What follows are student-created poems which began as "nonsense poems" written using at least eight words which the students did not know. After the students discovered the real meanings of the words they had previously used solely for their sound and/or associative values, they had to then reconstruct a poem using words related to the original terms' actual meanings, and within the universe of their creations, these poems needed to make sense.
Here's my example, and following in the comments, their creations.
Poem one:
orgeat kerfs
dibble in
samisen tondo,
plagal the mesic
illuviation, and
berk in agamic
euphorbia.
Poem two (the revision based on actual word meanings)
Paint this:
on a banjo's
circular face,
a syrup of sweet
almond
seeking slits and
holes,
infusing the pitch,
suspended
in moist foolishness,
in the midst of asexual shrubs.
Walking through the woods;
ReplyDeleteA man, A hunter
with a weapon with chains
chasing after the Hoatzin
The most prized bird
Baiting it
with almond syrup
Spotting the bird
He gets ready to strike, but...
"STOP!"
Cries the girl with the golden curls
"I have to finish my painting"
Spiky leaves and bitter taste
ReplyDeletestate of harmony be erased
Make a small hole for
the fool
who feel for the sweet
almond smell
The lake, Oh the lake!
swallowed him whole
And now the dirt
covers him so
The asexual respect
ReplyDeletewas made of tiny holes
like the little slits in wood,
which was deceitful.
It was more like wide
paths made by handweapons,
with leaves cut away.
The feeling of respect turned out to be
moderate and foreign.
Catch them, Catch them
ReplyDeleteor my eyes will fill with red-blue dye.
They will escape on your behalf
into the marsh a lout of foolish cats.
Worth a pretty penny you soon won't have,
no more brocoli ordervs; for you have no cash.
Find not one, two, three but all
with this smile your trust will fall.
Lakes, marshes and swamps help them escape
our ruin will be as good as suspended soil post hast.
Authentic pitch might bring them here quick
catch them catch them, syrupy idiot!
The man sat on his porch
ReplyDelete-just sat there
playing his old banjo
it all started when he
began drinking
-that delicious yet addictive
almond drink
His trousers were full
with slits
some say he went mad!
Once a skillful florist,
he now neglected to
poke holes before planting,
he forgot that his rose bush
required moderate moisture
as it had dor ten years
What a fool he had become!
The fools lay
ReplyDeleteSuspended,
Bluish-red in the dying light.
The large azure bird with its crimson eyes
Soared over them
Singing its plagal cry and flashing its blood-smeared, clawed wingtips.
The samasins play
Surrounding the lough with their unearthly chords
As the horribly beautiful, wretchedly Heartbreaking cycle is revealed.
The asexual fool
ReplyDeletepokes holes for the plants,
as he makes slits in the soil with a stick,
a moist, green syrup paints the broccoli.
With the red and blue bird, he flys on.
Poem 1:
ReplyDeleteDibble dobble they played in the kerf
Nunchake and Vaspti the nick nack twins
They ran agamic and wild destroying everything
They ran all around Euphorbia and back to the keft again until they became hungry
They sat
Ate Rapini drank tondo and ran around again
Poem 2:
The girl and boy laid in the bed not kissing or touching just agamic
Everything was normal until fire rushed in the girls eyes
She reached over and grabed her nanchakes and made cuts, dibbles in his skin like kerfs
She slowly watched him die as she ripped out his heart, lungs and liver
The girl ate his heart as if it was rapini and vanaspati
Next she burnt the remains of his body
There love vanished like illuvation all beacuse he cheated on her
The big heathy euphorbia that they planted was now a seed again.
Poem 1
ReplyDeleteI dabble and dibble in the ink
The illuviation of letters stringed together
Tondo. I said tondo. Squeeze until sense pour out of the little pours.
Hoatzin! Lough at who deny thy fuchsin mind
Berk agamic to comity of this poem.
Poem 2
Puncture the incision as the heat burns a hole in this paper.
Lines amass to the point lowest on the string.
Twist into whirl-compress the life out of the letters.
Sense dribbles out
Inadequate feeble skein.!
Words fly over this tree leaving their mark as the talons abrade.
Painful extraction is scattered across the paper
A foolish quickie constricted by one
Never ending puzzle...
Poem 1:
ReplyDeleteIn the agamic berk,
A comity dibble
Heard from Euphorbia
In a fuchsin Haatzin.
Kerf had an illuviation
And they lough
To and fro.
A rapini Mesic,
The nanchaku orgeat
In the plagal,
As Tondo Samisened for his Vanaspati.
Poem 2:
Oil
An asexual fool,
Prodding his existence in the shrubs;
A legal battle,
The Tar Covered
Birds join him in thought,
Small slits made in their
hearts, bending and swaying.
The residue of the earth coats and covers
Everything,
Staring into the midnight-tinted
Lake, to feel disappointment.
Pacing back and forth,
Signs of vegetation,
Just turnips,
Soaking wet.
To rise up and fight,
To drink in sweet almond victory,
To hear the ambrosial pitch of music,
The panoramic view, the end of this tragedy.
Poem 1
ReplyDeleteShe sat as she watched the water dibble down the glass
All the while thinking of how lough her life is
She heard the kerg wind blowing outside
The plagal temperature sent shivers down her spine
The agamic weather is just like her attitude
Very berk and depressing.
Poem 2
She sits out by the body of water,
all the whole making holes in the ground,
Making small cuts in the ground, she sprinkles in seeds
While listening to the authentic pitch
of the Japanese banjo.
She looks at the asexual plants around her,
hoping hers will be exactly the same,
But then she comes back to her sense and realizes she is just a fool.
Oh such a bitter sweetener to life, festering in my walls
ReplyDeleteLeaving unfilled holes in my life
What a weapon you are, spite. What a vegetable I am, might...
You appreciate me you foolish woman
Set me free like thy womb
Being driven into oblivion...a tomb
I seize with a merky mind
I applause thy own piercing pitch
Which..ever you decide- I die inside
An endless portrait of asexuality
ReplyDeleteWas riddled with holes, distorting the image
Of the nunchuck master on his sacred lake.
Great clawed birds carry fools into the horizon.
The master, with great mounds of dirt about,
Devours a spinach salad in tanquility.
The orgeat taste of vanaspati
ReplyDeleteThe dibbles in the illuviated soil
The fuchsin of the cherries
Made the perfect morning for the Golden Beauty
The kerf in the wood
The nunchaku in the dojo
Made the perfect noon for the Golden
Beauty
But what makes the night for the Golden Beauty
is the man that made all these things for her
the man of her Golden dreams
A lake of shrubs, dyed bluish red from the circular sun
ReplyDeleteAs the great bird sings an authentic pitch:
Sweet songs like almond syrup.
Soft rain pounds like a ninja's nun chucks,
Accumulating in the holes of the social atmosphere,
Bringing the fool to his knees.