Megan Falley's Blog, page 42

LAST CHANCE.

A few women I met at WOWPS this week just applied to my Online Poetry Course! I am so honored. There are just TWO more open slots in the class — and I am going to extend the deadline to tonight for all you on-the-fencers to get your life right and submit! 

MARCH 24 IS THE LAST DAY TO WRITE POEMS THAT DON'T SUCK

So you want to write poems? Poems that don’t suck?

Hi There!

Thank you for expressing interest in Poems That Don’t Suck: An Online Intensive Writing Course led by yours truly. Over sixty writers before you have already completed the course and have come out the other end of it with bolder, braver, and better poems. I hope you’ll join along for the bloom-journey in what will be the fifth cohort of the class.

Here’s some things you should know:

There are no specific days you need to be available for the course. Lessons (and prompts!) will be posted on Wednesdays, students will have until Sunday to post their poem in response, and until Tuesday to provide edits and feedback for the classmates within their assigned editing group.

All lessons (which include poetic theory, prompts, inspiration, video and text examples, discussion questions and style prompts) will be posted on Google+.

Students are expected to write a minimum of one new poem a week and read three poetry collections of their choosing in the six weeks. They will also be required to participate in discussions, provide feedback for their classmates, post two videos of themselves performing, attend at least one office hours session (online), and submit their poetry to an online journal as a final project.

Poems That Don’t Suck is intended for all poetry levels. It is my belief that the most experienced poet can learn from the beginner, and vice versa. The class is a no-bullshit approach to writing that asks hard questions in order to create raw, honest, and impactful poetry.

The course is six weeks long (will run from April 2nd - May 7th. ) In that time you will grow more than you can imagine. 

The course tuition is $150.00. This amount can be spread out over 2 payments of $75.00, or 3 payments of $50.00. If you wish to stagger your payments, you will be required to sign a contract which acknowledges that you will complete the payment regardless of whether you complete the course assignments.

All tuition payments can be made via PayPal.

While the syllabus is subject to change, previous lesson plans have included: persona poems, family poems, political poems, love poems, poems you are not the hero of, form poems, funny poems, and identity poems. I will adjust the syllabus towards what I feel the students need.

From me you can expect thorough and detailed lesson plans, engaging/exciting/original prompts, one-on-one feedback for your work, office hours availability for extra help, butt-kicking, personalized writing/reading assignments, and the active promotion of a “Safer Space.” 

If you are interested in applying, please send:

A separate e-mail with the subject line “Poems That Don’t Suck: Application” to meganfalley@gmail.com

In that e-mail include your name (the one you wish to be called), preferred gender pronoun, reason for wanting to take the course, and include (in the body of the e-mail, not an attachment) either the text or a video link of your best written poem to date.

Applications are due by March 23rd. 

Tuition, or a first installment ($50.00) is due by March 29th. 

If accepted into the course, you will be required to make a Google+ account, so why not go ahead and make one now. Manifest your dreams.

Please let me know if you have any questions. I hope to write with you soon.

Megan Falley

From “Citizen” by Claudia Rankine : Poetry Magazine

From “Citizen” by Claudia Rankine : Poetry Magazine:

rachelmckibbens:

From “Citizen”

BY CLAUDIA RANKINE

/ 


You are in the dark, in the car, watching the black-tarred street being swallowed by speed; he tells you his dean is making him hire a person of color when there are so many great writers out there. 


You think maybe this is an experiment and you are being tested or retroactively insulted or you have done something that communicates this is an okay conversation to be having. 


Why do you feel okay saying this to me? You wish the light would turn red or a police siren would go off so you could slam on the brakes, slam into the car ahead of you, be propelled forward so quickly both your faces would suddenly be exposed to the wind.


As usual you drive straight through the moment with the expected backing off of what was previously said. It is not only that confrontation is headache producing; it is also that you have a destination that doesn’t include acting like this moment isn’t inhabitable, hasn’t happened before, and the before isn’t part of the now as the night darkens 
and the time shortens between where we are and where we are going.


/
 
When you arrive in your driveway and turn off the car, you remain behind the wheel another ten minutes. You fear the night is being locked in and coded on a cellular level and want time to function as a power wash. Sitting there staring at the closed garage door you are reminded that a friend once told you there exists a medical term — John Henryism — for people exposed to stresses stemming from racism. They achieve themselves to death trying to dodge the build up of erasure. Sherman James, the researcher who came up with the term, claimed the physiological costs were high. You hope by sitting in 
silence you are bucking the trend.


/
 
When the stranger asks, Why do you care? you just stand there staring at him. He has just referred to the boisterous teenagers in Starbucks as niggers. Hey, I am standing right here, you responded, not necessarily expecting him to turn to you.


He is holding the lidded paper cup in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. They are just being kids. Come on, no need to get all KKK on them, you say.


Now there you go, he responds.


The people around you have turned away from their screens. The teenagers are on pause. There I go? you ask, feeling irritation begin to rain down. Yes, and something about hearing yourself repeating this stranger’s accusation in a voice usually reserved for your partner makes you smile.


/
 
A man knocked over her son in the subway. You feel your own body wince. He’s okay, but the son of a bitch kept walking. She says she grabbed the stranger’s arm and told him to apologize: I told him to look at the boy and apologize. And yes, you want it to stop, you want the black child pushed to the ground to be seen, to be helped to his feet and be brushed off, not brushed off  by the person that did not see him, has never seen him, has perhaps never seen anyone who is not a reflection of himself.


The beautiful thing is that a group of men began to stand behind me like a fleet of  bodyguards, she says, like newly found uncles and brothers.


/
 
The new therapist specializes in trauma counseling. You have only ever spoken on the phone. Her house has a side gate that leads to a back entrance she uses for patients. You walk down a path bordered on both sides with deer grass and rosemary to the gate, which turns out to be locked.


At the front door the bell is a small round disc that you press firmly. When the door finally opens, the woman standing there yells, at the top of her lungs, Get away from my house. What are you doing in my yard?


It’s as if a wounded Doberman pinscher or a German shepherd has gained the power of speech. And though you back up a few steps, you manage to tell her you have an appointment. You have an appointment? she spits back. Then she pauses. Everything pauses. Oh, she says, followed by, oh, yes, that’s right. I am sorry.


I am so sorry, so, so sorry.

/

Source: Poetry (March 2014).

siblings.

siblings.

After coming across What The Hour Hand Said To The Minute Hand on tumblr last year, you have been my idea of the perfect author. I just finished reading After The Witch Hunt (in one sitting), and have never been more inspired by anything. I hope to one day

After coming across What The Hour Hand Said To The Minute Hand on tumblr last year, you have been my idea of the perfect author. I just finished reading After The Witch Hunt (in one sitting), and have never been more inspired by anything. I hope to one day

After coming across What The Hour Hand Said To The Minute Hand on tumblr last year, you have been my idea of the perfect author. I just finished reading After The Witch Hunt (in one sitting), and have never been more inspired by anything. I hope to one day

After coming across What The Hour Hand Said To The Minute Hand on tumblr last year, you have been my idea of the perfect author. I just finished reading After The Witch Hunt (in one sitting), and have never been more inspired by anything. I hope to one day

After coming across What The Hour Hand Said To The Minute Hand on tumblr last year, you have been my idea of the perfect author. I just finished reading After The Witch Hunt (in one sitting), and have never been more inspired by anything. I hope to one day

After coming across What The Hour Hand Said To The Minute Hand on tumblr last year, you have been my idea of the perfect author. I just finished reading After The Witch Hunt (in one sitting), and have never been more inspired by anything. I hope to one day