I did this 10 minute exercise in a workshop I attended. Take the title, I AM FROM and go from there. Just start telling where you are from and go back to the title as often or as seldom as you wish. Start with I am From and go crazy...ten minutes. No editing, no holding yourself back...
I Am From
I am from the rusty Miramichi,
Which swells and contracts to the heartbeat of the distant moon.
I am from the smiling lips of Shakespeare,
Who tells the young lover to look up into the night and shout:
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?”
I am from that most ancient of minds.
“It is the East,” I say, and I am from the sun.
“Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon,” which I am also from.
I am from the liquid reason of Neruda’s lines.
I am from the forest creatures
Who beat a path to my door,
Calling out my name through the darkness
Of night’s great blanket.
I am from the place where dreams die.
I am from a woman who is strong and dark and proud…
A woman of the soil who tells me that what doesn’t kill us
Makes us weaker, but more determined.
I am from that smell that escapes
Off the tattered spines of books
In the ancient library.
I am from the sadness that breathes in loneliness
And the happiness that comes with remembering the dead.
I am from anger,
Mounted foolishly out of false pride.
I am from the crumbling mountains
That yearn to be flat.
I am from Icarus,
The melted wax of his fallen dreams.
I am from the bridge we left behind
As the last Autumn leaves finished falling.
Kevin
NOW IT'S YOUR TURN...GO...
I Am From
Which swells and contracts to the heartbeat of the distant moon.
I am from the smiling lips of Shakespeare,
Who tells the young lover to look up into the night and shout:
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?”
I am from that most ancient of minds.
“It is the East,” I say, and I am from the sun.
“Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon,” which I am also from.
I am from the liquid reason of Neruda’s lines.
I am from the forest creatures
Who beat a path to my door,
Calling out my name through the darkness
Of night’s great blanket.
I am from the place where dreams die.
I am from a woman who is strong and dark and proud…
A woman of the soil who tells me that what doesn’t kill us
Makes us weaker, but more determined.
I am from that smell that escapes
Off the tattered spines of books
In the ancient library.
I am from the sadness that breathes in loneliness
And the happiness that comes with remembering the dead.
I am from anger,
Mounted foolishly out of false pride.
I am from the crumbling mountains
That yearn to be flat.
I am from Icarus,
The melted wax of his fallen dreams.
I am from the bridge we left behind
As the last Autumn leaves finished falling.
Kevin
NOW IT'S YOUR TURN...GO...