Authors, Writers, Publishers, and Book Readers
I Spy A Poem - Can you create a poem from this passage?
Here's the idea. I give you a passage from a book, and you write a poem using only words taken from within it. The words in your poem must appear in the same order that are in the passage too if you were to read from top to bottom. You can only use a word twice if it appears twice, three times if it appears three times etc...
The more different your poem is from the subject of the original text, the more brownie points you get! :)
I'll give two passages to choose from since it's our first try at this and you can pick one to use. :) I chose longish passages to give plenty of choice. You can make your poem as short or long as you want.
This is from The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie. I chose page 35 at random at Project Gutenberg.
"Amen to that," said Dorcas fiercely. "And, naming no names, there's
_one_ in this house that none of us could ever abide! And an ill day it
was when first _he_ darkened the threshold."
Poirot waited for her indignation to subside, and then, resuming his
business-like tone, he asked:
"Now, as to this quarrel? What is the first you heard of it?"
"Well, sir, I happened to be going along the hall outside yesterday----"
"What time was that?"
"I couldn't say exactly, sir, but it wasn't tea-time by a long way.
Perhaps four o'clock--or it may have been a bit later. Well, sir, as I
said, I happened to be passing along, when I heard voices very loud and
angry in here. I didn't exactly mean to listen, but--well, there it is.
I stopped. The door was shut, but the mistress was speaking very sharp
and clear, and I heard what she said quite plainly. 'You have lied
to me, and deceived me,' she said. I didn't hear what Mr. Inglethorp
replied. He spoke a good bit lower than she did--but she answered:
'How dare you? I have kept you and clothed you and fed you! You owe
everything to me! And this is how you repay me! By bringing disgrace
upon our name!' Again I didn't hear what he said, but she went on:
'Nothing that you can say will make any difference. I see my duty
clearly. My mind is made up. You need not think that any fear of
publicity, or scandal between husband and wife will deter me.' Then I
thought I heard them coming out, so I went off quickly."
"You are sure it was Mr. Inglethorp's voice you heard?"
"Oh, yes, sir, whose else's could it be?"
"Well, what happened next?"
"Later, I came back to the hall; but it was all quiet. At five o'clock,
Mrs. Inglethorp rang the bell and told me to bring her a cup of
tea--nothing to eat--to the boudoir. She was looking dreadful--so white
and upset. 'Dorcas,' she says, 'I've had a great shock.' 'I'm sorry for
that, m'm,' I says. 'You'll feel better after a nice hot cup of tea,
m'm.' She had something in her hand. I don't know if it was a letter, or
just a piece of paper, but it had writing on it, and she kept staring
at it, almost as if she couldn't believe what was written there. She
whispered to herself, as though she had forgotten I was there: 'These
few words--and everything's changed.' And then she says to me: 'Never
trust a man, Dorcas, they're not worth it!' I hurried off, and got her
a good strong cup of tea, and she thanked me, and said she'd feel better
when she'd drunk it. 'I don't know what to do,' she says. 'Scandal
between husband and wife is a dreadful thing, Dorcas. I'd rather hush it
up if I could.' Mrs. Cavendish came in just then, so she didn't say any
more."
This choice is from Dracula by Bram Stoker, page 75.
14 August.--On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucy seems
to have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it is hard to
get her away from it when it is time to come home for lunch or tea or
dinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We were coming home
for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier
and stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun,
low down in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness. The red
light was thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed
to bathe everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a
while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself . . .
"His red eyes again! They are just the same." It was such an odd
expression, coming apropos of nothing, that it quite startled me. I
slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stare
at her, and saw that she was in a half dreamy state, with an odd look
on her face that I could not quite make out, so I said nothing, but
followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat,
whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was quite a little startled
myself, for it seemed for an instant as if the stranger had great eyes
like burning flames, but a second look dispelled the illusion. The red
sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary's Church behind our
seat, and as the sun dipped there was just sufficient change in the
refraction and reflection to make it appear as if the light moved. I
called Lucy's attention to the peculiar effect, and she became herself
with a start, but she looked sad all the same. It may have been that
she was thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to
it, so I said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache
and went early to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little
stroll myself.
I walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweet
sadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming home, it was then
bright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part of the
Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen, I threw a glance
up at our window, and saw Lucy's head leaning out. I opened my
handkerchief and waved it. She did not notice or make any movement
whatever. Just then, the moonlight crept round an angle of the
building, and the light fell on the window. There distinctly was Lucy
with her head lying up against the side of the window sill and her eyes
shut. She was fast asleep, and by her, seated on the window sill, was
something that looked like a good-sized bird. I was afraid she might
get a chill, so I ran upstairs, but as I came into the room she was
moving back to her bed, fast asleep, and breathing heavily. She was
holding her hand to her throat, as though to protect if from the cold.
I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly. I have taken care that
the door is locked and the window securely fastened.
She looks so sweet as she sleeps, but she is paler than is her wont,
and there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like.
I fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what it
is.
Have fun! I think this will be a great game. Any questions, just add a comment. :)
The more different your poem is from the subject of the original text, the more brownie points you get! :)
I'll give two passages to choose from since it's our first try at this and you can pick one to use. :) I chose longish passages to give plenty of choice. You can make your poem as short or long as you want.
This is from The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie. I chose page 35 at random at Project Gutenberg.
"Amen to that," said Dorcas fiercely. "And, naming no names, there's
_one_ in this house that none of us could ever abide! And an ill day it
was when first _he_ darkened the threshold."
Poirot waited for her indignation to subside, and then, resuming his
business-like tone, he asked:
"Now, as to this quarrel? What is the first you heard of it?"
"Well, sir, I happened to be going along the hall outside yesterday----"
"What time was that?"
"I couldn't say exactly, sir, but it wasn't tea-time by a long way.
Perhaps four o'clock--or it may have been a bit later. Well, sir, as I
said, I happened to be passing along, when I heard voices very loud and
angry in here. I didn't exactly mean to listen, but--well, there it is.
I stopped. The door was shut, but the mistress was speaking very sharp
and clear, and I heard what she said quite plainly. 'You have lied
to me, and deceived me,' she said. I didn't hear what Mr. Inglethorp
replied. He spoke a good bit lower than she did--but she answered:
'How dare you? I have kept you and clothed you and fed you! You owe
everything to me! And this is how you repay me! By bringing disgrace
upon our name!' Again I didn't hear what he said, but she went on:
'Nothing that you can say will make any difference. I see my duty
clearly. My mind is made up. You need not think that any fear of
publicity, or scandal between husband and wife will deter me.' Then I
thought I heard them coming out, so I went off quickly."
"You are sure it was Mr. Inglethorp's voice you heard?"
"Oh, yes, sir, whose else's could it be?"
"Well, what happened next?"
"Later, I came back to the hall; but it was all quiet. At five o'clock,
Mrs. Inglethorp rang the bell and told me to bring her a cup of
tea--nothing to eat--to the boudoir. She was looking dreadful--so white
and upset. 'Dorcas,' she says, 'I've had a great shock.' 'I'm sorry for
that, m'm,' I says. 'You'll feel better after a nice hot cup of tea,
m'm.' She had something in her hand. I don't know if it was a letter, or
just a piece of paper, but it had writing on it, and she kept staring
at it, almost as if she couldn't believe what was written there. She
whispered to herself, as though she had forgotten I was there: 'These
few words--and everything's changed.' And then she says to me: 'Never
trust a man, Dorcas, they're not worth it!' I hurried off, and got her
a good strong cup of tea, and she thanked me, and said she'd feel better
when she'd drunk it. 'I don't know what to do,' she says. 'Scandal
between husband and wife is a dreadful thing, Dorcas. I'd rather hush it
up if I could.' Mrs. Cavendish came in just then, so she didn't say any
more."
This choice is from Dracula by Bram Stoker, page 75.
14 August.--On the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucy seems
to have become as much in love with the spot as I am, and it is hard to
get her away from it when it is time to come home for lunch or tea or
dinner. This afternoon she made a funny remark. We were coming home
for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier
and stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The setting sun,
low down in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness. The red
light was thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed
to bathe everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a
while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself . . .
"His red eyes again! They are just the same." It was such an odd
expression, coming apropos of nothing, that it quite startled me. I
slewed round a little, so as to see Lucy well without seeming to stare
at her, and saw that she was in a half dreamy state, with an odd look
on her face that I could not quite make out, so I said nothing, but
followed her eyes. She appeared to be looking over at our own seat,
whereon was a dark figure seated alone. I was quite a little startled
myself, for it seemed for an instant as if the stranger had great eyes
like burning flames, but a second look dispelled the illusion. The red
sunlight was shining on the windows of St. Mary's Church behind our
seat, and as the sun dipped there was just sufficient change in the
refraction and reflection to make it appear as if the light moved. I
called Lucy's attention to the peculiar effect, and she became herself
with a start, but she looked sad all the same. It may have been that
she was thinking of that terrible night up there. We never refer to
it, so I said nothing, and we went home to dinner. Lucy had a headache
and went early to bed. I saw her asleep, and went out for a little
stroll myself.
I walked along the cliffs to the westward, and was full of sweet
sadness, for I was thinking of Jonathan. When coming home, it was then
bright moonlight, so bright that, though the front of our part of the
Crescent was in shadow, everything could be well seen, I threw a glance
up at our window, and saw Lucy's head leaning out. I opened my
handkerchief and waved it. She did not notice or make any movement
whatever. Just then, the moonlight crept round an angle of the
building, and the light fell on the window. There distinctly was Lucy
with her head lying up against the side of the window sill and her eyes
shut. She was fast asleep, and by her, seated on the window sill, was
something that looked like a good-sized bird. I was afraid she might
get a chill, so I ran upstairs, but as I came into the room she was
moving back to her bed, fast asleep, and breathing heavily. She was
holding her hand to her throat, as though to protect if from the cold.
I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly. I have taken care that
the door is locked and the window securely fastened.
She looks so sweet as she sleeps, but she is paler than is her wont,
and there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like.
I fear she is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what it
is.
Have fun! I think this will be a great game. Any questions, just add a comment. :)
Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Cheryl on
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I may have completely misunderstood what you meant...but I hope I haven't... here is my attempt anyway...
“His red eyes again! They are just the same.”
Seeming to stare in a half dreamy state,
An odd look I could not quite make out –
A dark figure seated alone,
Eyes like burning flames –
But a second look dispelled the illusion.
Sunlight was shining on the windows,
Refraction and reflection as light moved –
I became sad that terrible night,
Full of sweet sadness,
I was thinking of home,
Then bright moonlight fell on the window.
There distinctly up against the window -
Eyes that looked fast asleep,
I did not wake he who looked so sweet,
But there is a drawn haggard look under the eyes,
Which I fear – I could find what it is…
I'll explain what I was trying to write lol... it is all about the face on the moon and how to the writer it isn't just an illusion but something that becomes very real at night, the writer sees the moons prisoner as if he was sat right on his window sill....but when sunlight comes is makes it seem like it is just an illusion again. In the last line, the writer fears the prisoner of the moon has died and that he may be the moons next victim. Make ANY sense? lol! -
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Permalink Reply by Callie Leah on
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From Dracula
On the cliff all day
To have become as I am
Is is hard to get away from it
When it is time to come home
We had come from the West
And stopped to look at the view
The setting sun low in the sky
The red light thrown over the East
Seemed to bathe everything
In a rosy glow
We were silent for a while
It quite startled me
I was in a hazy dream state
So I said nothing
Eyes appeared over our seat
Whereon was a dark figure
Sitting alone
I was startled
For it seemed
The stranger had eyes
Like burning flames
Red light shone behind
I called attention to the peculiar night
I said nothing
I saw myself
This poem is about someone who finds the an evil demon who has followed him everywhere he goes. The red light symbolizes the hatred and vice that he sends to everyone around him. Before the poem ends, he finds that the demon is himself. Not an evil spirit around him, but an evil demon inside him. -
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Permalink Reply by Kay Elizabeth on
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Made plenty of sense! That was a great effort Cheryl! Thanks for getting into the spirit of the game. Happy New Year to you in rainy (I'm guessing because it's always raining there) London. :) I thought of when I saw the Eye on TV.
Cheryl said:I may have completely misunderstood what you meant...but I hope I haven't... here is my attempt anyway...
“His red eyes again! They are just the same.”
Seeming to stare in a half dreamy state,
An odd look I could not quite make out –
A dark figure seated alone,
Eyes like burning flames –
But a second look dispelled the illusion.
Sunlight was shining on the windows,
Refraction and reflection as light moved –
I became sad that terrible night,
Full of sweet sadness,
I was thinking of home,
Then bright moonlight fell on the window.
There distinctly up against the window -
Eyes that looked fast asleep,
I did not wake he who looked so sweet,
But there is a drawn haggard look under the eyes,
Which I fear – I could find what it is…
I'll explain what I was trying to write lol... it is all about the face on the moon and how to the writer it isn't just an illusion but something that becomes very real at night, the writer sees the moons prisoner as if he was sat right on his window sill....but when sunlight comes is makes it seem like it is just an illusion again. In the last line, the writer fears the prisoner of the moon has died and that he may be the moons next victim. Make ANY sense? lol! -
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Bravo, Callie! You did a grand job there and such deep thoughts for one so young always impresses me. :) Happy New Year to you hon.
Callie Leah said:From Dracula
On the cliff all day
To have become as I am
Is is hard to get away from it
When it is time to come home
We had come from the West
And stopped to look at the view
The setting sun low in the sky
The red light thrown over the East
Seemed to bathe everything
In a rosy glow
We were silent for a while
It quite startled me
I was in a hazy dream state
So I said nothing
Eyes appeared over our seat
Whereon was a dark figure
Sitting alone
I was startled
For it seemed
The stranger had eyes
Like burning flames
Red light shone behind
I called attention to the peculiar night
I said nothing
I saw myself
This poem is about someone who finds the an evil demon who has followed him everywhere he goes. The red light symbolizes the hatred and vice that he sends to everyone around him. Before the poem ends, he finds that the demon is himself. Not an evil spirit around him, but an evil demon inside him. -
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Happy New Year to you, too! It was really hard to find words that made sense, though. After I wrote it, it took me twenty minutes to decifer the meaning myself! It's sort of hard having a limitted source of words, isn't it? Lol! :-)
Kay Elizabeth said:Bravo, Callie! You did a grand job there and such deep thoughts for one so young always impresses me. :) Happy New Year to you hon.
Callie Leah said:From Dracula
On the cliff all day
To have become as I am
Is is hard to get away from it
When it is time to come home
We had come from the West
And stopped to look at the view
The setting sun low in the sky
The red light thrown over the East
Seemed to bathe everything
In a rosy glow
We were silent for a while
It quite startled me
I was in a hazy dream state
So I said nothing
Eyes appeared over our seat
Whereon was a dark figure
Sitting alone
I was startled
For it seemed
The stranger had eyes
Like burning flames
Red light shone behind
I called attention to the peculiar night
I said nothing
I saw myself
This poem is about someone who finds the an evil demon who has followed him everywhere he goes. The red light symbolizes the hatred and vice that he sends to everyone around him. Before the poem ends, he finds that the demon is himself. Not an evil spirit around him, but an evil demon inside him. -
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That's what makes it fun, Callie! :) It's also good for helping you think of alternative ways to use common words, like "there". It could be over there, here and there, there he is, there stands, there has to be, a question like "was there?", it's not there, or even a comforting phrase like "there, there."
The first thing I think of for there would be "there is..." and yet I could use such a versatile word in so many other ways. :)
Callie Leah said:Happy New Year to you, too! It was really hard to find words that made sense, though. After I wrote it, it took me twenty minutes to decifer the meaning myself! It's sort of hard having a limitted source of words, isn't it? Lol! :-)
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Okay, just thought I'd let you know, the whole there thing confused me, so I don't understand what you just said about it. Well, I understand what you meant, not what you said. LOL! :)
Kay Elizabeth said:That's what makes it fun, Callie! :) It's also good for helping you think of alternative ways to use common words, like "there". It could be over there, here and there, there he is, there stands, there has to be, a question like "was there?", it's not there, or even a comforting phrase like "there, there."
The first thing I think of for there would be "there is..." and yet I could use such a versatile word in so many other ways. :)
Callie Leah said:Happy New Year to you, too! It was really hard to find words that made sense, though. After I wrote it, it took me twenty minutes to decifer the meaning myself! It's sort of hard having a limitted source of words, isn't it? Lol! :-) -
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Permalink Reply by scribbler on
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I believe that Kay was demonstrating the sheer versatility of the word "there". You weren't meant to make sense of the paragraph. :)
So there! LOL ;)
Callie Leah said:Okay, just thought I'd let you know, the whole there thing confused me, so I don't understand what you just said about it. Well, I understand what you meant, not what you said. LOL! :)
Kay Elizabeth said:That's what makes it fun, Callie! :) It's also good for helping you think of alternative ways to use common words, like "there". It could be over there, here and there, there he is, there stands, there has to be, a question like "was there?", it's not there, or even a comforting phrase like "there, there."
The first thing I think of for there would be "there is..." and yet I could use such a versatile word in so many other ways. :)
Callie Leah said:Happy New Year to you, too! It was really hard to find words that made sense, though. After I wrote it, it took me twenty minutes to decifer the meaning myself! It's sort of hard having a limitted source of words, isn't it? Lol! :-) -
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Permalink Reply by Mark A. Santomieri on
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Somewhat Hiku-esque, but here goes:
Naming no names
In this house
an ill day when
darkened first the threshold.
M. -
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Oh yeah! Another great submission for the Big Blue Ball just hit my desk. Let me know what you all think.
Slight of Hand
As if grasping for a coin in the sky
I reached for the winter moon
with my mind's eye.
It wasn't there,
the sky unfair
telling me to wait until June.
Submitted by T.S.R. I thought it was cute.
Best,
M. -
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Mark, I like both the ones you posted, your own and Slight of Hand. Can I ask, what's the Big Blue Ball you referred to?
Mark A. Santomieri said:Oh yeah! Another great submission for the Big Blue Ball just hit my desk. Let me know what you all think.
Slight of Hand
As if grasping for a coin in the sky
I reached for the winter moon
with my mind's eye.
It wasn't there,
the sky unfair
telling me to wait until June.
Submitted by T.S.R. I thought it was cute.
Best,
M. -
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I love what you did with that, Cheryl. I need to play this game too when I have more time! The clock's against me unfortunately tonight. I hope we see more participating. :)
Cheryl said:I may have completely misunderstood what you meant...but I hope I haven't... here is my attempt anyway...
“His red eyes again! They are just the same.”
Seeming to stare in a half dreamy state,
An odd look I could not quite make out –
A dark figure seated alone,
Eyes like burning flames –
But a second look dispelled the illusion.
Sunlight was shining on the windows,
Refraction and reflection as light moved –
I became sad that terrible night,
Full of sweet sadness,
I was thinking of home,
Then bright moonlight fell on the window.
There distinctly up against the window -
Eyes that looked fast asleep,
I did not wake he who looked so sweet,
But there is a drawn haggard look under the eyes,
Which I fear – I could find what it is…
I'll explain what I was trying to write lol... it is all about the face on the moon and how to the writer it isn't just an illusion but something that becomes very real at night, the writer sees the moons prisoner as if he was sat right on his window sill....but when sunlight comes is makes it seem like it is just an illusion again. In the last line, the writer fears the prisoner of the moon has died and that he may be the moons next victim. Make ANY sense? lol! -
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