Poem guidelines: Poems must be 14 lines or less. Poems should be accessible to the general reader – imagine a reader, tired from a day of work, looking up to find a poem on a bus. These poems are meant to brighten or deepen their day in a positive way. Poems chosen should be imagistic and appropriate in subject and language for a public bus, which includes riders of all ages and persuasions.

Formatting: Poets should submit their poem with their name, address, phone number, and e-mail address. Poems should be typed and should have a title. Poems should be emailed to Jennie Dorris at jennie@lighthousewriters.org.

Prizes: Poets who are chosen by DOCA to be featured in Poetry in Motion will also receive an award of $100, as well as a copy of a placard with their poem on it.

Deadline: Poets must submit their poem (limited to one poem) by October 1. Poems will be reviewed by Lighthouse directors, and 8 finalists will be chosen and submitted to DOCA. Finalists are not guaranteed to be chosen for the Poetry in Motion program; final decisions for bus placement will be made by the DOCA staff and poets will be contacted directly from the DOCA office. Poets chosen as finalists will be asked to provide their social security number in order to receive their payment.

E-mail submissions and questions to Youth Program Coordinator Jennie Dorris at jennie@lighthousewriters.org.

The New Poetry Handbook
For Greg Orr and Greg Simon

1. If a man understands a poem,
he shall have troubles.

2. If a man lives with a poem,
he shall die lonely.

3. If a man lives with two poems
he shall be unfaithful to one.

4. If a man conceives of a poem,
he shall have one less child.

5. If a man conceives of two poems,
he shall have two children less.

6. If a man wears a crown on his head as he writes,
he shall be found out

7. If a man wears no crown on his head as he writes,
he shall deceive no one but himself.

8. If a man gets angry at poem,
he shall be scorned by men.

9. If a man continues to be angry at a poem,
he shall be scorned by women.

10. If a man publicly denounces poetry,
 his shoes will fill with urine.

11. If a man gives up poetry for power,
  he shall have lots of power.

12. If a man brags about his poetry,
 he shall be loved by fools.
 
13. If a man brags about his poem and loves fools,
 he shall write no more.

14. If a man denied his poem pleasure
 his wit shall wear boots.

15. If a man craves attention because of his poems,
 he shall be like a jackass in the moonlight.

16. If a man writes a poem and praises the poem of a fellow
 he shall have a beautiful mistress.

17.  If a man writes a poem and praised the poem of a
     Fellow overly
 he shall drive his mistress away.
 
18. If a man claims the poem of another,
 his heart shall double in size.

19. If a man lets his poems go naked
 he shall fear death.

20. If a man fears death,
 he shall be saved by his poems.

21. If a man does not fear death,
 he may or may not be saved by his poems.

22. If a man finishes his poem,
 he shall bath in the black wake of his passion
 and be kissed by white paper.

Poem

He sneaks in the backdoor,
tiptoes through the kitchen,
the living room, the hall,
climbs the stairs and enters
the bedroom. He leans
over my bed and says he has come
to kill me. The job
will be done in stages:

First, my toenails
will be clipped, then my toes
and so on until
nothing is left of me.
He takes a small instrument
from his keychain and begins.
I hear Swan Lake being played
on a neighbor’s hifi, and start to hum.

How much time passes,
I cannot tell. But when I come to
I hear him say he has reached my neck
and will not be able to continue
because he’s tired. I tell him
that he has done enough
that he should go home and rest.
He thanks me and leaves.

It shall never cease to amaze me
how easily satisfied
some people are.

The Mailman

It is midnight.
He comes up the walk
and knocks at the door.
I rush to greet him.
He stands there weeping,
shaking a letter at me.
He tells me it contains
terrible personal news.
He falls to his knees.
“Forgive me! Forgive me!” he pleads.
I ask him inside.
He wipes his eyes.
His dark blue suit
is like an ink stain
on my crimson couch.
Helpless, nervous, small,
he curls up like a ball
and sleeps while I compose
more letters to myself
in the same vein:
“You shall live
by inflicting pain.
You shall forgive.”

I find his poems dark, eerie and rather unsettling. They haunt me, but I keep crawling back for more. For me, it’s those splashed of humor. In a sea of darkness, it’s surprising to find something to laugh about. In the New Poetry Handbook, I read it and felt like being a poet is a lose-lose situation. If a man wears a crown on his head as he writes, he shall be found out. If a man wears no crown on his head as he writes, he shall deceive no one but himself. Then you reach the end, you finish the poem and it says the poet shall bath in the black wake of his passion and be kissed by white paper. It’s like a little bit of hope for all the poets out there. Poem was my favorite. I love the idea that some loony is clipping your body away with toenail clippers and you’re humming along with Swan Lake. The ending was so surprising; it shall never cease to surprise me how easily satisfied people are. And The Mailman.  I liked this poem because the minute you’re done reading, you go back and read it again. For me it was a little confusing, but it left an eerie picture in my head which so many of Strand’s poems do.

     I’m sure you’ve all heard of Emily Dickinson, and maybe Robert Browning and e.e. cummings, but have you ever heard Mark Strand?  He’s an exceptional poet and what’s more — he’s still alive.

            Mark Strand was born in 1934 on Prince Edward Island, Canada but spent his childhood in the U.S. and Central and South America.  He went to Antioch College in Ohio where he got his B.A., and then went on to Yale to study painting. Sometime during his time there he realized that painting wasn’t his calling. “I wasn’t destined to become a very good painter,” he has said, “so I became a poet.”

       And thank the Lord he did, because his poetry is really good. So good, in fact, that by the time he graduated he had already won two highly lauded awards, the Cook and Bergin prizes.

            To finish up his education (as if it’s ever really over) he studied Italian poetry in Florence in 1960 and 61 then attended the Iowa Writers’ Workshop in 1962.

            In the next forty years Strand became a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters (1981), was part of the Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress (1990-1991), which is a important because a member of the Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress is appointed by the United States Librarian of Congress which, according to the Library of Congress, means he “serves as the nation’s official lightning rod for the poetic impulse of Americans. During his or her term, the Poet Laureate seeks to raise the national consciousness to a greater appreciation of the reading and writing of poetry.”
             In 1987 he won a MacArthur Fellowship  and then the Pulitzer Prize for his book of poetry A Blizzard of One (1999), which is possibly the highest national honor he could receive.

            But it’s not the awards that set Mark Strand apart, it’s his words. His poetry is dark mostly, with dollops of irony and sprinkles of humor. He repeats subjects like, night, darkness, the moon often. A lot of his poems have this idea of self-realization, or lack of self-realization. It has been said that he has reinvented the poem and he has.  Personally, reading his work left me feeling slightly uncomfortable, a bit morbid and hungry for more.

            Here is one of his most well known poems, eating poetry:

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.

There is no happiness like mine.

I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.

Her eyes are sad

And she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.

The light is dim.

The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,

Their blond legs burn like brush,

The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.

When I get on my knees and lick her hand,

She screams.

I am a new man.

I snarl at her and bark,

I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Check back next week when we’ll take a look at more of his poems.

            The Nymphos of Rocky Flats has an extremely interesting title, that much is for sure.  Mike told me about it and I laughed at first, wondering who could have concocted a story talking about people being nymphos here in Colorado.  I thought the book wouldn’t be very serious, but Mike explained to me that the book had a vampire in it, and I knew I would have to read it just because it had a vampire.  It always makes for a good story.

            The main character is a man named Felix Gomez, an ordinary man who is a soldier in Iraq and accidentally kills an innocent family in the dead of night.  In his grief ridden state, he feels like he can’t continue living with the murder, even if by accident.  He stumbles into a house and finds an unusual man who offers him repentance for the murder he has committed.  Felix agrees and the man takes him into his arms and changes him into a vampire, explaining that it is the greatest punishment and curse to atone for what he has done.

            Felix returns to the United States a vampire and travels to Denver, Colorado to visit an old friend who is requesting his help in a matter that is both confusing and a little strange.  His friend explains that three government women have fallen under a sudden burst of ‘nymphomania’ and there are no explanations.  Felix is sent undercover to begin investigating the causes of the sudden outburst and realizes that things are much thicker than he imagined.  Along with the sudden and unexplained outbreak, suddenly vampires in the Denver area are being murdered by vampire hunters who hammer a stake into the chest, decapitate the body and then remove the vampire’s fangs as a trophy.

            Felix and his companions go on high alert, unsure of how the murders are taking place or what was causing the killings to begin in the first place.  As he digs deeper into the lives of the women with nymphomania, he finds that as he watches their aura, it suddenly changes to a yellow when they start to get the urge and they lose all other senses.  For him to continue with his investigation and erase their memories, he hypnotizes them with his gaze and bites them, but does not wish to drink their blood, which is very unusual for a vampire.  But as the stakes start to grow higher with the nymphomania and the murders spreading, as well as his refusal to drink human blood, Felix begins to lose his vampire powers when they become the most crucial to his survival.

            Very soon he begins to hear about a project ‘Redlight’ and get strange stories from the internet about Area 51, but most of it is fan based.  The head vampire leader helps him investigate into the rumors, and suddenly they find that there have been outbreaks of nymphomania and vampire murders within the same time frame, but there is still a critical piece of information missing: why?

            I’d love to go on and tell how the story ends and all of the specific events that happened in the book, but I don’t want to give everything away either.  The first chapter of the book gives you an overview of what can possibly be going through a soldiers mind as they fight in Iraq, as well as the agony and guilt when one kills and innocent by accident.  Mario has really shed some new light on the vampires by allowing them to travel in daylight because of sunscreen (ironic, I can’t get into using the stuff), and being able to blend in by hiding their eyes with contacts so as not to startle the humans.  He also explains an everyday vampires’ diet of eating everyday food smothered in blood so they can stay healthy, as well as the precautions of not catching a disease from the blood by taking donated blood from a blood bank.

            I was also really excited that the book took place here in Denver.  Mario Acevedo really talked about everyday streets like Federal or Sheridan, explaining all of the carniceria’s and shops, all of the everyday places that everyone would know.  This book made me laugh a lot and just really think about what if vampires really were here.  Is this how they would act?  It added a little sex twist to life, which is always fun to read anyway, and I could relate a lot to the emotions that Felix portrayed throughout his journey in the book, the sadness and not wanting to drink human blood because of the murder.  He wanted forgiveness for his mistakes, he found love again.  It was just really nice to read, I’ll have to go out and buy the book for my growing collection.

            I would recommend this book for a more mature audience, from high school students and up, or if you’re younger and in middle school, and you know you’re mature enough to no freak out about some of the parts, then you should really pick this one up.  People who love vampire books will love this one, along with a little Area 51 mixed into the blend.  It makes for an interesting read and you get hooked from the first chapter.

            I hope you will consider this book the next time you go reading or shopping, it was really great.

Happy Reading,

 Alexandra Fink

Zack Campbell, Winner: Fiction

(10th Grade, Hinkley High School, “Untitled”)

Jennifer Cook, Winner: Fiction

(9th Grade, Thornton High School, “Alone and Afraid”)

Sean Corbett, Winner: Fiction

(11th grade, Foothills Academy, “White”)

Blakesely Wood , Winner: Fiction

(9th grade, Jefferson Academy, “Escape to Freedom”)

Kiki Turner, Winner: Poetry

(10th grade, Monarch High School, “Captured on Camera”)

Nicholas Pierce, Winner: Poetry

(12th grade, Legacy High School, “Art of the Soul”)

Jamie Blake, Honorable Mention: Fiction

(9th grade, Buckhannon, West Virginia, “Untitled”)

Kaylin Land, Honorable Mention: Poetry

(9th grade, Evergreen High School, “Father of Rocky Mountain National Park”)

Cassie Sanchez, Honorable Mention: Poetry

(9th grade, Thornton High School, “At Least”)

Gabby Sikkink, Honorable Mention: Fiction

(9th grade, Thornton High School, “Joseph’s Life Changing Story”)

Kristhel Zoeger, Honorable Mention: Poetry

(9th grade, Thornton High School, “Coldness”)

White Rabbit checking watch

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled `ORANGE MARMALADE’, but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

`Well!’ thought Alice to herself, `after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!’ (Which was very likely true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! `I wonder how many miles I’ve fallen by this time?’ she said aloud. `I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think–’ (for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) `–yes, that’s about the right distance–but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I’ve got to?’ (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.)

Presently she began again. `I wonder if I shall fall right through the earth! How funny it’ll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think–’ (she was rather glad there was no one listening, this time, as it didn’t sound at all the right word) `–but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. Please, Ma’am, is this New Zealand or Australia?’ (and she tried to curtsey as she spoke–fancy curtseying as you’re falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) `And what an ignorant little girl she’ll think me for asking! No, it’ll never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.’

Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again. `Dinah’ll miss me very much to-night, I should think!’ (Dinah was the cat.) `I hope they’ll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I’m afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that’s very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?’ And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, `Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?’ and sometimes, `Do bats eat cats?’ for, you see, as she couldn’t answer either question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, `Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?’ when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.

Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment: she looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, `Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!’ She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.

There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.

Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice’s first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!

 Take 10 to 15 minutes to write about what Alice finds behind the door. Don’t stop yourself or worry about spelling — just get some great ideas down on the page. Want to share your excerpt with us? E-mail your writing with your name and age to jennie(AT)lighthousewriters(DOT)org and I’ll post them here!

 Lighthouse Writers Workshop Essay, Poetry and Short Story Contest for Teens

Write an essay, poem or short story that refers to an event or person from history.  This can be a historical poem, essay, or story, or something set in the present that refers back to something in the past. 

Short stories and essays should be marked as fiction or non-fiction.  Entries should be no more than 1000 words in length, typed and double-spaced.  Poems can be single-spaced. Entries will be judged based on the quality of the writing, originality, subject matter and the way the story moves.  Finalists will be judged by renowned Colorado authors and announced by Nick Arvin at the November 14 Articles of War reading.  Prizes include Tattered Cover Book Store gift certificates, free writing workshops from Lighthouse Writers Workshop, a signed copy of Articles of War and more.  One winner will be chosen from both the fiction and nonfiction entries.

Entry deadline: Postmarked by Monday, November 5.  Send entries via e-mail attachment (preferred) to info@lighthousewriters.org or via snail mail to 2123 Downing St., Denver, CO  80205.  Please include your age, grade in school, e-mail/address/phone and school name with your entry.

Hello, everyone.  My name is Alexandra Fink and a high school student at the Fred N. Thomas Career Education Center.  I’ve been given the opportunity to come here and work at Lighthouse Writers for school credits and experience a dream job I’ve always wondered about.  Mike, Andrea, and Amanda have made me feel right at home, and while Amanda is gone, Jennie is now stepping into her shoes.

Last week on September 18, Andrea gave me the chance to go to a type of conference where Mayor Hickenlooper would be presenting a book called “Articles of War”, written by Nick Arvin.  It was exciting to see so many faces waiting to see a book being publicly released, and having news camera’s there, to me, made things seem kind of hectic.  I have seen the mayor before on numerous occasions at my school, but I had never gotten the chance to hear him talk face to face, so to speak.

I watched in a corner as Hickenlooper stepped up to the mike and began to talk about this book, which to be honest, I had never heard about before.  He talked about a character named ‘Heck’ and his struggles through the war, and how amazing the book was.  I didn’t find the speech to compelling, but my interest in the novel grew.  Mayor Hickenlooper talking wasn’t very exciting, but I understood the message he was trying to get across.

‘The book was good, so give it a shot, and I guarantee you won’t be able to put it down.’

To my surprise, however, I was suddenly looking at the face of the man who had written this novel.  Nick seemed a little nervous about having camera’s pointed in his direction, and having eager faces watching his every move as he began to try to explain the book.  I wouldn’t blame him.

It was kind of inspiring to hear him talk about how hard it was to write the novel and that it spanned about five years in the making.  His major inspirations were his grandfathers, who had both fought in World War II, one German, and I think the other French.  These two men had an impact on him and how he should write the book, and putting a fictional character into a real life event.

After the speech I waited with Andrea and Mike as Andrea spoke to one of her friends and she turned around and looked at me.  “You’re going to read the book, right?”  She asked.  I said I would, and before I left on Thursday, she gave me a copy of the book.  I flipped on my ipod when I got on the bus and opened Articles of War and began to read.

The beginning is slow at first, as Heck is waiting to be sent to the front and there is just the establishment of the character and his life as a farm boy from Iowa.  Most people would put the book down because the book would be considered ‘boring’ because of it’s beginning, but I made a promise to Andrea, and I wanted to get back into the habit of reading all the time.  I was only able to read about twenty pages on the bus, but I could see the talent that Nick had with his words.

I forgot to read the book over the weekend and I found it in my school bag Monday morning.  When I got home, I sat down and began to read, promising myself that I would finish it that day.  I began to wait with Heck to be sent to the front when he meets a French woman named Claire, along with her brother Ives and her seemingly insane father.  He finds himself feeling confused about wanting to go to the war, to just slip away with Claire, who he feels he has fallen in love with.  Quite soon he is suddenly drafted by the 28 division and sent into the reality of war, forcing him as a young adult, to face the hardships and cruelty of life.

His first instinct becomes survival when he and his squad are being pummeled with bullets and explosives, and the only thing that is protecting him at that moment is the tiny hole he dug furiously for himself in a hurry, curling into himself and wanting only to be safe, to stay alive.  While I read, I began to wonder what type of terror had filled him at that moment, waiting for the unknown, waiting for pain or death.  But he survived the night.

He is separated from his squad, and when he meets up with two other American soldiers, he manages to cut his leg and is sent back to a hospital to be taken care of.  My own curiosity was picked as I began to wonder what exactly had cut his leg; perhaps a piece of wood or a scrap of metal?  As he is taken care of at the base, he again waits to be sent back, the days dragging forward slowly with the fear and unknown.  As his thoughts travel back to Claire, he decides to search for her.  But when he returns to the house he had originally known where she would be, the house has been abandoned for a very long time.  He returns to camp and is again sent to the front after waiting.

I guess that would be a teaser summary, I don’t want to give to much away.

The connection that is formed between reader and character is forged slowly, and you soon begin to experience all of Heck’s emotions, and his reluctance to kill even if it is to save his life.  You feel the bitter cold of the weather, you taste the dirt that is always present, you feel the home sickness and the want to leave the war.  You can feel his confusion of love and how little he knows about it, how embarrassed he is about his feelings for Claire, unsure if he really loves her or not, and you experience how lonely he is as his role of lone wolf.  His reluctance to kill he considers embarrassing because he feels like he’s doing something wrong, or not doing his duty by being a senior veteran, never having killed anyone before.

I didn’t want to put the book down after the war began, and even though I felt like I had to go to the bathroom, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the page.  It was creepy, like how you feel when you read the Harry Potter books for the first time, only this one was reality fiction based.  Within three hours I was on the last page, just looking and re-reading the last paragraph, curious.  I won’t give the ending away, but it really does make you think.

I’ve never been a big war fan, and have never picked up a war book in my life.  For some reason though, this book held my attention until I couldn’t stop reading.  That would be some pretty great writing, I would think.  So if you are reading this short little review by a seventeen year old girl, I am asking you to go check out the book.  Go to Barnes and Noble, pick it up, sit in the aisle (I love doing that!), and just start reading.  As cliché as it may be for me to say, the book was amazing and I would recommend this book to you, or anyone else.  I’ll even be telling my friend this Friday that she should go and check it out.

You as a reader have nothing to lose.  You will gain a story and experience that will make your mind race, and you’ll make a personal movie in your head because the description is detailed and vivid.  If you like the book, tell another person.  Discuss it.  Relate to the raw emotions of fear and love, and just let yourself become the character (yes, girls, be the guy!).  If you are reading this, thank you.  Now go check out the book!

Merry Reading,

Alexandra Fink