We wrote Poems in the Brook Form

Well, nothing went up on the site during game play last night because our internet went down, but there were creative minds here having a creative party. Much knitting, crocheting and embroidery was going down while sheets of exquisite corpse games were passed around. This time, instead of playing OHvYH, we edged more toward the writing side of things as we got caught up writing poems in the form that Emily Doolittle’s friend (Brooke?) invented. The Brook, as I’ll call it, is a six line poem. The first line must have 4 syllables, the second 5, then 6, then 6, then 5, then 4. To add extra brain squeeze, lines with the same amounts of syllables should rhyme. It took us all a little while to catch on but then we picked it up. And then we wrote theme poems about cheerleaders and salami. An eve well spent.

here’s one by Tristan Brand on cheerleaders:

She sometimes eats
but she always smiles,
I don’t know if she cries,
when she thinks about pies,
or backflips for miles,
at the boys meets.

here’s one by Emily Doolittle about salami:

I like to eat
salami because
it’s so salty and oil-
y and wrapped in foil
and the flavour does
please. It’s good meat.

here’s one by Corey about thumbs:

A thumb is small
It could be finer
And possible hairy
But that would be scary
When in a diner
or bathroom stall.

here’s one by me about cheerleaders (sorry y’all, but all we did was perpetuate the steroetype for jokes… though Robyn’s was more of a commentary on cheerleader culture- I’ll put that one next. here’s mine:)

go team go! win!
You’re the best! Yeah!
Kick their asses cross town!
Fight till the lights go down!
You got herepes? Nah.
Great! Meet my twin.

Ok, Here’s Robyn Fadden’s:

Three pyramids
fifteen party girls
in skirts and smiles so big
as dreams or cars of rigs
on the ocean swirls
held fast; they did.

And here’s Roseanne’s on the same theme:

Two four six eight
No wait, start again
Who do we love? Bros!
Who do we hate? Hos!
Give us six, eight, ten
You’re doing great!

and here’s Robyn on the salty meat:

Greasy fingers,
you can’t help yourself
but reach for one more piece
Sandwiches! One for each
hand, plate off the shelf,
meat thoughts linger.

Here’s Corey’s first poem, before we institued random themes:

I hear they say
that Elvis is dead
I do not believe it
Because it is bullshit
on a spiders thread.
I hate Coldplay.

Tessa arrived just in time to kill the party (kidding) and to lay this one down, on knitting:

You think that a
crafty gal should buy
her clothes instead of knit
spend my cash on that shit?
Knitta please! Don’t I
Got me sweata?

And last but not least of the samples I’ll type up for you this morning when I should be finishing my submission for the Marcil Review (gulp), this one’s on the poem form itself, by Emily Doolittle:

This kind of verse
is lots of fun to
write! You should really try
one, even if you’re shy-
it’s quite fun to do.
It could be worse!