... We also have themes based around periods/movements in poetry. In general we open with introductions, go into sharing of poems ( whoever has one to share,) , short meditation, 15 minute free-write to selected music, and then delve into group or individual writing projects based on our theme. Prompts are given out though obviously you are encouraged to write about anything your are feeling or want to explore. Lots of writing games, laughing, out-loud recorded group poems. I usually try and introduce 2-3 new poets to the group a week.   We drink a lot of red wine and eat food too! Wednesday poetry nights are generally based around the concept of total escapism.....if you combine wine and food with something as impractical as poetry what do you expect?!
We are a dedicated, supportive and non-critical family of ladies and gents who deeply care about the role of poetry in our world and tend to be romantics at heart. If you see poetry in your day as you walk down the street, if you feel like the quickly developing world of technology sometimes leaves you feeling a pain of emptiness in your heart then come join us at our weekly salons.
We always take a break half way through to visit and consume edible and drinkable things like the heathens we are.
Bring a pen, paper, a personality, some vulnerability, a bottle of wine, a tender heart, a hardened heart that needs tenderizing, a sense of humor...dark or as light as a springtime butterfly, and most important your belief in a life filled with poetry! 

I personally testify that all of this is factual description and excellent advice. No hyperbole, no euphemisms, no doublespeak. We're a straight crew, we keep it real. This is in no small part thanks to our esteemed leader, Kate Hawk, who's great at catalysing up that wonderful welcoming mood, and that sense of fun and authenticity that makes the charm of the group.

With this, I hereby declare our website inaugurated. The next post will be very practical about how to share media and give each other feedback online. Till then!