Poem 9 (Cubist Poem)
 

First, the prompt again: For poem 9 write a cubist/collage poem, which is to say a poem that looks at your subject/life from several angles. (See Cubism on The Spider Pine and poems below for guidance). In this poem you write an 18-24-line long poem that includes autobiographical elements but also uses the surrealist technique of automatism (again, see Lara Egger and Dean Young below). The poem is about you, about issues of self, as reflected in the world you see around you, your opinions about them, the way these things seem to comment on who you are. More accurately, it is a snapshot of your mind as it moves from thought to thought in a given span of time. Eggers and Young make lists, in effect, compiling instances of absurdity in the world that they can relate to before explaining outright how they feel or some factoid about their experience. The poem is clearly rooted in experience but the elements in a poem (or painting) or poem come from free-associating images and ideas connected to the world in general. Your poem is basically a collage--so the details do not need to be in any particular order, but you are, indeed, attempting to communicate who you are... It's a picture of your mind in motion... the poem is metaphor with an implied story.

Use absurdity to your advantage. Surreal moments as metaphor. Lighten things up with humor. Comedy works well in this mode.

*Candy is cheaper on February 15th (Maggie D.)
 
It tastes like the scrapbooking place my grandma 
used to shop at. Round lace doilies, baby pink, 
baby blue tissue paper, and gauzy tulle. Last I heard spoons 
call for a second ringing of wedding bells 
was to cheer for faceless, nameless lovers. 
Class-mandated sweet tarts as valentines 
taste the same as licking chalk. I used to hunger 
until I ate the worst meal of my life: 
a microwaved, reheated hotdog in a sogged, suffocating 
pretzel bun and non-Newtonian mozzarella ooze...
It was foul. It was perverse. It was a sexual insinuation
unwanted, spitting in my mouth. I’m not quite sure
anyone in my lineage has ever been intimate 
beyond the quiet chastity of my birthright. 
It’s amazing how some people still manage 
to be born before Eve touches the forbidden fruit.
I would probably hate to be them.
A fisherman once asked me if I would like to kiss a pike 
and although I declined I secretly wish I had licked 
those dappled olive lips, clinked my overbite to it’s underbite 
like a crystal-glass champagne toast. 
It was the only chance I ever got.
My mouth waters for a flavor I’ve never tasted
but I think I’m fine with being oblivious.

*Spiteful Living (Spud)

Today he found a dead bird in the yard and thought 

To toss it into the trash. Buried it behind 

The smoke shed instead. The thrifted ashtray of cigarette butts, 

I sometimes dream I take a bite or three. Walk into the water 

And hope I learn to swim. What does it take to fix a caving-in roof? 

How do you learn to trust it? 

The precarious ladder, the vision of broken necks. My uncle 

Went into the hospital on Easter evening

After crawling over the shingles then laying under the dappled sun. 

Buzzed on a Chili’s margarita, I call my little sister. 

Words are hard to form and even harder to swallow.

Easier to say “fuck off” with a smile than

Apologize for screaming... 

Orchestral squealing 

Like an old swing set. Putting on

Snowpants and wasting so much time. 

Standing still is like being thrust into the future. 

I could curse you for what you did and did not do

But it would take too long. 

Someday I could dig up your bones.

*9 am (Hudson Borzeniatow)

Today's the only day that matters.                                
I cling to my bed like a narcoleptic electromagnet

Fighting sleep for the 5th time, my failure pulled over my

eyes. I'm sitting in a vibrant interrogation room.

Why is everyone staring?

I pull on my pajama top, a

nervous tick. I raid my closet hunting

for the source of my anxiety but find nothing

but a shattered mirror.

Disgusted, I toss it away with my other various rewards,

toss it into the sea like

a used car battery. And yet

the nervousness persists; I find myself walking a bridge,

one side tells me to lose

weight, the other tells me

to find a real job. Fuck, at this point it

would be easier to jump over the side.

Legs swinging into the cool breeze,

I feel a short hand caressing my side,

Its longer twin resting firmly on my head.

(first line said in order to MAKE it true, tho it is hopeless)

*Wake-Up (Zoie)

Today I made myself laugh so hard

bubbles came out of my nose. They landed

in a bathtub full of kittens that had been

playing in mud. Mud that was created 

when the sun started to cry over

her former lover, the moon, because they left

each other on bad terms. The moon made me a dress

of the sea, which made me sink slowly.                                                      (tides)

The fabric, like water, held me close. It

cautiously rocked me, until a big splash

occurred and I was rudely awakened by a large fish 

who said, “Stop that daydreaming, you'll just get

lost in your own head.” But my thoughts

had been so freeing. Until a caterpillar crawled

into my skull and started eating my brain. 

I had to use pliers to get it out, and it took

a decade 'n a half. When I asked the caterpillar

why, it responded, “I had to grow somehow.”

Then the fat little creature turned into a pink

butterfly, leaving me standing there

among the white cotton clouds, all alone.

*WORST OF ALL IS ME (Vinny W) 
 
Today I look back and see you all are still with me
I picked up pieces from each and every one of you
Weird little habits I’ve become accustomed to
The ritual I adopted from one of you every time I light a cigarette
The way I take shots of tequila with only a lime
The tendency to turn on a sludge album and fry
I smell the past in ashtrays and bathroom stalls
Nothing seems much like my own original process anymore
I just mirror the women from my past relationships
Not to hold onto or remember--I’ve already let go
But I find myself to be a puzzle put together with the pieces of all of you
All of your worst traits have become my everyday normal
Because of one of you I still cannot turn down free substances
(It doesn’t matter what they are and I can’t say it’s entirely your fault)

But we didn’t exactly ever say “no” to anything 
I fight for the last word in the worst situations because of you
Including my hatred of the color yellow because you couldn’t stand it
To be honest I don’t know if any of me is original anymore
All of you have imprinted on me some of my worst tendencies
Maybe the next one will be a healthy experience but I doubt it
I only know how to attract the worst people so why change now?
I’m comfortable with this shit-stain lifestyle I’ve culminated for myself over the years
Taking the worst traits and habits from each and every one of you
A museum of poor choices leading to terrible outcomes
I wear it all like a dirty T-shirt that says “A Living Tribute to Chaos”
But that is exactly how I want to remember you
You’re all the worst but I was the worst part of all of you
 

(people from the poet's past are addressed and how the present so includes the past)
 
*A Victorian Nightshade (Francine Coffer)
 
Today a bee buzzed around in my head.
no breaks, not a moment of quiet,
even as I stare at my blue wall,
which typically would quiet the bee because
it would get bored and would rather
dream its own dream than stare at my own blue wall...
But, no, today the bee buzzed around,
bugging me about the work that is due,
the honey that needs to be made,
worrying over my hoodie that I wore 
hoping it's warm enough for March in Indiana.
Sometimes I wish this bee would eat its own
supply, then maybe quiet would follow.
I don’t really mean that 'cause that would mean I either
somehow got to outer space or I followed its lead.
Touching a star would be cool though.
Well, maybe not cool, 'cause a star is extremely hot.
Even now I can’t have a random thought,
while this bee is bouncing around, because it makes
my brain panic, feeling like it’s on overdrive
and yet low on fuel at the same time.
I know it means well, I know that it just wants me to be safe.
But sometimes I wish it would just accept the nightshade
and see that I am fine.

*Everything Green      Nehemiah 

Today I dress in all green

Green dress, green glasses, green socks, green hoodie

It's sad, I'm sad, this can't be real, That can't be you,

I laugh and joke to keep from crying 

I cover my pain with distraction and comedy acted out for others 

But when I'm alone reality hits me

When I'm surrounded by others it disappears temporarily 

We wore green to represent you

Green shirts, green shoes, green pants, green jackets, green hair, green jewelry

As the day went by, I resorted to dark humor

But as the day grows closer, I get angrier and angrier 

This can't be real, I can't say goodbye, this can't be my life

They say the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away 

This wasn't God's doing. I know better than that

I want to be mad at Him because I begged Him to save you

Yet you're not here and to your casket I must walk 

I have to see you one more time and then never again

Your eyes cannot open on their own 

Your body is cold 

Now the only thing left I can do is cry

Stare at you and start shaking saying no no no no

Ended here 4/6

*Rocky River (Lilly)

Today I leapt off the bridge above the river

where my pink sweater snagged on a wire

I found myself face to face with a slimy fish tail 

flopping back and forth, though no water flowed

through its gills, just the warm air of my thoughts 

Do you ever imagine life with no limbs?

Just beaten by the mud and drowned,

Disguised by the stench of some kid's piss in the water?

Or maybe it was my grandpa who did it?

(Who knows, maybe his diaper disintegrated.)

The pink was ripping and I plunged into the river water

While fishermen passed by laughing but how is this funny?

(Fishermen with no fish--now that's a joke.)

Meanwhile, wives are upset back inside their homes, 

Where is that dog I call a husband? one says. 

Don’t insult the dog, Nancy, her friend says. 

And when she doesn't respond says, 

Cat got your tongue now? No, no, no cat's got my tongue.  

What's real but not real is the fish that keeps looking

at me, who is no longer clinging to the bridge?

All of this is just me, obviously, or maybe you, reader, is on drugs. 

 

*Blessings (Olivia)

 

Today I prayed for a peaceful mind

while sorting through my many tops:

cashmere, cotton, polyester,

nothing seeming quite comfortable,

until I found a top that used to smell

like the sunny winter days when I used to walk 

the mile-long path to the park 

with my late cousin. Try thinking 

of your favorite record skipping, 

your favorite line, until it is forgotten,

regardless of being on repeat for fifteen

years. Bikes, scooters, sleds, underdogs,

hot cocoa, and “sweater weather” 

are unfamiliar even with hundreds of counts

and my phone becomes a book of screams

for anyone to read the pages—eager to skim

them, it slams the cover shut before I can

laugh, leaving me stuck on the bottom step.

*The Juke of East-Side Elkhart (Garrett)

“Today is gonna be the day…”

I don’t remember the words.

And I never will…Never ever?

Never ever ever baby . . .

Top me up with some more of that sweet oblivion,

Or something like that.

Rhythmic and bold—not the type of

Way I roll, keeping it fresh today,

Sway side to side like a stray piece of hay,

Any which way tappin a beat on top of the clay

Of the world: that I heard

Flying fast forward like a bird

Do I hide in all the music then?

I hide, I live, I breathe, I sing, anything . . .

I used to hate it

Used to scream, push it away

The music fading to a pulse, my pulse, steady.

Drumming, drumming, drumming, drummed out

From my mind to the nerves latticed about (hold)

Holding—up my—head it’s—moving

From my—chest and—shirt it’s—growing

Into a verve, keeping it rolling

Keep up those words that are all about the page,

Burnt. Reset. Reloop...Then do it again.

The day I got out         Kendria
                    

Today I got out of the bed I’ve been stuck in, sheets twisted like headphones 
   in a pocket, one 
month of rotting in the cotton, pillowcase damp with old sweat and phone light, 
   the ceiling fan 
clicking above me like a slow metronome counting nothing, missed calls from my mom,  
my brother, my sister lighting up the crack of dawn but me not answering 
   the phone, 
letting their names blink and disappear into voicemail, the laundry basket growing teeth  
in the corner, hoodies, socks, a pair of jeans on the hardwood floors 
still feeling numb but at least I stood up, feet flat on the cold floorboards,
a dent in the mattress shaped exactly like my back, like evidence,
tired of saying I’m okay, typing “I’m good” with my thumbs while staring at the wall,
tired of pasting a smile across my face like tape over a broken window,
the bathroom mirror catching my numb eyes, toothpaste cap rolling into the sink,
a glass of water on the nightstand collecting dust, fingerprints, yesterday’s silence,
lost in the comfort of my hoodie, its pocket holding nothing but lint,
the smell of old deodorant and detergent like a small cave I could hide in,
calendar pages curling beside my desk, crossed-out dates, unopened mail,
sunlight slicing through the blinds, thin as a blade across the carpet,
my heart beating anyway, stubborn, loud as a knock on a locked door,
Today I stood up inside that sound and let it carry me into the hallway.

*WHAT I YEARNED FOR TODAY (Haley)

Today I found that dead birds can’t sing

Their pesticide-ridden feathers choking them to death

Then I have the honor of experiencing

Such grief on my walk home from the corner store

The glossy icing on those fifty-cent honey buns reminds me

Of plastic. Molten, with just the slightest application of heat

Why, then, do I insist on grabbing the damn things?

My inner longing for things that can’t love me back

Haunts the dark corner of my childhood bedroom

I no longer reside in the little blue house near the creek

I’m sure the owner of the blueberry patch is grateful

That we’ve all grown up and moved on

I was always so torn up by burrs and ticks

My hand-me-down jeans clung to me like

A mother’s lost child

I never truly grew into that woven indigo textile

I just learned to stop trying to fit into the world around me

My mother’s touch never felt the same after that day

Her witchy, wrinkled hands still reach out but I cannot

Catch them anymore. I’m worn out by trying to shape some ceramic

Vase that means to hold a lone rose,

Its form collapsing in my grasp

because it is never quite good enough.

*OXYMORON (Autumn)

Today is like any other in shape and form, but so unique in mind and soul. My heart hungers for so much and yet the path of my life wanders into oblivion. I like to think of myself as an oxymoron. Studying and learning for the dreams of not working, terrified of pain and yet I can't wait for the day my future children rip through my body to have their first breath. Let's talk about the graphic alien ripping though my stomach cinematically part, what the hell even is birth. So gross and slimy and yet I yearn for it. What an odd world that a random man or woman will one day reach into my holy grail and bring forth a little creature. I think about this constantly. You may call this my Roman empire, but the fact that people talk about birth so easily simply puzzles me. I’m so sporadic and off task who knows if children will even be possible for me. My life is laughable. I’m so stressed and put so much on my plate for what? To be a housewife? But what can I say? Am I just being a young hoe?

*SOUNDTRACK (Jaelyn)

Today my mother texted me to ask me to come home.

I wore white socks on my feet. My cat tried to steal them, 

To play with and lose them. My bass strums to life, creating  

the backbone of the soundtrack of my life.  

Maybe some song about wishing to discover myself?

When is the book due back to the library?  

I don’t even have a quarter. Red clouds sit above me,

swirling as if they have nothing better to do 

With their time, like mine isn’t valuable. 

I read a book yesterday. A book I can’t remember 

A single thing about anymore. The clouds were 

Too loud, while below potholed roads dream  

of popping tires, leaving people stranded on 

The side of the road. Why do birds sing in the mornings?  

Is the beauty of the world so stunning that we must hear 

Them praised throughout the sky as the sun peaks over the 

Horizon? Spotted fawns run through the trees as I watch 

Through the window. My book was actually due back last Friday. 

Beautiful Violin (Megan)

Today I saw the most beautiful violin at the store.

It was a dark color with beautiful engravings.

It reminded me of my own. I remember now,

how I used to play that violin day and night.

The bow in my hands would fly across the strings, 

my fingers always in a hurry to keep up. The sounds

that my violin and I could produce was my high.

It was what I needed, what I craved. The 

satisfaction that I felt in my soul when the notes rang

out a clear and blissful tune. When all that I needed

to worry about was keeping the light brown amber of Rasen

off my shirt. When my only fear was playing a song 

endlessly, always wondering why it was never good enough

to only realize that my instrument was not in tune.

Today I stared at the most beautiful violin in a store, 

remembering a blissful time far behind me now.

Maybe one day I will return to those joyous sounds,

but for now, I turn away.

Human Effort (Charles)
 
Today we go about the business of the academic--
writing while wearing a weird pointy hat,
reading books to make our brains flow.
Eyes fall, our fingers raw with effort,
The scent of ink and paper that stings
the nose with its never-ending persistence,
cooked, making a roast to imbue the fragrance 
of life and garlic with many hours of fun
tears, too, as the wait is lengthened,
the clamor for sustenance weighs on
vapid with fervor and clangor 
Driver, weaving through the steel drakes
that move like wild dogs hungry for 
Any little morsel they can get their mouths on
Snapping for meager space with frenzy
That makes the other flighty with panic
Cadet, by example led from the lead
Spare of time ensuring the commute
And tact orchestration executing proficient
Endeavors rallying others’ spirits  
Making many to one and one into many

Untitled (Yesier)

Today, I woke up with the urgency for green checkmarks

The red ruins the mood of my day as I get up from my collapsing bed

So many kind souls around but my soul is stuck on red

My legs want to move slightly away from my failure

To the other side of things 

My world is as good as any piece of jewelry on the neck of the rich

The breath from my mouth leaves as my body shifts blue 

Inside the stretched out shirt of my huge brother's hand-me-down

A leopard skinned boy with Cheeto stains on his fingers

Where has my world gone to? 

There is a minute of joy and despair balled up into one ball of trash 

Life's gone in circles since I started my journey toward happiness 

Chasing a wild turkey while having no legs 

Will I ever catch up to the expectations of the people watching?

The times have gone for me to remember my past self 

Sights of family bonding running away from my consciousness 

Like the sound of the last echo of a laugh 

Missing the times of laughter that were once so strong

Canye's poem is in a PDF and cannot be posted. (Got credit for poem)

 

Spacing is problematic on Ezra's Poem so cannot be posted (Got credit)

Free Action – By Pancho Garza   (not bad)

 

Today I hung up a big white sheet in the wind-cooled sun
Sitting back watching the sheet billow
Pondering what to do on this great day
As the sheet formed sunny hills and dark valleys
I stood there taking in scented air
On top of a grassy hill full of sun
Till dark clouds quickly rush overhead
Like I'm standing on a boat rocking at sea 
While with darkened clouds came roaring thunder
Like an audience stomping their feat all together
Expecting something to occur in haste
Watching me stand there with unfamiliar feet
The rubber of my shoes feeling like stiff clay
I wanted a simple breath of air
But instead of what I wanted I got much more
Filling my head till I felt off balance
Till gravity decided to act on my behalf
Dragging me away from the gentle breeze
And away from the hungry audience that peered
With stiff gazes that questioned my actions
As I was laid back into the silent room
The air pouring in like water into a cup
Though I was aware of what was being poured
I still overpoured what became my spilling cup

Stalling (Luis)

Today I sit in class contemplating 

What is it I want to do with this poem

I have no idea where to start

What to include

Who I should talk about

Then I think about all of the times

I spent laying on my bed 

Staring at my ceiling with anger

With no one to talk to but myself

I throw my Satoshi Nakamoto flannel on 

I go for a cruise through my usual loop through the city

I listen to Kid Cudi on the way to my spot 30 mins from home

I light a joint and stare at the moon shining on the water 

I get a call from my friend asking if I want to go on a cruise

Now it’s him and I in the car with a mind full of things we want to say

Neither of us budge to open up so we just turn the music up and drive

In the moment I want to burst out and let it out but I can't get out of character

So instead, we get back to my spot, and we finish that joint I started

Poem 9 (Cesar Jaramillo 2/25/2026)

 

Go to Bed

 

Today I napped longer than anticipated.

It was a long night, a very old night...

 

Darkness engulfed the room. Like a

Whale that's swallowing a mouthful of plankton.

 

Yet I can see the corners of my room with ease.

The jacket staring at me, wondering if I know

I can see its eyes.

 

I got up to assert dominance by turning the lights on.

It’s 4am and I’m fighting imaginary monsters.

I’m twenty years old, not twenty weeks out of the womb.

Monsters aren’t real. I just can’t sleep.

 

I play video games every night. Even my neighbors know.

I don’t care that I’m loud upstairs neighbor.

 

You’re a coward and can only yell through a wall.

I listen to you yell at your wife. Come face me instead.

 

The nights I go to bed early, the baby keeps me awake.

Does my yelling help them sleep? Like a vacuum.

That’s said to help. Not sure about a guy yelling.

 

I live through a headset oblivious to it all.

Twelve Birthdays Later (Ava)

Today I went birthday shopping for an old friend,
a friend I have known for over half my life.

Who knew we would stay friends,

people told us college changes friendships

But not us. We have a sisterhood no one else could understand.

From swimming at the pond to the grocery store, school, car rides, and ice skating

we were always together.

Friend groups came and went, but we always stayed a pair 

like peas in a pod. So many secrets and comments shared

but never any judgement just delusion and constant bad influence.

Since we were young, we always loved getting matching shirts,

eating ice cream, shopping trips, and tanning.

Though we have our differences, she likes cats, I like dogs,

she likes to talk, I prefer to listen, she’s a chugger, I sip my drinks.

This is the first year in twelve years we have spent our birthdays apart.

Our lives our changing, but our friendship remains a priority.

We have a language that no one else understands, 

you would think we were drunk when we are together.

I hope we grow old together and can look back on old memories.