Cbc project 3 final pdf 2

I am p o e t r y.

Bernice Puleng Mosala 1400872 CBC2 Copywriting Project 3

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•Kassam, A. (2017). Rupi Kaur: 'There was no market for poetry about trauma, abuse and healing’. [online] The Guardian. Available at: https:// www.theguardian.com/books/2016/aug/26/rupi-kaur-poetry-canada-instagram-banned-photo [Accessed 20 May 2017].

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Available at: http://www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/kip_fra.htm [Accessed 20 May 2017].

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Available at: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/ detail/rudyard-kipling [Accessed 20 May 2017].

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[Rupi Kaur]

i am sending my love to your eyes. may they always see goodness in people. and may you always practice kindness. may we see each other as one. may we be nothing short of in love with everything the universe has to offer. and may we always stay grounded. rooted. our feet planted firmly onto the earth.

// Milk and Honey

The poet who bleeds for expression.

Rupi Kaur is a Canadian based artist and writer. At the age of five, she and her family immigrated from India. She started to paint and draw as a means of expression as she could not speak English, thus she was unable to communicate with her peers. She spent a lot of time alone, creating things. When she had learned English, she spent her time sifting through various books and falling in love with words, (Kaur, 2017) She became passionate about writing and preforming poetry. Her first poetry performance was in the basement of a health centre. She wrote numerous pages of poetry and began performing her work across Canada. In 2014, she self-published her first poetry book which was titled ‘milk and honey’, (Kaur, 2017).

She regards her expression of self as her passion. She uses various mediums to do so. She sees herself as a videographer, a designer, an illustrator, a creative director and a poet. She know preforms spoken word across the world.

She facilitates writing workshops and provides other people with the ability to express themselves, (Kaur, 2017).

Rupi Kaur’s poetry is based on themes of loss, love, femininity and ultimately healing. She uses her personal experiences and the experiences of others as inspiration. She makes art of her encounters through life, (Kaur, 2017).

“There was no market for poetry about trauma, abuse and healing,” says Rupi Kaur. She ultimately made a career by compelling herself into spaces of personal hardship. By recalling her pain and writing it down, she became a New York Times bestseller and a social media influencer. Initially, she used the traditional method of submitting her work to journals, magazines and anthologies but this approach yielded little success because her poetry was said to be too uncompromisingly honest and difficult to process, (Kassam, 2017).

In 2015, Kaur published a photograph on Instagram of herself lying in bed on sheets that were stained by menstrual blood. The image was reported and Instagram banned the photograph and removed it from their site. Kaur fought back. She highlighted the hypocrisy of Instagram censoring an image that showcased the female body in its natural state whole the site willingly published “pornified” and “objectified” images of young females. This catapulted her career and increased her following. She wrote, “I will not apologise for not feed-

ing the ego and pride of a misogynist society that will have my body in underwear but not be okay with a small leak.” She called numerous people to rethink the way in which society sees menstruation, (Kassam, 2017) Rupi Kaur is a spoken word artist who was often told that her words were too aggressive and that she made people feel uncomfortable. She remained authentic in her expression and began releasing short poems on Instagram that were simple and raw, but tackled difficult topics such as alcoholism, rape and domestic violence. She often talks about her fear when she began posting her poetry but people received her art incredibly well and appreciated her courageous manner in which she spoke out on topics that many people are unwilling to discuss, (Kassam, 2017) Her poetry is relatable because it comes from a place of human authenticity. She finds it strange that her words have the ability to connect with 50 year old white women and Punjabi-Sikh teenagers alike. When she arrived at a reading in San Francisco, she saw a long, winding crowd, extending four blocks from the bookstore she was about to perform at. It was then that she realised the support her art had generated. She no longer had to wait for people to take notice of her. Instead, it seemed like people were watching her – waiting for her to realise new material that was unconventional but captivating.

She uses her social media accounts to connect with her “grassroots community” and remain accessible to those that follow her but she is aware of the people on social media who threaten and insult her based on her work, her skin colour and her way of life, (Kassam, 2017).

The Punjabi-Sikh community in which she was brought up in have values that do not align with her poetry. It is said by Kaur that South Asian women are supposed to be silent and they are not supposed to have opinions of their own. She very publically addresses topics such as domestic abuse, menstruation and rape, thus, her parents often wonder what others think of her daughter who “says things out loud.” Yet, her family still supports her work.

People in the Punjabi community are still timid. Poetry is a form of expression that is still very new and strange to many of the people she grew up with. “They still don’t know how to accept it,” She says, (Kassam, 2017).

When Rupi Kaur is preforming, she looks out at the females who stand in solidarity and connect with her words and she ultimately knows that what she is doing is right and that she must continue, (Kassam, 2017).

“

our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry.

�

[Savannah Brown]

Skinny Girls Bleed Flowers. // These are not monsters. There are no monsters here. These feel like love, and when they creep inside you, It’s like something once missing is finally coming home. How could a monster make such pretty girls? Pretty girls. Pretty, skinny girls, They look like everything, That is wonderful about being alive, Like vodka diet cokes, And pictures of hip bones at the beach, And all I’ve eaten for the past three days is my own fingernails, And these monsters, Not monsters, Can make you pretty too.

You’ll learn to make jokes about why you’re slicing, The five strawberries you brought for lunch,And breakfast, and dinner, Into twenty-five pieces.

Lifting the morsels from perfectly, Folded napkin with delicate crackling fingers,To hesitant tongue. And when the jokes get too cumbersome, And taste too much like nourishment, Like letting go, like happiness, Learn to put an end to lunch - Forget what it means and, By the end of your last year of high school, You’ll know every spot in the building, Where no one will ask where your friends are, And why you look so tired. The monsters, Not monsters, Will share their secrets. You’ll learn that needle-thin bones, When crushed into a fine paste and stirred into, The twenty glasses of water you were going to drink today, Taste like lemonade. And you can have a sip, For only the cost of the rest of your life spent worshiping, The feeling of hollow, Searching up number and number, And dead girl and number, You, too, can spend the rest, Of the day smelling of what, You just had to scrub off the, Bathroom floor. Go, they’ll say, Outstretching manicured hands, bottle cap wrists— Memorize menus and all the lies you could tell, Spend hours at the grocery store counting: Fifty. One hundred. Two hundred. No more than three, Or else suddenly your thighs begin to inflate like the balloons, From all the birthday parties you couldn’t go to. You will learn to avoid celebration, Because celebration means food. You will spend Christmas day, Fanaticizing about burying, Your dissolving teeth into your knuckles, Until your heart stops. The not-monsters will feed you your first cigarette. And your second, And your tenth. They will leave your once shiny hair, In a clump on your pillowcase - Just for you. And when your body gets too weak - It starts to crumble, But where sick breaks skin, Sunflowers will grow.

An entire garden will force, Itself from your empty stomach, Billowing out your mouth and you’ll choke. But you’ll be happy, Because at least you’re not eating, You’ll decompose, Until you cannot be differentiated, From all the skeletons that have been, Living in your closet. Don’t you wish you could shrink? Don’t you wish you could have that control? Don’t you wish you could make your mom cry? Because she just doesn’t get why you’d do this. You don’t get why you’d do this. You’re smart but you just googled, “How many calories are in tooth paste.” The pretty girls. Pretty, skinny girls.

Pretty, skinny girls. Pretty, dying girls. Pretty, dead girls. The parasite can be restrained but not destroyed. But no matter. It’s a beautiful thing to be made of porcelain. The picture of your hip bones at the beach was worth it.

“I’m a poet.” Savannah Brown declares confidently but she is more than that. She is an American-born filmmaker, a YouTuber, a model, a singer, a song writer and a published author.

She is a pioneering creative who firmly believes in user generated content and connecting with people directly on platforms such as YouTube, (Brooks, 2016) “YouTube has become an extension of my writing,” She says. She has posted various spoken word videos on her YouTube channel which has almost 500 000 subscribers. She was first recognised on the video sharing platform, where she wrote and performed a poem called “What Guys Look For in Girls” in 2014 which went viral. The slam poem was seen by more than 4.5 million people. She continued writing poetry and posting content on her YouTube channel which, she said flowed naturally into publishing her first book, (Siebert, 2016).

Stubbon. Fiery. Independent.

She self-published her book of poetry titled ‘Graffiti and Other Poems’ in 2016. Her poems were paired with illustrations by Ed Stockham. She describes her book as the fully documented, emotional train-wreck of her late teenage years. Each poem was written between the ages of sixteen and nineteen. The book is said to be a personal account of both adolescence and maturing.

It covers themes such as life, death, change, love and moles, (Brown, 2016).

She uses her social media platforms to raise important issues. Savanna Brown believes that she has a responsibility to think critically about the way society functions and raise questions about the inequity that numerous people face on a daily basis. She understands the impact that she has on young people and considers the impact she will have on the minds of her followers before posting any content. Brown recognises that females are still criticised on social media sites such as YouTube. She encourages more female creatives to openly discuss gender disparities and the theme of feminism in general, (Brooks, 2016).

Q: When did you realise that you loved words A: Writing has always been something that comes naturally to me. When I as about five or six years old, there was nothing more exhilarating to me than the concept of creating a story. I would construct “books” out of sloppily stapled notebook sheets. I wrote down words that I thought belonged in them. Ever since then, I have had a magnetic attraction to writing. As I grew older, it became my only reliable outlet for getting the mess that existed in my head out into the world.

Q: What led you to choose to write poetry as your main form of self-expression?

A: A developed a love of poetry much later in life. Poetry has a tendency to seem boring, nonsensical and inaccessible. It difficult to get excited about poetry at a young age but when I was thirteen, I read an Edgar Allan Poe poem in class and I fell in love with the medium. I then discovered poetry by E. E Cummings and I decided that I needed to be a poet. The charm of writing and reading poetry is that there are no guidelines or rules. You don’t have to meticulously order your thoughts. It is a personal endeavour that can be interpreted differently by each individual.

Q: Do you prefer writing poetry with a pen and paper or do you use a technological device?

A: I like the idea of writing by hand. There is something romantic about it but I find that it takes much too long and that I get hand cramps. I always carry a notebook to jot my thoughts down when inspiration strikes but I mostly write on my laptop. Its quick, efficient and easy to navigate.

Q: Who or what inspires your poetry?

A: As I said, Edgar Allen Poe and E. E. Cummings are my favourite poets. I get inspired by a lot of different things.

I am inspired by my senses. I like to write about how things smell, feel, sound and taste. I love comparisons.

Emotions also inspire me. If I feel something strongly, regardless of what it is, I will write it down.

Q: If you could only use three words to describe yourself, what would they be?

A: Stubborn. Fiery. Independent.

Q: You speak about real issues such as anxiety, anorexia and depression on your YouTube channel.

Why did you decide to share your personal battles online?

A: My anxiety has always been something that I wanted to address. I decided to speak about these issues because they are what I would have wanted to hear about when I was a young teenage girl. I think the main obstacle of mental illness is believing that you are alone in your struggle. That’s not true. Several people experience anxiety, anorexia and depression each day. A big part of coping and healing is knowing that people are fighting the diseases a long side you. By talking about my experiences, I am offering others support. We are able to share in our struggles. There is something incredibly special about that.

Q: What advise do you have for up-and-coming poetry writers like myself?

A: I think the main thing to understand is that poetry exists to help people make sense of the world. Through language, we can take abstract thoughts and ideas and turn them into tangible things. My advice is to keep writing. Keep practicing and contributing to the art. It’s all about expression so you can’t really go wrong.

Q: You are most well-known for your slam poem, “What Guys Look For in Girls.” What inspired you to write this poem and to upload it onto your YouTube channel?

A: “What Guys Look For In Girls,” was the first poem that I had ever written and performed. I was inspired to write the piece because I think people in general, regardless of their race, gender or size, have forgotten how to love themselves. I was passionate about the message I was sharing. I was angry that there was this unobtainable beauty standard that we are all expected to subscribe to. I didn’t want the poem to sound aggressive but I hoped that it would remain powerful in its truth. It went viral almost immediately after I posted it. I was shocked.

I went from twenty thousand subscribers to one hundred thousand subscribers in under two weeks. Millions of people had watched the video which was overwhelming and exhausting but ultimately, I was excited that my words had reached so many people. It was in that moment that I realized that people would actually listen to me perform my poetry. At the time, only Button Poetry on YouTube provided a platform for poets, but I never anticipated that I could express myself from the comfort of my home and have people receive it and value it.

That video was the catalyst that enable me to shape my channel into what it has become today.

Q: What do you foresee for yourself in the future?

A: That’s a good question but honestly, I don’t know. I’m still growing up. I’m only twenty years old and for the majority of my life, I was told that writing wasn’t a viable career option. I just dropped out of university. I was constantly unhappy and I dreaded going to lecturers so I eventually told my parents that studying just isn’t right for me. I’m currently writing a novel but I can’t speak too much about that. I can say that I am excited. I’m excited about the future and how society is reshaping itself by the courage of people who are willing to speak out about the things that actually matter!

[Rudyard Kipling]

It was our fault, and our very great faultand now we must turn it to use.

We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse.

So the more we work and the less we talk the better results we shall getWe have had an Imperial lesson; it may make us an Empire yet! // The Lesson

The storytelling genius.

Rudyard Kipling is a one of the bestknown storytellers and poets from the late Victorian era. In 1907, he was awarded a Nobel Prize for his literary work but after his death, his poetry was overlooked due to his unfavorable political opinions. Many critics still recognize the sheer power of his words. He had unrelenting craftsmanship and he was determined to master the bricks and mortar of his trade. His writing commands respect irrespective of his political views. His storytelling is nothing short of genius, especially when communicating with children, (Poetry Foundation, 2017).

Kipling was born in 1865, in Bombay, India. His father was the principal of an art school, an artist and an architect. His life’s mission was to restore native Indian art against British Business interests. He actively tried to preserve traditional styles of architecture and art which represented the rich culture of the Indian people.

Kipling remembers his early years in India as being a paradise. In 1871, Kipling was sent to England by his parents to continue his schooling. For the next five years, he faced deep feelings of abandonment and bewilderment. He felt deserted by his parents and was bullied.

He was described as a pampered and an aggressive child. He faced corporal punishment which he describes as a hell of its own. He suffered a nervous breakdown and a deep depression, although he does recall some happy moments during this period, (Britannica.com, 2017).

In 1978, Rudyard Kipling was selected to edit his school newspaper as teachers recognized his commitment to and love of writing. In 1882, he returned to India to reunite with his family, where he worked as a journalist. He wrote a number of

short stories and poems during this time.

His works were publishes in cheap editions and his writing gained a strong following.

In 1889, he returned to England, determined to become a writer there. Once he settled in London, he quickly rose to fame. His writing elicited strong reactions of both hate and love from the beginning of his career, (Biography.com, 2017) Kipling settled in Vermont in 1892 with his wife. Theodore Roosevelt described him as a much bigger man than his people understood. He was born before his time and was thus, under-appreciated in the eyes of Roosevelt. Rudyard Kipling wrote “The Jungle Books,” which are one of the best selling classic works of all times. Kipling became unpopular with the American press in 1896 when he refused to be interviewed and moved back to London where he continued writing.

He lost his eldest daughter in 1899 to pneumonia. Her passing inspired captivating works that were filled with the same degree of life that she made her who she was, (Kiplingsociety.co.uk, 2017) In 1902, Kipling began exploring new writing techniques and subjects, yet he retained his love and respect for the beauty of the English language. In 1917, his audience started to dislike the writer for his political views. He believed in mandatory military service, he was sympathetic towards the lower classes and he did not trust the democratic government. He passed away in 1936. He is remembering as an intriguing personality and a brilliant writer. An honest, courageous and a gifted man. He wrote over 500 poems, 47 short stories, 3 novels, 17 children’s books, 9 travel writings, 12 naval and military writings and over 16 additional pieces of writing over the course of his life, (Nobelprize.org, 2017).

If you can keep your head when all about you, Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, And treat those two impostors just the same:.

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son! // If Rudyard Kipling

[Robert Frost]

Age saw two quiet children Go loving by at twilight, He knew not whether homeward, Or outward from the village, Or (chimes were ringing) churchward, He waited, (they were strangers) Till they were out of hearing To bid them both be happy.

'Be happy, happy, happy, And seize the day of pleasure.'

The age-long theme is Age's.

'Twas Age imposed on poems Their gather-roses burden To warn against the danger That overtaken lovers From being overflooded With happiness should have it.

And yet not know they have it.

But bid life seize the present?

It lives less in the present Than in the future always, And less in both together Than in the past. The present Is too much for the senses, Too crowding, too confusingToo present to imagine.

// Carpe Diem

Captivating colloquialism.

Robert Frost is regarded as a modern poet but it is difficult to identify where he exists in the landscape of modern poetry. His work exists at the intersection of 19th-century American poetry and the 20th-century contemporary expressionism. He was described as being original and direct. His work avoids traditional forms of verse and uses rhyme unpredictable. He is regarded as a romantic. He said, a poem is “never a putup job.... It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a loneliness. It is never a thought to begin with. It is at its best when it is a tantalizing vagueness.” Throughout his life, he separated the artist who creates and the man who suffers within himself which meant that he took subjective experiences and evolved them into objective art. He believed that the feeling of a poem overrode the adherence to line length, meter and rhyme scheme. Frost tried to make his style of writing as close to conversation as possible which would ultimately enhance the meaning of his poetry in the hearts and minds of readers, (Poetry Foundation, 2017).

Frost reproduced both scenery and people with an extraordinary vividness. He realistically evolved the physical landscape of his surroundings into descriptions which could easily be visualized by his audience. He was a master of realism. The characters he invents are often forced to confront their individualism, to reject society and to retain their personal identities. He recovers his love of nature through his poems. He also highlights the modern separation of man from nature. His poetry exists where spirituality and the tangible world intersect. He is often compared to Ralph Waldo Emerson and Emily Dickinson in his ability to take the ordinary and make it extraordinary. Robert Frost explains in “Education by Poetry” that poetry begins in seemingly trivial metaphors and progresses into profound thought. One must make a metaphor feel like home in order for it to be understood, (Biography.com, 2017).

Frost was born in San Francisco in 1874 but his family moved to Massachusetts in 1884 after his father passed away. At the age of 15, Robert Frost decided that he would be a poet. He graduated in 1892 as a class poet and in 1894, the New York Independent accepted his poem which was titled “My Butterfly.” This launched his

career as a professional poet. He published 13 more poems and began teaching. In 1912, he moved to England as he was discouraged by the constant rejection of American magazines who refused to continue publishing his work. He published two books during his exile and returned to the United States in 1915 as a celebrated literary figure. Publications that once scorned his poetry now sought to publish it, (Pritchard, 2000).

It is said that Frost painted a reliable representation of all men through humor and wit. His poems have guided American culture over the years. In 1961, Frost was asked to recite his poetry at John F. Kennedy’s inauguration. Frost did not align himself with a poetry movement or a literacy school like many poets at the time did. He published his works in various magazines and his work was admired for its utter sincerity.

He was also recognized for his lack of conformity in the poetry market. He simply did not follow the rules set out by poets before him which resulted in unusual but powerful writing. He utilized colloquialism, dramatic monologues and dialogues, (Gerber, 2017).

Frost won several awards for his writing, including one of four Pulitzer Prizes for a poem that was fourteen pages long and regarded as a profound rambling work of art. Robert Frost published several poetry books along the course of his life. West-Running Brook was the fifth book of poems published by the writer. It gave expression to eccentric individualism. He wrote on themes such as self-realization and confrontation with the self. It highlights the blindness of man and his absurdity with tenderness which takes great courage to point out the flaws of humanity. He wrote poems with a causality that allowed people to identify with his work. His poems became the people’s poems, (Poetry Foundation, 2017).

In his early years, Frost was described as a very odd and a very radical man. Over the year, his work became more abstract and cryptic. He seemed to become more conservative in his old age. His later works are more philosophical yet many were still able to find significance and delight in his poetry.

Robert Frost died on the 29th of January, 1963. In October 1963, President Kennedy dedicated the Robert Frost Library in Massachusetts in honor of the writer. He was regarded as a deep source of nation strength. He regarded poetry as a means of understand the world and he wished young people would care more about the art form. I wrote more than 191 poems, (Poetry Foundation, 2017).

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. // The Road Not Taken

salt.

[Nayyirah Waheed]

You not wanting me was the beginning of me wanting myself. Thank you.

Evoking emotion through poetry.

Society communicates to the that the world needs more doctors, more computer scientist, more engineers, more biologist and more nurses but, but the world truly needs in the eyes of Nayyirah Waheed, a celebrated young poet, is more anthropologists, more phycologists, more singers, dancers, painters and writers. For writers preserve the history of humanity and poets pass down the sacred folktales from generation to generation. Poetry is passionate, it reaches beneath the conscious mind to evoke emotion.

There is not much information on Nayyirah Waheed. The African American poet is as elusive as her art form. She has published two collections of poetry titled “Salt” and “Nejma.” Waheed self-published “Salt” in 2013. It was met with disregard and it was fiercely rejected. The publication was faced with negative reactions. She did not follow grammatical rules or the standard style of poetry. She did not write using capital letters, she used full stops unpredictable and she used very little punctuation. The poet has a stark yet minimalistic style. She does not pretend to work with verses, stanza, schemes or even rhyme. It seems that she single handily invented her own subgenre of unconventional poetry, (Daftuar, 2016).

Although her poems are simple, they are hard-hitting and driven by emotion. They are

also incredibly relatable and easy to consume. She writes poetry in the purest form.

Her words are distilled and concentrated although her themes are complex. She writes about immigration, love, pain, anger, healing, cultural appropriation and various gender issues. Her poetry is something to feel instead of being something to simply read.

She has broken the self-publishing record on books sold on Amazon and her work is now widely studied in various schools. Her poems are frequently quoted and her writing is shared across social media, (Daftuar, 2016).

Nayyirah Waheed is the most famous poet on Instagram yet she still retains a very personal life. She confronts themes such as identity, feminism and race. Waheed has learned to embrace her blackness through her poetry. She began writing at the age of 11, when she was asked to write a poem for her community newsletter by one of her English teachers. Waheed shares other poets work on her social media account giving them recognition for their art. Waheed has received media coverage from Essence, Vibe, W Magazine, The Guardian, Teen Vogue, and the New York Daily News. Her work was referenced in the 2017 Women’s March and celebrities such has Khloe Kardashian have quoted her work. She openly fights against misogyny, racism and xenophobia, (Yenna, 2017).

“There have been so many times / I have seen a man wanting to weep / But / Instead / Beat his heart until it was unconscious.”

Who is your favourite poet and why?

Well, one of my favourite poets is Sonia Sanchez. Her imagery is beautiful. She does not write, she weaves with words to make quilts that warm the soul. She is utterly divine. It was through reading and ultimately engaging with her work that I learned the energy of words and imagery.

What is your writing process?

My poetry comes as it will and when it wants to. I can be inspired while I am talking to someone, eating exercising or simply when I am waking up. Sometimes I receive only a line and other times a whole poem comes to me all at once. My soul communicates with my hands and I do my best to listen.

Do you perform your pieces?

I am a quiet poet so no, I do not perform. I read my poetry but I do not perform it.

Why do you write?

I write because I need to be authentic and honest with myself. My art and my writing are places where I can be most honest. Honesty is what pushes me to write. This process is sometimes scary but my soul calls me to write and so I do. My soul understands why I need to say what it tells me to say. It takes courage to stand alongside yourself and disclose your truth to the world.

Over the course of history, white critics have never understood black writing. I feel like we are finally arriving at a place where they are starting to understand it. Do you believe we are moving

into an era of equality in terms of expression?

Nikki Giovanni, Maya Angelou and Sonia Sanchez were all negatively critiqued for producing work that does not sound like Robert Frost or Shakespeare but their opinions do not matter to me. Why are they to me? Poetry is based on emotion, experience and expression therefore, I do not need their validation.

Black writers do not need the white critics validation!

I want their hands off my work. Off of our work. Our work requires completely different senses and they cannot fully comprehend what we say. My poetry is not meant for them to understand. My poetry is not theirs.

What do you think of black writers always having the label of being black attached to their names?

I think that it is a beautiful label to have. The reasoning behind why people say it may not be pure but I can still find beauty in the result of it. I want black to be attached to everything I do. Even if it is used as an insult or a weapon, I will receive it in a way that affirms me, strengthens me and nurtures me.

What message do you want people to get out of your work?

Whatever message they need. It is their personal relationship with the poetry I wrote that is most important.

Where do you see yourself in five years?

I’m not one to focus too much on the future. I live in the here and now. I hope that in five years, I will still have a deep relationship with my being. Other than that, I am open to the journey.

“

Remember, You were a writer Before You ever Put Pen to paper.

Just because you were not writing Externally.

Does not mean you were not writing Internally.

�

[Neil Hilborn]

Joey always told me, laughing, as though it were actually a joke, that he wanted to kill himself but it was never the right time.

There were always groceries to be bought and little brothers to be tucked in at night. Don’t worry. Joey isn’t going to kill himself twenty more lines into this poem. That’s not the kind of story I’m telling here. Joey got a promotion and now he can afford Prozac. Joey is Joe now. Joe is a cold engine in which none of the parts complain. Joe is a brick someone made out of fossils. If you removed money from the equation, Joey would have been painting elk on cave walls. People would have fed him and kept him away from high places because goddamn, look at those elk.

I think that the genes for being an artist and mentally ill aren’t just related, they are the same gene, but try telling that to a bill collector. We were seventeen, and I drove us all to punk shows in a station wagon older than any of us. We were seventeen and I bought lunch for Joey more often than I didn’t. We were seventeen and the one time Joey tried to talk to me about being depressed when someone else was around, I told him to shut the hell up and asked if he needed to change his tampon.

You know that moment when the cartoon realizes he’s taken three steps off the cliff and he takes a long look at the audience like we are carrying the last moving box out of a half-empty house? Joey looked like that without the puff of smoke. He just played video games for a half hour and then went home.

Once I found Joey in my dad’s office, staring at the safe where he knew we kept the guns. Once Joey molded his car into the shape of a tree trunk and refused to give a reason why. I once caught Joey in Biology class staring at his scalpel like he wanted to be the frog, splayed out, wide open, so honest. There’s one difference between me and Joey. When we got arrested, bail money was waiting for me at the station. When I was hungry, I ate. When I wanted to open myself up and see if there really were bees rattling around in there, my parents got me a therapist.

I can pinpoint the session that brought me back to the world.

That session cost seventy-five dollars. Seventy-five dollars is two weeks of groceries. It’s a month of bus fare. It’s not even a school year’s worth of new shoes. It took weeks of seventy-five dollars to get to the one that saved my life. We both had parents that believed us when we said we weren’t ok, but mine could afford to do something about it. I wonder how many kids like Joey wanted to die and were unlucky enough to actually pull it off. How many of those kids had someone who cared about them but also had to pay rent? I’m so lucky that right now I’m not describing Joey’s funeral. I’m so lucky we all lived through who we were to become who we are. I’m so lucky I’m so—lucky. // Joey

Being honest about mental illness.

Neil Hilborn is a writer and performer of original slam poetry. His poems consist of detailed personal experiences that explore his battle with various metal disorders. His best known poem is called, “OCD,” which became a viral sensation. Hilborn preforms at a number of colleges, inspiring young people to be open about their struggles with mental illness, (Gander, 2013).

Neil Hilborn graduated with honours in 2011 form Macalester College with a Creative Writing degree. He published his debut poetry book in 2013 which was called ‘Our Numbered Days’. Hilborn is also the co-founder of a literary magazine entitled ‘Thistle’ and runs numerous writing workshops to refine the skill of young poets. His work has been published in ‘Borderline Magazine’, ‘Orange Quarterly’ and other renowned publications, (Buttonpoetry.com, 2017) Creating critical dialogue about mental illness is important to Hilborn. It gives people strength and reminds them that they are not alone in their struggles. Neil Hilborn uses humour and the power of story telling to touch people across nations who feel completely alone in their mental illnesses. His poetry is a companion to those who feel lost, (Buttonpoetry.com, 2017).

The first time I saw her... Everything in my head went quiet. All the tics, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. Even in bed, I’m thinking: Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.. Or the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek. I knew I had to talk to her. I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or fucking talking to her... But she loved it. She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday. She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.

When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times. I’d always watch her mouth when she talked— when she talked— when she talked— when she talked. when she talked; when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off..

And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her. Some mornings I’d start kissing her goodbye but she’d just leave cause I was just making her late for work... When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking... When she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line. She told me that I was taking up too much of her time. Last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place. She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but... How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touched her? Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. I can’t – I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars... And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel..

How she turns shower knobs like she's opening a safe. How she blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out… Now, I just think about who else is kissing her. I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once — he doesn’t care if it’s perfect! I want her back so bad... I leave the door unlocked. I leave the lights on. // OCD

[Keaton Henson]

Come and be human with me eat nothing that means us both leaving the house sit on the floor in strange places and sleep in familiar beds I will make art, not for, but about you speak truths while your sleeping and wake you with hands we will dive deeply into one anothers and stay out of our own weary heads We will argue in glorious fireworks I will throw words, you will break my guitar remind ourselves that it's something worth burning and be all the better for making up Come and eat cereal late at night in silence, undressed on the kitchen counter be far too tired for tomorrows long stroll in love, just enough for the waking up Come, in your own time, and human be, Yours politely, Lonely me.

The melancholy romantic.

Keaton Henson is an English visual artist, folk rock musician and poet.

He has released six studio albums, a wordless graphic novel titled “Gloaming” and a poetry book called Idiot Verse. Due to his anxiety, Henson does not play concerts or perform his poetry, (Brown, 2016).

His poetry, much like his music, is romantic, melancholy and alternates between passionate and vulnerable.

He begins his poetry book by saying, “Dear reader. Please read as though sleeping.” The poetry collection in its entirety is dream-like, (Brown, 2016).

Henson, being an artist as well as a writer created the illustration upon the front cover of his book. His work is both artsy and playful. He speaks of themes such as love and innocence.

Among the pages of his book, are more hand rendered illustrations that compliment his poetry perfectly. His art style is child-like and seeming random. It makes the book seem

much more like a diary than anything else. It highlights the oddity of the poet himself. Early on in his poem, “Idiot Verse” Henson admits that he isn’t the first to write poetry out of his loneliness, so he has written of his experiences in their most authentic form. He has written from his heart. He does not overly construct his poems but instead he writes rhyming freeverse poetry that is beautiful in its authenticity. Some of his poems are but four lines long and others take up numerous pages, (Mitchell, 2015).

Keaton Henson’s poetry follows the same tranquil pattern as his music but he is versatile in his writing as he speaks about a wide range of topics such as his family, his fear of touring, various loves that have gone wrong, the act of reading, writing and his anxiety. In many ways, his poetry is a plea for companionship.

It is peculiar, melancholy, funny and beautiful. He lists T. S. Eliot as one of his main influencers, (Mitchell, 2015).

Grow Up With Me. // Let’s run in fields & through the dark together, fall off swings & burn special things & both play outside in bad weather.

Let’s eat badly, let’s watch adults drink wine & laugh at their idiocy. Let’s sit in the back of the car making eye contact with strangers driving past, making them uncomfortable; not caring, not swearing, don’t fuck. Let’s both reclaim our super powers, the ones we all have & lose with our milk teeth, the ability not to fear social awkwardness, to panic when locked in the cellar; still sure there’s something down there. & while picking from pillows each feather, let’s both stay away from the edge of the bed, forcing us closer together. Let’s sit in public with ice cream all over both our faces, sticking our tongues out at passerby’s.

Let’s cry, let’s swim, let’s everything.

Let’s not find it funny lest someone falls over.

Classical music is boring, poetry baffles us both.

There’s nothing that’s said is what’s meant.

Plays are long, tiresome, sullen, & filled with hours that could be spent rolling down hills, & grazing our knees on cement. Let’s hear stories both lose our innocence. Learn about parents & forgiveness, death & morality, kindness & art, thus losing both of our innocent hearts, but at least we won’t do it apart.

Grow up with me.

[B. M. Lee-Morgetts]

Conversations with her // Tell me that nothing is wrong with society, Go ahead, humour me, Tell me life is what you make it, That bad things don’t happen to good people, Recite your clichés and I will put pen and paper, I will repeat them until I believe them, Because I don’t want to live in a world, In which the majority of my friends were molested before the age of fifteen, And then they learned to blame themselves, Because how can it be the fault of someone older, Who knew better, someone they trusted, With naive dependence, an act that stole their innocence.

And their will to speak, because it isn’t polite to talk about it at the dinner table, Just encase someone losses their appetite, and realizes just how ugly this world is.

- But still it isn’t societies fault.

Tell me there is nothing wrong with society, When two out of three people don’t grow up with fathers.

They don’t know what it feels like to be loved, by half of their DNA, So they grow up hating, the parts of themselves that hold their father’s likeness, And the parts of themselves that don’t, Because they weren’t enough to make him stay anyway.

Go ahead and tell me that it isn’t societies fault, Tell me that it isn’t YOUR fault, while you subscribe to the norms, That exclude, brutalize, stereotype, dehumanize.

“It is just a joke,” You say, after saying something racist, Rooted in hatred but you tell me to lighten up, This generation takes things too seriously, right?

And then you call him a pussy for feeling, For not acting out in violence but in sadness, Telling him to punch walls instead, Who cares if his girlfriend gets in the way, Because anything is better than looking like a sissy, Even bruises, even scars, even broken bones and fractures.

But tell me that nothing is wrong with our society.

Tell me that nothing is wrong with the way that we think, When our minds are filled with constant comparison - constant judgement, We are feed consistent messaging that tells us we are not good enough, So we spend our lives trying to cover up our flaws, We spend our lives, spending money on things that will make us better, And create images on social media, that depict the brand we establish, Instead of the people that we are.

Let me tell you, slavery hasn’t ended, It is in fact on the rise, Yet we turn a blind eye, Instead focus on the “feel good,” The fabrication, We sell ourselves. Our naked bodies Our naked minds, The land that is our moral ground, Over eight-hundred thousand people commit suicide each year, Two out of three teenagers - teenagers, young people between the ages of thirteen and nineteen Experience depression at least once.

What the fuck are they depressed about, except for every social standard that they cannot meet?

Tell me that there is nothing wrong with the society, That made you feel ‘less than’ at least once in your life time, And then tell me why you are so comfortable, when it isn’t you who is being put down, But someone else.

I am a part of the problem. You are a part of the problem.

We make up society - We have the ability to stand up, To solve the problem, To fix the mess that we have made.

So protect the innocent. Be a parent who stays. Do not raise your fists in anger.

Do not think that you are better than someone based on, Their skin tone, their social class, their sexual orientation.

Do not degrade anyone. Be a companion to the lost, But do not feed into their pain! Do not feed into the worlds pain, Relieve it instead, simply by caring...

That’s really all that it takes.

Insightful reflection.

I am one to write paragraphs when I am inspired, and yes I am inspired by these poets who breathe life into words.

Over the course of my life, I have sat with their art, I have wept with it, smiled with it and treasured it.

I have seen great value Rupi Kaur’s versatility, her simplicity and her dialogue on abuse, self-love and healing. Milk and Honey was the first poetry book that I bought. I finished more than half of it in one night because her words spoke to my heart. That is a sign of great poetry. It has very little to do with the structure of the poems but the feeling that the works provide. She has taught me how to be a strong female, without losing my softness while reclaiming my voice. We are both born from cultures that value the silence of women. We both honor the silent pleas of our ancestors to speak - to rise up and point out the inequity. They suffered at the hands of men and we write to restore the virtue of femininity.

The mothers that came before us carried whole families on their backs. We acknowledge that, we honor that and their them through writing.

Savannah Brown has shown me what an effective tool YouTube is in making a name for myself. My poetry doesn’t have to exist exclusively on pages but it can instead come alive with music and visuals within an online space where others can consume my content in a more engaging way.

I have made a experimented with videography – taking one of my poems, breathing life into it and the posting it on YouTube. Suddenly, the intangibility of my words became tangible. People finally understood my words because they had a wider sensory experience. She has also taught me to venture into my past and write about it so that others can learn from it. I do not feel

ashamed when writing poems about depression, anxiety and anorexia because she has shown me that my personal hardships are not shameful but something to share with others so that they do not feel alone in their journeys.

Rudyard Kipling has taught me the value of craftsmanship and above all, the sheer power of storytelling itself. To take a traditionally short medium such as poetry and create a world within in it complete with characters and context, is a very difficult feat that Kipling conquered time and time again. From beyond the realm of poetry, I identify with his optimism. He had said once that he always prefers to believe the best of everybody as it saves a lot of trouble. Poets do not have to be cynics in order to sell their work. They can see the light in life and sell that instead, restoring someone’s ones favorable opinion of living – and living well, once more. What a brilliant task that is! I take it on with great pride.

Robert Frost is an old time favorite of mine. “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” These lines have not only shaped the way that I live my life but my career path as well. Much like Frost, I believe in the power of words beyond iambic pentameter. The structure of my poetry has very little to do with the strength of my words, although I do value rhyme patterns as he did. One of his works was once called a piece of rambling art. I create strange things called “rambling poems.” Frost has given me the confidence to publish this niche type of poetry, that goes on and on and on but does not lose itself in feeling.

He has also taught me to assess the condition of humanity and bring it to light, so that others can see the both the shortcoming and the victories of

the human existence. Our society is a place of judgement, inequity and selfish individualism. I plan to show the world how far we have come from the nourishment of community to the superficiality of society, and I hope in doing this, they will crave a deep connection with people instead of mere connectivity. We are more connected to each other through social media than ever before but, we are also lonelier than any generation that came before us. Poetry is a companion that leads the way to greener pastures. I hope to show people the world, not from screens but from a place of honest contemplation.

Nayyirah Waheed is a poet in the truest sense. The way she speaks and the way she lives is poetry in itself. She has taught me that speaking from the soul is the best way to connect with the souls of others. She has shown me that poetry does not need to be complicated to be brilliant – that it is OK to remove the punctuation, the capital letters and even tools such as rhyming to create the most refined and authentic manifestation of emotion.

Distilled honesty goes further in the hearts of people than elaborate descriptions ever could. Clarity. Clarity. Clarity. I selected this as the theme for my year with little success in implementing it in my life, but by studying Waheed’s work, I was able to write with a more confident and relaxed attitude, knowing the power of truth is more captivating than any sting of beautiful words can ever be.

Neil Hilborn performs poetry with an intensity that allows people to identify with his struggles even if they have not experienced them personally.

He speaks about OCD, depression, anxiety and a host of other mental illnesses with humor that draws people in and honesty that holds their attention.

He does not focus on the illness itself but instead how it influences his life in terms of love and getting help. I started writing largely because I had gone through a great depression and anxiety had convinced me to become a recluse of sorts and although I no longer identify with these mental illnesses, it is my purpose as a writer to help others overcome these diseases that breed in the mind and materialize in the body due to the circumstances that someone has fallen into. I cannot write from the perspective of a chemical imbalance but every human being experiences conditional depression which is speared on by a traumatic event in one’s life. It is difficult to find light in lifes overwhelming darkness, but like Hilborn, I hope to be a source of encouragement, a testament of survival and a message that life gets better. The raw nature of Neil Hilborns work has made me a better poet as it has allowed me to speak about sensitive topics based on personal experience and with brutal honesty.

Keaton Henson is a light-hearted, whimsical artist that bears his soul to the world, titling it art. Henson has shown me that it is OK to write from my heart for my own benefit. It is alright to vent on paper and publish it. Some people will relate and some people will not but ultimately, poetry is a way to make sense of our worlds and learn how to navigate them. Poetry is for the self. It does not always have to be relatable in order for it to be magical. It just has to capture an authentic emotion or the air of a specific moment. Keaton Henson speaks of his life and it is enjoyed by thousands of people across the world. Sometime all someone is looking for is the story of another persons existence from their own perspective. It makes people feel less alone to know that another person is somewhere out there living.

When I first finished high school, I wanted to be a fine artist. My mother, who feared that I would not get work asked me to get a degree instead. Here I am, having obtained a short certificate and being half way through my three-year degree, wanting to be poet but unlike my passion for art, my love for poetry is backed up actual research into the field. I want to thank this course for allowing me to explore the niche of poetry in the broader market of copy. I have learned that self-publishing is a viable option, especially since I, much like Kaur, Brown and Henson, dabble in many forms of art. The Creative Brand Building course has taught me photography, film making, storytelling and ultimately how to effectively communicate with my audience, regardless of who they may be. The common thread between all of my influencers is that they write from experience and in a genuine manner. They are all honest in their art forms, thus making their work more human centric and relatable.

I have disclosed how each of my influencers have inspired me in my niche of poetry writing and now I will explore why I have choose this field. As an introvert who hates small talk, I often tend to dig deeper into people and their stories. I love sharing in life. I love to listen to peoples experience and why they are the way they are. If you are silent in a conversation, you actually start to hear what matters most to them. Often, these things that are of great value to them aren’t spoken about somehow, it has become a social taboo to be passionate and honest and worst of all “deep.” I write the things that people think but are unwilling to say. I write for people who are too hurt to speak about their experiences or don’t know how to string words together to express their emotions. When I performed “Conversations with Her” at a poetry evening, I made a fifty year old women cry. Her father had left her at an early age and she still carried the burden of abandonment with her. I write poetry because I believe in the power of expression in a society that polices our bodies, hearts and minds. I want a world that is built of the foundation of honesty expression and so I write about it through “rambling poems.” My style of poetry does not focus on rhyme patterns, sentence structure or poetic tools such as pentameter but instead it reads as a thought stream, broken up into bite sized pieces so that the reader can process a idea before moving on to the next. Everything I write in a single poem is linked but journey takes place in order to reach a conclusion. My poetry has a conclusion. It focuses on themes such as race, parenthood, self-love, acceptance, pain, infatuation, gender equality, social inclusion and love. The majority of my poems end on positive note because as a writer, I am trying to inspire people to live more authentic and fulfilling lives by focusing on the goodness that life has to offer.

This project is an accumulation of my inspiration and my passion. In the spirit of honesty, I have never been so proud to be a poet or as excited about my future as I am now. It is possible for me to make a living off of my words. I hope that you can see the great amount of effort and work that went into this discovery.

Modern Ramblings of the Lost Art // I am writing a book of poetry, Yes, I am subscribing to the lost art of dead men, Who wrote about the utter despair of breathing, And the inevitability of death, Or the men who spoke of life as if it were a dream, Unattainable but beautiful, Something of Eden, Of the ark that Noah built, While the flood washed away the pain.

There really is no in-between.

They were either romantics or cynics, But I find myself writing about every shade of life, The depression, The light and how perfectly it hits the canvas of her face, The anxiety, And how overjoyed I am to be breathing, The jealousy, Being black in a white-washed world, And my short-lived trip that took me across the sea.

That took me to find myself in the city that never sleeps.

Yes, it is all there.

Documented, Edited, Altered according to my perception.

Which means that it may or may not be true, But it is my truth.

Yes, I am writing a book of poetry, I am writing about all the details that people miss.

How pretentious, To create a script of how people should feel, To rationalize emotions, To make broken bones seem beautiful, With flowery writing that elates the soul.

That personifies sorrow, So that he is a man that holds your wrists so tightly that you begin to bleed…

I am not suicidal anymore, I can barley remember the girl who possessed my body when I was, But I write about her too, She is full of hatred and bitterness, And tears that could flood, The room that she never left, Because she believed that she could survive without anyone else, Well, I don’t want to ruin the ending but she couldn’t.

But she did survive.

I am writing a book of poetry, Of art,

Of me – my experiences, my perspective, my very soul, Offered up on a silver platter, The anatomy of my heart, for others to dissect, To judge - with scissors, to cut me apart, And release reviews that will measure who I am, By individuals who do not even know me.

I will no longer be a person, I will be pages filled with words, That make so much sense to me, But that may not be understood by a single person, Because my mother does not understand it, My father does not even try, My brother is disinterested, The world has deemed it irrelevant, Technology has rendered it a waste of time, To contemplate pages that represent life, But representations aren’t real.

And we have better ways of portraying the human experience, In one hundred and thirty characters, In a twenty-four hour “story” that disappears, Like our substance as human beings.

Do you really think that likes will make you happy?

Well, they already do. And you hate yourself for it don’t you?

Or maybe blissful ignorance still shrouds your vision, As you look in the mirror, And make lists of all the things you wish were different.

I am writing a book of poetry, which I hope you will able to love, Half as much as I loved the process of writing it all down, For someone in a similar situation to not feel so alone, As they would have felt if they hadn’t been able to see, That our minds run on the same frequency, And that we are one in the same.

Soul mates who will not get to meet but share in this moment, This work, this life.

These are the modern rambling of the lost art of poetry, And by me writing it - By you reading it, I hope we restore it to this world, That knows very little about feeling deeply Unapologetically and sincerely, We’re all so concerned with looking nonchalant.

Like the covers of the fashion magazines that we buy.

But we were not made to live as images, We were made to live as people, With hearts that pump blood, And hands that create things, That make the world a better place.

And this, my dear friends, Is my contribution.

I hope that you consume it well. // Modern Rambling of the Lost Art

Making sense of life through poetry.