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Creative Writing and Poetry Workshop

Creative Writing and Poetry Workshop. Blog: http ://ucrsocreative.wordpress.com/ Laura’s email: la.ucrso @ gmail.com Folder # 15. Themes of the Workshop: Descriptive and creative language Personal expression Personification Shape poems Simile Rhyme Oration ????.

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Creative Writing and Poetry Workshop

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  1. Creative Writing and Poetry Workshop • Blog: http://ucrsocreative.wordpress.com/ • Laura’s email: la.ucrso@gmail.com • Folder # 15

  2. Themes of the Workshop: • Descriptive and creative language • Personal expression • Personification • Shape poems • Simile • Rhyme • Oration • ????

  3. Metaphor: n. a word or phrase where one kind of object or idea is used in place of another to suggest likeness or analogy between them. If the words “like” or “as” are used in the comparison, then it is called a simile Verse: n. a single metric line in a poetry composition Stanza: n. a unit within a larger poem. Two or more lines usually characterized by a pattern of meter, rhyme, and/or number of lines.

  4. “Lazy Jane” by Shel Silverstein from A Light in the Attic

  5. Shape poems: the visual appearance is deliberate and important (it is a part of the poem) Shape poems are also known as: concrete poems, theme poems Soaring high, Up into the Limitless sky, A traveler, With its red feathers Exploded, into force, like An airborne ranger, enjoying Its freedom and it never Worries what to eat And, what to wear like a poet With his silvery quill, glowing Inside, his soul, yesterday………today, Tomorrow and forever! A master, of his words His life, free to write And, never worries When to stop, nor To die, for his Poetry, will be Remembered By Someone “The Bird” by Ernesto Santiago

  6. “My beard” by Shel Silverstein from Where the Sidewalk Ends

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  8. Laura curious, excited, goofy, hopeful I am from swing dancing in the living room, a salt marsh breeze, the paper smell of an old book Daughter of Mainers and of Texans Who feels the urge to create, alone and also incredibly supported, like she is growing Who loves a heated debate, to run in the rain, the crisp wind of Maine autumn Who needs deep conversations, real hugs, and alone time too Who fears that her family is unhappy, the suffocation of dementia, drowning Who would like to see the Northern Lights, a cure for Alzheimer’s, and my new baby cousin Am a resident of San Ramón, Maine, Costa Rica, and the United States Armstrong

  9. Laura curious, excited, goofy, hopeful I am from swing dancing in the living room, a salt marsh breeze, the paper smell of an old book Daughter of Mainers and of Texans Who feels the urge to create, alone and also incredibly supported, like she is growing Who loves a heated debate, to run in the rain, the crisp wind of Maine autumn Who needs deep conversations, real hugs, and alone time too Who fears that her family is unhappy, the suffocation of dementia, drowning Who would like to see the Northern Lights, a cure for Alzheimer’s, and my new baby cousin Am a resident of San Ramón, Maine, Costa Rica, and the United States Armstrong Laura curious, hungry, earnest, hopeful I am from swing dancing in the living room, a salty, sulfurous, low tide breeze, the paper smell inside of a book with a cracked binding: the best kind of back ache. Daughter of Mainers and of Texans. Who feels urge to create, growth, alone. Who loves a heated debate, a stormy run: fat raindrops sizzling on contact with skin, and a crisp Maine autumn wind that gusts through hair like a kite. Who needs deep conversations, heart hugs, and pause. Who fears the suffocating pillow of dementia, drowning, defeat in her sibling’s heart. Who would like to see the Northern Lights, a cure for Alzheimer’s, my baby cousin. Am a resident of San Ramón, Maine, Costa Rica, and the United States. Armstrong

  10. “The Magic Box” by Kit Wright. I will put in the box the swish of a silk sari on a summer night, fire from the nostrils of a Chinese dragon, the tip of a tongue touching a tooth. I will put in the box a snowman with a rumbling belly, a sip of the bluest water from Lake Lucerne, a leaping spark from an electric fish. I will put into the box three violet wishes spoken in Gujarati, the last joke of an ancient uncle, and the first smile of a baby. I will put into the box a fifth season and a black sun, a cowboy on a broomstick and a witch on a white horse. My box is fashioned from ice and gold and steel, with stars on the lid and secrets in the corners. Its hinges are the toe joints of dinosaurs. I shall surf in my box on the great high-rolling breakers of the wild Atlantic, then wash ashore on a yellow beach the color of the sun.

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