Crafting your Poem from Poetry Matters by Ralph Fletcher, chap. 6

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Crafting your Poemfrom Poetry Matters by Ralph
Fletcher, chap. 6
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The world is full of poets with languid wrenches
who dont bother to take the last six turns on
their bolts.-X. J. Kennedy
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I. Think Fragments
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• People everywhere,
• Pushing, shoving,
• Packed in like sardines,
• Cant hardly breathe
• GOING CRAZY!!!!!

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• There are people everywhere,
• Pushing and shoving.
• We are packed in like sardines.
• We cant hardly breathe.
• IM GOING CRAZY!!!!!

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II. Consider the Shape
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• Soda
• Fiz tickles
• my tongue
• coldness
• trickles
• up my spine
• like the
• last drops
• trickle into
• my mouth
• my taste buds

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• want to
• savor
• more
• of the
• sweet
• carbonated
• liquid
• bubbles
• hop
• around like

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• Mexican jumping beans
• My
• certain
• drink
• is
• a dark
• brown
• not
• crystal clear
• Sugar enters
• my body

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• causing me
• to bounce
• off the walls
• I cant get enough
• of the
• fizzy
• sweet
• bubbly
• carbonated
• liquid

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• my
• body
• craves
• more
• I
• cant
• resist
• the
• craving

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III. Experiment with Line Breaks
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• Story or Report
• Unit of thought sentence
• Sentences are organized into paragraphs

• Poem
• Unit of thought line
• Lines are organized into stanzas

Stanza means room in Italian. Just as each
room in a house has different purposes, each
stanza in a poem conveys a different idea.
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• Last night after you hung up I wrote you a poem
  hoping it might change your heart. This morning I
  tell myself Get serious, man. Someone once
  compared writing a poem and hoping it will change
  the world to dropping rose petals down a deep
  well, waiting for the splash.

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• Last night //after you hung up //I wrote you a
  poem //hoping it might //change your heart.//
  This morning //I tell myself //Get serious, man.
  // Someone once compared //writing a poem and
  hoping it will //change the world //to dropping
  rose petals //down a deep well, //waiting for the
  splash.

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• Last night
• after you hung up
• I wrote you a poem
• hoping it might
• change your heart.
• This morning
• I tell myself
• Get serious, man.

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• someone once compared
• writing a poem
• and hoping it will
• change the world
• to dropping rose petals
• down a deep well
• waiting for the splash.

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Alone far in the wilds and mountains I
hunt,Wandering amazed at my lightness and
glee,In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot
to pass the night, Kindling a fire and broiling
the fresh-killd game,Falling asleep on the
gatherd leaves with my dog and gun by my side.
Song of Myself by Walt Whitman
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IV. Use White Spaces
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Where John Curtain DrownedHe was a tall
kid,a magician on the basketball court.He could
dribble with both hands.I once saw him make a
shot from half court, perfect swish,but he
never learned to swim.
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On my brothers boatwe sail past the spotwhere
John Curtain drowned.No buoy, no marker,
nothing.When we get closerI stop talkingI
hold my breathand dont breathe againtil weve
sailed safely past.
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V. End with a Bang
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New Baby

• Soon as the baby gets born
• before shes two hours old
• people start dividing her up
• She has Daddys big ears
• Got Grandmas double chin
• She has my olive eyes

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• like shes just a bunch
• of borrowed parts
• stitched together.
• Well, I just got to hold her.
• I touched her perfect head
• and Ill tell you this
• My sister is whole.

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CHICKEN GAME ON SKISby Becky CronkJimmy Miller
had a boat and water skisin Minnesota.Took em
out on the sky blue water.Bobbing in the
ice-cold lake,I shivered,squinting
near-sightedly for the fluorescent orange rope
handleto sail out to me.
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Take off! Up,..up,..up...on top of the water.I
felt strong. Cold.Moved like a torpedo,Up and
over back across the wake.People-shapes fuzzy
without my glasses.Voices yelling,unintelligibl
e bird-squawking noises too.
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Back in the boat,husband, daughter, Jimmy
laughing,Didnt you see those loons???Poor
feathered birds had eyeballed oncoming skis -
the wild ruckusa curious blur to me.Birds
dove under,panickedby chicken game on skis.