Poetry Assignment: Imagery
January 10, 2008 by John Hewitt
The last poetry assignment I posted wasn’t exactly a hit. Only one person added a poem, and that person was me. I felt pretty lonely out there all by myself, especially knowing that the assignment was to write about a gathering. Because the assignment was posted in the middle of the holiday season, a low number of participants was to be expected, but none was even lower than I expected. I am hoping that the first assignment of the year gets a little more participation.
For today’s subject, I want to discuss imagery. Imagery is not to be confused with imagism, which I discussed during the 30 Poems in 30 Days project. Imagism was a poetic movement. Imagery is simply the use of images in a poem. No matter what genre of poem you are writing, imagery is an important element in the poem. Images tend to stick with readers. When the audience can visualize what you are writing about, your poem will have more meaning.
Here are four guidelines for using imagery in a poem:
- The image should be meaningful. Images can range from the straightforward to the absurd. Whatever your choice, though, the image should make sense within the context of the poem and should enhance the overall meaning or effect of the poem.
- Images should be original. This can be a difficult prospect considering the number of people who have had the chance to describe things before you, but it should be your goal to say things in a new way.
- Images should fit the tone of the poem. Each should enhance the other images in the poem. If one image in a poem is decidedly different from the rest of the images in a poem, it should be that way for a reason.
- Images should not overly rely on adjectives or adverbs. Heavy use of these in a poem can be counterproductive and cause the attention of the reader to wander.
Poetry Assignment
Write a poem that describes one object, one action and one person.
For Further Reading
A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of The Sublime and Beautiful – Edmund Burke
If there was ever a book that wasn’t about poetry that every poet should read, this is that book. Burke delves deeply into what people find beautiful and the nature of taste, as well as people’s attraction to the frightening and powerful. Burke wrote his Inquiry in 1757, long before the concept of psychology and the likes of Freud and Jung began to explain how we think. Perhaps because of this, Burke focuses more on what attracts us rather than why, which gives the book a purity of purpose that would be hard to duplicate today.
Related links
- Poetry Writing Tips (1.000)
- What are Metaphor, Simile and Analogy? (1.000)
- Poetry Across the Web (1.000)
- A Quick Guide to Acrostic Poetry (1.000)
- Poetry Across The Web (Week Two) (1.000)
Contact John Hewitt
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Email: hewitt@poewar.comPhone: (520) 261-6104
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John, please don’t feel so blue.
Last week, I wrote a poem too.
Oh how I loved my pretty poem,
so full of sparkling little gems.
Alas, I did not post my work.
Perhaps in this I am a jerk,
But hopes I have of submitting to
some crazy writer’s journal, or two.
A public forum’s not the place,
Nor is a sty a proper place,
To cast my pretty precious poem,
so full of sparkling little gems.
Forgive, I pray, my vanity,
In wanting notoriety,
Or at least a book of verse
composed by me for general commerce.
Thanks James,
I don’t mind if people don’t post their poems, but it would be great if they at least left a note saying they did write one, and perhaps provide an excerpt. That way I would know the article was at least put to use.
I’ll keep that in mind…
Oh, poor thing!
I read your poem and liked it..
I have three “gathering” poems that have been percolating in my head in stray minutes ever since you suggested the theme, but have not put down a word of any. SOOOOO busy.
Just got rid of one overseas house guest and about to acquire two more.
And it may be holidays for everyone else but I’ve got extra work assignments.
Plus totally rearranging living space as my beloved and I decided to combine our offices by bringing them into living room. This had huge repercussions on everywhere else also. Right now I have to go and finish recreating guest room, URGENTLY…
I am glad you are still red, white, black and purple.
On Poetry:
The National Federation of State Poetry Societies (nfsps.org) is now accepting entries to various state poetry contests. Submitted works must be unpublished, original works. You must submit all entires at once. Deadline is 15 March. You do not need to be a member to submit to most of them. (membership is required for some)
Take a look to see if any of the topics interest you. Read the rules and submit something to one or more of them.
P.S. I am NOT affiliated with them in any way; I anticipate submitting a few this year.
Pigeons drift out of the sky like snow flakes
eating seed:
in the hunt and peck motion of a typist,
tossed at the feet of the lonely man.
Is this the preferred avenue for submitting a poem? What is the deadline? Thanks-new to this website.
Blessings, Brenda
Sorry for not posting my poems, but most of them are pretty personal/not revised enough to make sense to anyone besides me. I have been doing most of the assignments, tweaking them here and there. I have been getting carpal tunnel from typing, doing shotput, violin, and writing longhand too so I need to be careful.
Anyways though, I didn’t really follow the assignment. My poem has a lot more than one action and two objects. It was a case of the idea snowballing. Do you want me to post it anyways?
Leah,
The decision to post is entirely yours. This is pretty much a public forum, where the posts linger indeffinately. Post ONLY is ou are entirely comfortable with this.
Yeah I don’t think I want to post mine… Looks like I’ll still be the silent participant.
Leah,
There are other ways to participate besides posting poetry.
You can converse with the community, egg John on to greatness, heckle other participants, or moan incoprehensibly when assignments are given.
I did not say these were all great ideas, but they each add something to the group in its own way.
I believe John’s outcry was because there was absolutely no response at all to his post. Simply put: a fight is more engaging than being ignored. There is nothing quite like having a post get ignored. You wonder whether it was even worth your effort. Even moaning lets John know that someone read his post.
Hope to see you around, more aptly put: hope to hear from you from time to time, even if it is just a moan.
leah,
Thanks for taking the time to comment. There is certainly no requirement that you post a poem. Participate in whatever way you feel is appropriate.
James,
Thanks for helping guide Leah.
Baby girl and a cow
Eyes bright, she stares
unmoving,
watching,
unafraid.
Eyes soft, she chews
dull snorting,
snuffling,
unafraid.
Keeping Silence
My thoughts collide;
Expressions melt;
Bringing in fear;
My heart had felt;
Arising nausea;
Hurting pain;
Falling starts;
My clothes they stain;
Why am I here?
Who do I seek?
My clothes in all;
Fall to my feet;
All sounds drown out;
My hearing at halt;
Everything gone;
Closed in a vault;
Hearing impaired;
I like it this way;
No one to heart;
No “games” to play;
Faces melt;
Port holes close;
All these minutes;
Suddenly frozen;
A dark room;
Within it I lay;
Breathing slow;
Black and gray;
A window I seek;
Noises they’ve stayed;
I wanna kill you;
I want to blow you away;
I take a deep breath;
I blow hard;
You scream;
As you float afar;
Bye noise;
Bye all to you who suck;
I’ll never like you;
Goodbye all that muck;
I’m bondaged in shackles;
Made of memory;
My life;
I will never see;
I’m nothing to you;
So keep away;
My body, soul and mind;
I’ll keep at bay;
I like my life;
Without you in it;
Me and others;
Just don’t fit;
I don’t want you to know;
Anything about me;
All you people;
I really don’t need;
My experiences stay;
I read them all;
Who needs to know?
The feeling in which you fall;
I know what there like;
All weasels and pest;
I hate the lot;
And all the rest;
I curl up in the corner;
Arms around my knees;
My flesh and hair;
The rats they feed;
Pist in psyche mode;
I cringe at that;
I ate that one, this one;
To the last rat;
Blood dies in my mouth;
My cloths they stenched;
Silence is reached;
No thanks to a wench;
The noise maker;
Humming in my ear;
You think you got me;
But I killed all I used to fear;
You brought them to me;
Thinking I’d fall;
But you all the one;
In hell you crawl;
Skin inflamed;
I feel the heat;
My heart aches;
With every hit in beat;
No noise around;
The hell with you;
I take in breaths;
But only a few;
I killed you all;
Not a chirp in shock distance;
I lift my head;
Sun shines through;
Hits the floor;
With thick morning dew;
Mold is growing;
Filling my nostrils;
It grows in my skin;
My body it fills;
How long have I been here?
How long have I stayed?
I’ve been held down;
My life faded;
Where to go?
Forward I guess;
Why do I care?
All you want is the best;
I hear the mold;
I crawls up my spine;
Up my neck;
And down a fine line;
I still sit here;
I will not move;
My life alone;
Becomes anew;
Not only silence;
But everything else;
The one that kills;
And all that sells;
I pray to God;
For all that you make;
For this night in silence;
For my soul to take.
Is this what your looking for? Not sure if I posted this in 30 poems 30 days, but I seem to be in a stuck. I’m writing a paper and nothing else seems to be popping in my mind at the moment. But if I can muster up something I will share it……
-Rianon-
I’m busy with homework and things now, but I might come back later and submit a new poem. Here’s one I wrote when I was twelve, and if I get the time later I’ll come back and write a new one.
The Greatest Gift
Blood of the sun,
He walks, awakened,
Trailing shreds of sky, and earth, and sea,
Then comes the storm, and he walks alone,
Tread softly now, you walk on memories.
Call the night,
It will fall at your command,
O’er red skies, and earth, and seas,
Silver trees of silver dreams fall by your hand
And there remains but the dust of memories.
Touch the horizon,
Sit upon the stars,
Draped in sky, and earth, and sea,
Shattered souls of broken men
Cry out from the dust of memories.
He holds the Earth’s dreams,
Yet they fall apart,
Splitting sky, and earth, and sea,
As the darkened world creeps up upon the heart,
And steals the dust of memory.
Still his spirit burns
As the flame of life,
Devouring skies, and earth, and seas,
Raising ashes to fire, and fire to light,
And torching the dust of memories.
He walks among the dead,
And drifts by the living,
Sleeping between skies, and earth, and seas,
Among those who can never unite,
Lies the dust of his memories.
Blood-shod heels
Tread every land,
Every sky, and earth, and sea,
Thin upon the ground, and hazy in the darkness,
Lies the dust of memory.
Shed your bindings,
Step away,
Leave these skies, and earth, and seas,
Forever trapped, forever bound,
Step softly now, upon my memories.
Look behind the sun,
Far away,
Beyond the skies, and earth, and seas,
You will not fly free, but walk forever on,
But bear the Greatest Gift: your Memories.
By Jenny McBride, age 12
Jenny, this is amazing for a 12-year-old. I’d love to see what you’ve written more recently!
Rosemary – thank you! Here is a more recent poem, about ballroom dancing. A friend asked me to write this for them, and I tried my best, although I have never danced in my life. I thought I might as well post it up here.
A Beautiful Moment (ballroom dancing)
A beautiful moment
Locked within the jaws of temptation
Within the arms of fate.
Flying
Emotions pounding across the dance floor
Whirls of colour
And light
Glinting through silky hair,
And within alive and loving eyes.
Your moment
To shine.
Smooth hands
Running over
Feathered dresses
Sequined bodices
Damp skin.
Hair fanned out in a light
Caressing wind
That you alone can feel.
Just the two of you
Alive in the dance.
Breathe
Move
Hold
Step
Channel your feelings
Through the beauty
Of the dance.
Inhale the life within your partner
Let it push you onwards
Every particle of your being
Locked in this wonderful new world.
This
Is where you will always belong.
Turning
Twirling
Until you lose sight of who is who
Whose hands are whose
Whose hair it is
That you can feel against your temple.
It flows so smoothly
In the misty euphoria
You can hear heavy breathing
Heels gently touching the ground
Then toes, just caressing the floor
Wrapping you in the spirit of the dance
Flames threading through your soul.
You are delicate
Graceful
A swan
A rose
And he will protect you,
Take your hand,
And lead you through the thorns.
Such a passion is growing within you
That you forget that you are being watched
And nothing else matters
But the rhythm of the music
And the flow of the dance
And moving with him
As one person
Beautiful balance
Beautiful…
And the heat is heavy on your feet
But it does not matter
It is such storytelling in motion
Such electricity and contagious energy
Concentrated into one space
It is such…
Beauty.
And here,
On the dance floor,
You are home.
By Jenny McBride, age 13
Here is my attempt at one image, one person, one action…just stumbled across this web site, and it looks interestng….
A RED DELICIOUS
Stooping to pick a Red Delicious
from the pile, the apples topple,
and an old man wags his finger toward me.
Obligated to buy the whole barrel, I cart
dimpled cargo sheepishly past
the oranges and bananas, hungering
to be invisible.
Dear JPB, I enjoyed your Red Delicious!
Dear Jenny, had lots happening since January and only just got back here. My apologies, and thanks for posting the dancing poem. You’re a writer to watch!
Rosemary Nissen-Wade (aka SnakyPoet)s last blog post..Inevitable Mystery
Thanks Rosemary!