But how does this relate to poetry? Well, it could be argued, I suppose, that you could turn any list into a poem, not that there's anything especially poetic about eggs, milk, cheese, but hey, if you can think it, do it!
"Don't dream it - be it!" (Rocky Horror Picture Show)
Had to throw it in there - I highly enjoyed my birthday experience the week before last.
But it can be argued that any good poem can start with a list. Make a list of your favorite things. Line them up and watch them expand on the paper. Instead of saying so much with so little, watch how much those little things say and let the words come out between the things that aren't said.
There's no special name for it, like sonnet, or pantoum. They are simply called "list poems" and the beauty is in the simplicity.
Eggs, milk, cheese.
Crack, pour, grate.
Splash, melt, sizzle
Chew, taste, enjoy.
Breakfast.
Okay, well, I guess we could do something with eggs, milk, and cheese, so my rude assumption that nothing could be done with a grocery list is now out the window. But let's do better than that.
There are two ways I like to write list poems. The first is through repetition. The second is through fact-gathering to come to a conclusion.
Let's try this on repeat. I first tried my hand at list poems in 2008 in Professor Fanning's class at CMU. Forgive me, I learned some great techniques and love referring to things I learned in that class. He used an example called "My Car" by Raymond Carver. This is SUCH a great writing prompt, and so simple. I do hope you'll use it in your own writing endeavors.
I would like to share with you today, my response to this type of list poem. I repeated the phrase "The dog who" to introduce to you one of my best, best friends in the entire Universe who has since gone over the Rainbow Bridge. Her name was KayCee Lou.
ODE TO KAYCEE LOU
The dog who was a diva.
The dog whose ears were crimped.
The dog who ate pizza crusts.
The dog who never barked.
The dog who greeted visitors.
The dog who was liberal with kisses.
The dog who was a surprise.
The dog who chewed her paws.
The dog who rolled in the grass.
The dog who waited for the school bus.
The dog whose tail was immense.
The dog who teethed on rocks.
The dog who never bit.
The dog who watched the fish tank.
The dog who didn't sit pretty -
The dog who sat beautiful.
The dog who ate off a fork.
The dog who loved the bathtub.
The dog who demolished snowballs.
The dog who got high with me.
The dog who watched soap operas on sick days.
The dog who kept my secrets.
The dog who ate Oreos after the breakup.
The dog who finished off daiquiris.
The dog who trailed mud through the kitchen.
The dog whose nose was never rubbed in it.
The dog who took her time.
The dog who never challenged my opinion.
The dog who protected me.
The dog who birthed thirty one.
The dog who mothered twenty eight.
The dog who comforted me through contractions.
The dog who babysat and let me nap.
The dog whose hair matched mine.
The dog whose collar was purple.
The dog who never needed a leash.
The dog who knew her place.
The dog whose place was at my side.
The dog who flopped.
The dog who was "voluptuous."
The dog the vet called fat.
The dog who peed on the vet.
The dog who missed me.
The dog who slept at my feet.
The dog who kept me warm.
The dog who never rolled her eyes.
The dog whose fur choked the vacuum.
The dog whose nose turned white.
The dog who made the house a home.
The dog who answered to Mama, Queenie, Lady and Baby.
The dog who hated my ex.
The dog who knew best.
The dog who listened to NIRVANA.
The dog with good taste.
The dog who never judged.
The dog whose fur was golden.
The dog whose heart was golden.
The dog who loved me.
The dog I loved.
In repetition, the poem stays together. "The dog who" acts as glue while the various line endings give you all sorts of images about what sort of dog she was. The best part is that this can be done with anything, and anyone of any age could come up with a great list poem.
The next kind of list poem I like to write is by gathering information, like objects, characteristics or specific memories. I think specificity makes this kind of poem easier to interpret, but that's just me.
I wrote a poem about things that reminded me of my mother. Some were tangible objects, some were specific memories of things she would do, little quirks and habits. I tried to put pieces of her life together not unlike a mosaic of words.
Yes, a mosaic. That's why I like this type of poem.
THINGS THAT REMIND ME OF MY MOTHER
(Okay, so the title is a bit obvious, but simplicity is key here.)
Levi jeans with ankles tapered,
Mary Jane and vanilla perfume,
Tacky signs with cutesy sayings,
Forgetting the light when leaving a room.
Braided rugs and potpourri,
Frogs and Mickey Mouse,
Camouflage and fridge magnets,
Too much furniture in the house.
Michigan State and soap operas,
Leather jackets, Doritos,
Tan legs, wine coolers and lace curtains,
And berry-colored toes.
Big pink and white Christmas trees,
and Pepsi in a can,
Harley Davidson motorcycles,
and her Harley Davidson man.
Wings' McCarty and dog fur,
Smeared mascara on her face,
Sports bras and short overalls,
Virginia, that sandy-beach place.
Marlboro Red 100's in a box,
Afghans on the couch,
Roses in the backyard,
Curling hair and saying, "ouch!"
Bud bikinis, brown flip flops,
Cowboy hats to give her shade,
Shot glasses and beer mirrors,
Drinking Jack when bills weren't paid.
Fear of needles, fear of heights,
One snaggled tooth on top,
Long nights of waiting tables,
Morning hair much like a mop.
Clark bars and beef jerky,
Budweiser in longneck,
My mother, my best friend, my confidant,
My lovely, chaotic wreck.
For anyone who may be concerned about her reaction to this poem, she thought it was spot on. I call's 'em as I see's 'em and I get that from my Mama.
So what have we learned today, boys and girls? LISTS ARE GOOD. LISTS ARE YOUR FRIENDS. YOU WANT TO MAKE LISTS. YOU WANT TO MAKE LISTS OF LISTS.
Okay, OCD. Chill out, now. It's only November.
Perhaps by December I'll have enough lists made that I can begin to start knocking things off the lists.
Maybe you can look around this holiday season that continues to do the "Christmas Creep" and consider the beauty in it all. Try to look past the retail veneer and past the commercialism that has taken over, and maybe during this time you can make a list of your blessings. Write a poem about it.
xoxo :)
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