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July Mosaics: The Shards

By Matthew Kreider 24 Comments

Ben Henderson’s new wobble was supposed to be the secret weapon he needed to save his career. But while his new baseball pitch ultimately missed the mark, his “revolutionary musket” still fired the first shot heard ’round the jazz world — leaving its mark as the first recorded use of the word “jazz”.

The year was 1912. Henderson was a pitcher for the Portland Beavers. According to Ben Zimmer, the language columnist for The Boston Globe, Henderson announced “that he had a special pitch, a curve ball called ‘the jazz ball’ that he was going to use, and he said it would completely flummox the batters because it wobbles so much you simply can’t do anything with it.”

While playing June Jazz at Tweetspeak last month, Maureen Doallas managed to hit one out of the park. You can catch the audio of her reading the poem in Thursday’s Top 10 Poetic Picks.

But, really, everyone nailed down a good “jazz ball”, even shattering some windows in the process because we liked the sound of breaking glass. Now we’re ready to play with those shards.

Of course, whenever we try something new by shattering the glass of our old expectations, we may find ourselves staring at a mess of questions after the last inning. “Am I any good?” “Do I have anything worthwhile, in this heap of shards, with which I can build anything beautiful?”

Shh. Get down on your hands and knees. Look at the pieces. Hold them up to the sun. Until the light speaks and guides your hand.

This month, The Cento (a kind of mosaic poem) is our theme at Every Day Poems.

Poetry invites us to reflect and focus on the beauty of fragments. We discover new patterns and artistry as we begin to sort through and rearrange those images and ideas.


Here’s how July Mosaics works …

If you haven’t already, please consider subscribing to Every Day Poems.

1. On Mondays, the Every Day Poem in your inbox becomes a pile of raw material. Sort through the words and find a few gems. Rearrange as many as you want into a new found poem. You’re free to mix in your own words.

2. Tweet your poems to us. Add a #tsmosaics hashtag so we can find it and maybe share it with the world.

3. Or leave your found poem here in the comment box.

We’ll read your tweets and share some of your weekly play each week. At the end of the month, we’ll choose a winning poem and ask the playful poet to record his or her poem to be featured in one of our upcoming Weekly Top 10 Poetic Picks.

Here’s today’s Every Day Poem. Now go cool-arrange.

Photo by Kejoli. Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post by Matthew Kreider.

___________

Buy a year of Every Day Poems, just $5.99— Read a poem a day, become a better poet. In July we’re exploring the theme The Cento.

Red #9

  • Author
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Matthew Kreider
Matthew Kreider
Matthew Kreider is a former English teacher who loves pencils and poetry. He lives in Canada, where he reads a poem a day.
Matthew Kreider
Latest posts by Matthew Kreider (see all)
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Filed Under: Every Day Poems, poetry, Themed Writing Projects

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About Matthew Kreider

Matthew Kreider is a former English teacher who loves pencils and poetry. He lives in Canada, where he reads a poem a day.

Comments

  1. Donna says

    July 2, 2012 at 9:46 am

    shards… what a fun idea! never thought of doing something like this before, mixing words found, like choosing crayons from a box! here I go giving it a try. “biligual” (llbarkat) took my breath away, i must say, and it felt more than a bit intrusive to dip into the perfectly placed words and shuffle them around… but it was fun and revealing – a bit meditative and reminded me of the zentangles drawing/doodle play.

    mutual ghosts~

    laying
    your hand
    like a mist
    you
    found me

    capable of feeling light

    you
    found
    spirit
    in the flesh

    you
    found
    flesh
    in the
    whiteness
    of the wind

    Reply
    • Matthew Kreider says

      July 2, 2012 at 12:29 pm

      Donna, so glad you’re *in*! Looking forward to reading more as you piece together those meditations!

      Reply
  2. Maureen Doallas says

    July 2, 2012 at 10:32 am

    Thank you for the generous words about “Confession”. I didn’t know when you asked for a recording that your intent was to feature it. So a double thank you, Matt. Fortunately, Dominion Virginia brought us back onto the grid; I recorded the poem this morning. Hope everyone enjoys it.

    I have a cento planned for a post next week. I will, of course, try my hand at today’s offering. That won’t be easy, given that the poem is LL’s!

    Reply
    • Matthew Kreider says

      July 2, 2012 at 12:37 pm

      Well, I’m very glad DV got your power turned on, though I do confess a selfish perspective …The audio for your poem is just marvelous.

      Everyone is in for a delicious treat on Thursday! Just be prepared for the uproar, Maureen: folks will want to hear more of your voice! 🙂

      Reply
  3. Maureen Doallas says

    July 2, 2012 at 1:43 pm

    Some Kind of Feeling

    Your spirit hand
    is walking over

    my ghost.
    The light, a mist

    of whiteness,
    found me but wind,

    I like to think,
    translated into

    the flesh of you
    and me. Again.

    * * * * *

    Into your spirit
    hand I am

    brought, a ghost
    wind translated.

    You and I
    walking again,

    back into light.

    * * * *

    You, light
    like mist,

    brought me
    your spirit.

    My hand,
    capable,

    found you.
    Some kind

    of feeling
    is translated.

    Reply
    • Matthew Kreider says

      July 2, 2012 at 5:23 pm

      Love how the words refract …

      Reply
  4. Glynn says

    July 2, 2012 at 3:12 pm

    I posted it on my blog – http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com/2012/07/translation.html – but here it is as well:

    Translation

    It is mutual, of course.
    I come walking
    with my light news
    (the San Antonio Light?)
    except you see a mist
    I mean to be a fog, like
    all news is, all
    the fog that’s print to fit.
    I offer spirit but
    you want flesh.
    Some things, like wind,
    and ghosts, are
    beyond translation.

    Reply
    • Matthew Kreider says

      July 2, 2012 at 5:34 pm

      “all/ the fog that’s print to fit.” I can feel that haze on my inky thumbs. Great line, Glynn.

      Reply
  5. Danelle says

    July 2, 2012 at 5:08 pm

    Found

    Feeling your hand laying over the mist of my flesh.

    Whiteness.

    Light.

    The wind of you brought me back.

    And a ghost, walking

    is translated.

    Is found.

    Reply
    • Matthew Kreider says

      July 2, 2012 at 5:39 pm

      Yay, Danelle! I’ve missed you. 🙂 Thanks for sharing your beautiful arrangement here.

      Reply
      • Danelle says

        July 3, 2012 at 10:18 am

        I haven’t tried to intentionally weave a poem together since I was in college. I had butterflies when I clicked “submit”.

        Reply
  6. Laurie says

    July 3, 2012 at 9:27 am

    Sorting Shards

    I like to think
    of you

    capable of feeling
    the wind again,

    walking,

    your hand translated
    into flesh,

    that kind light
    found you,

    brought you back,

    of mist and spirit –
    a bilingual whiteness

    laying over the
    ghost-like news.

    Reply
  7. Donna says

    July 3, 2012 at 10:06 am

    It’s kind of magical…. how everyone uses the same shards and creates vastly different wonderful pieces of mosaic! Reminding me of the fused glass class I’m going to take, only no band aids required!

    Reply
  8. Donna says

    July 3, 2012 at 10:47 am

    Mine for today is on my blog; The Oxford Cento Cento http://unmixingcolors.typepad.com/along_the_way/2012/07/oxford-cento-cento.html

    Reply
  9. Rosanne Osborne says

    July 3, 2012 at 10:56 am

    Cluelessness

    Ghosts walk
    through our mutual mist
    finding us in the white news
    we thought
    we brought to lay lightly
    before the spirit.

    Reply
    • Matthew Kreider says

      July 3, 2012 at 11:29 am

      Beautiful, Rosanne.

      Reply
  10. Donna says

    July 4, 2012 at 7:21 am

    again

    wind
    translated
    back to you

    a ghost
    of light
    of spirit
    of flesh

    again

    (with image http://unmixingcolors.typepad.com/along_the_way/2012/07/again.html)

    Reply
  11. Rosanne Osborne says

    July 4, 2012 at 10:44 am

    Petition

    Spirit, find me
    in the ghostly whiteness
    of the walking mist.

    Bring me
    the newly laid likeness
    of mutual thought.

    Reply
  12. Donna says

    July 5, 2012 at 9:44 am

    …july cento emerges!

    the little things

    http://unmixingcolors.typepad.com/along_the_way/2012/07/little-things.html

    “it’s good,” she said

    (i like to think it is mutual)

    meanwhile,

    the men weep

    for what little things

    could

    make them glad

    that

    time cannot take

    nor a

    thief purloin.

    Reply
  13. Rosanne Osborne says

    July 5, 2012 at 10:36 am

    Deception

    Ghosts think
    they are mutual spirits,
    white foundlings
    walking out of the mist,
    translating our new lies.

    Reply
  14. Rosanne Osborne says

    July 6, 2012 at 10:27 am

    When this idea was first posted, I admit I was dubious, but it’s been amazing to me how generative the experience has been.

    Regeneration

    Mist of our likeness,
    ghost of our thoughts,
    translate us into wind
    that feels the flesh
    the new spirit brings.

    Reply
  15. Rosanne Osborne says

    July 7, 2012 at 9:36 am

    Perception

    The news translates
    the windless white
    of darkened feeling,
    flesh and spirit,
    into negative capability.

    Reply
  16. Rosanne Osborne says

    July 8, 2012 at 9:03 am

    And two last attempts…what a rich experience!

    Reverberations

    The ghostliness of news
    the wind lays in the mind
    walks in thought mist,
    that mutual whiteness
    of flesh without feeling.

    Incarnation

    Translate the flesh
    of my hand to spirit
    and let me know
    the white feeling,
    the mutual mist
    of walking in the light.

    Reply
  17. path of treasure says

    July 8, 2012 at 12:07 pm

    Translation

    The words fall like mist upon
    morning; awakens dusty earth,

    soaks dry bones. I wipe off dew
    and see that you have left your

    prints on my flesh. I am no longer
    a ghost; I move like wind, seek

    quiet shadows, and translate
    their words into music.

    Reply

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