Blackout Poetry: The Poem Hidden in the Page

by Kasey Tross

One night this past weekend I was in one of those moods where I wanted to create something but I was too tired to write and too tired to have to clean up any kind of crafting mess, so I decided to try something new: blackout poetry.

If you're not familiar with the concept, it's where you take a page from a book (or any document, really) and select words from it to become your poem, then you simply black out (or strike through) all the rest. 

My first attempt was probably my favorite:

Funny how when we're struggling life still just seems to go on.

This one had kind of a story element to it:

"Almost handsome, never careful."
I may have to use that in a book someday.

My 12-year-old son saw what I was doing and decided to get in on the action. In my opinion, he won the award for the line of the day.

"Richard Harding Davis was suffering from Government"

Aren't we all?

This other one I did was kind of fun:

"Face the unknown as if it were a picnic." 

Now that's advice to live by.

So if you have an old book lying around (this one was pretty ancient and falling apart- the good thing about it was that the pages were super thick so I could even blackout both sides without it leaking through) and you need to scratch that creative itch without too much brainpower or mess, then I highly recommend giving this a whirl. 

It's fun to find the poem hidden in the page.

A Couple of Seasonal Poems

I'm pinch-posting for Nikki today. Since we're so close to Halloween, I thought I'd post a couple of darker poems from my "angst-y" years. Enjoy!

"Erik"

The mask would hide his face
from everyone who'd dare to look.
His mind is pained and twisted,
but his brilliance shined beyond.
He fell in love with innocence;
an error most men make.
The love he felt destroyed him,
and caused his heart to break.
Throughout his life they tortured him;
people, selfish and cold.
They failed to find his beauty,
and till the end, he was never told,
"I love you."
'Twas his innocent who said
those precious, simple words.
He fought so hard to keep her,
but he had to let her go
in the end.
For all he tried to do for her
he simply could not give
everything she'd need from him,
and he sacrificed his happiness
in hopes that she could live.
He died loving her.

August 23, 1992

"Pain"

She never turned her heart from him.
'Twas a pity he destroyed her.
She couldn't forsake his love, she said.
He used that love against her.
She never was too strong,
but the fact that he could hurt her,
made my blood turn cold to him.
I could not forgive the pain.
He didn't need her the way
she always needed him.
He used her to satisfy
his needs, and his alone.
Never could he love her
the way she deserved to be loved.
He didn't even know how, I wager,
to say a kind word at all.
For this, I cannot love him
in any way you may.
He is not my salvation;
he is pain, and pain alone.

August 23, 1992

The Birthday Week

by Cheri Chesley

Yesterday was kind of a big day at my house. My twins turned 12, and their little sister turned 7. Some years ago, I wrote poems for each of my children. I've shared them online this week.

You can read Jeffrey's poem HERE.

You can read Daniel's poem HERE.

And I'm going to share Rianne with you now:

“Rianne”

When I gaze into your eyes,
I know God has a sense of humor.
Otherwise he would have sent you
to me long ago.
You are such a lovely girl.
My little mirror,
I can’t accept
I was ever so beautiful.
I know I was not so quick
or brilliant as you are.
Siblings should not compete
or I’d say God saved the best
for last.
You embody the best of all
your older siblings.
Every day I wonder,
What will you think of next?
Your vocabulary may already be
bigger than mine.
You will grow, my baby,
and will excel in all you do.
I will miss you as my baby,
but rejoice in the woman you will be.

May 29, 2006

Because I have perfectionist issues, I'm going to tell you I'm not as satisfied with this poem as I am with the other two. I wanted to write something that expressed who she is, and I wrote it when she was 2--and she's become so much more since then.

I might just have to try again. :)

Last Day

~Elizabeth Mueller

Supposing today were your last day on earth,



The last mile of the journey you've tread;


After all of your struggles, how much are you worth



How much can you take home to God?



Don't count as possessions your silver and gold



Tomorrow you leave these behind



And all that is yours to have and to hold



Is the service you've given to mankind.

~author unknown

*HUGS*

Happy Sunday!