When I woke yesterday morning, the thermometer on my deck read 2º F. (– 17) C.) Brrrr! As much as I love winter, that's cold! Apropos of nothing in particular,
after checking the outdoor temperature and putting out some bread and peanut butter for the squirrels, I sat down with a cup of Earl Grey and thought about my favorite word. I know—what made me think of that? Do you have a favorite word? Mine is rill. I’ve always
thought that if I were to use a pseudonym, the first name would be “Rill.”
Interestingly, I’ve never used that word in anything I’ve written.
This week, I’d like you to think
about your favorite words and then choose one to be the inspiration word for a
poem.
Guidelines:
1. Begin by making a list of
words that you like (any part of speech—noun, verb, adjective—is fine).
2. After you’ve made your list,
take a look at it and choose one of the words to work with.
3. Make another list of ideas,
images, and emotions that your chosen word brings to mind.
3. Does your word make you think
of a particular experience?
4. Begin writing, and let your
“favorite word” guide the direction of your poem.
5. Be sure to use the word as, or
in, your title.
6. An alternative is to choose a word you dislike.
7. And another alternative is to choose the weirdest word you've ever heard.
7. And another alternative is to choose the weirdest word you've ever heard.
Tips:
1. Be sure to include fresh
language, concreteness, and a strong emotional center. Find the “power” in your
word and give that power its head.
2. Show, don’t tell.
3. Avoid “ing” endings and
prepositional phrases.
4. Connect, reveal, and surprise
(yourself and your readers). Remember that a good poem should astonish its readers in some way.
5. Perhaps pose a question that’s
impossible to answer.
6. During the editing and
revising part of your process, look for the “lifeless” parts of your poem and
either give them life or get rid of them.
Example:
There is a Word
By Emily Dickinson
There is a word
Which bears a sword
Can pierce an armed man—
It hurls its barbed syllables
And is mute again—
But where it fell
The saved will tell
On patriotic day,
some epauletted Brother
Gave his breath away.
Wherever runds the breathless sun—
Wherever roams the day—
There is its noiseless onset—
There is its victory!
Behold the keenest marksman!
The most accomplished shot!
Time’s sublimest target
Is a soul “Forgot.”
