don't tell
let one imagine
what 'tis

scribbler i would like to participate. sent you a message. how do i get in if not too late

Hi Scribbler thanks for having this workshop. I was a little confused about your comment. I agree the first sample is better however you go on to say that the second one invites the reader to go with him by effective use of imagery. I don't understand which is actually better?

B9Pat

I am really interested in this as a choice for good imagery and wondered why you chose it as its rather one dimensional imagery.
The first piece is more intriguing one would want to read on it doesnt leave me feeling connected. Its certainly not immersive imagery to me. Version two prosaic and boring.
Also number one is in iambic pentameter mainly and rhymes giving it oodles of advantage.

Is it good for us to have a universal understanding of what imagery is?
Here is my starting point perhaps we can come up with a group definition?
Imagery is the name given to the elements in a poem that paint pictures and is sparked off the senses. Despite "image" being a synonym for "picture", images need not be only visual; any of the senses (sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell, motion) can respond to what a poet writes.

Example #8: My November Guest (By Robert Frost)

“My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these 'dark days' of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the 'bare,' the 'withered tree;'
She walked the 'sodden pasture' lane.”

This poem by Robert Frost is yet another good example of imagery. In the second line, the poet uses ''dark days,'' which is an instance of the use of ''visual imagery.'' In the fourth line, the bare, withered tree uses the imagery of sight. In the fifth line, the sodden pasture is also an instance of ''''tactile imagery.''''

how do u compare stan same poet off INTERNET

Imageries are of different kinds using each of our senses- five

We're talking about imagery and, as was noted, it means different things to different people.

Imagery, to me, has to connect emotionally, to stick. Would it be a good exercise to list our imagery concepts and explore them in turn?

Perhaps Each participant could provide a definition of what imagery means to them and post something in that context. We could review and discuss and move to the next.

These are my thought, I welcome a consensus.

The slow sound of bass notes entwined
with the trailing notes of violins rise
as I bite into the peach tasting the sweetness
of honey, juice dribbling my chin, the aroma
full of complex pheromones like your aftershave
I shudder as my paisley shawl slips across my skin

Quiet, How can I drink of the beauty?.
Close your eyes to really see
Listen to the colours blend
The children are playing again
There in the forest of dreams.
Feel the life, jostling for a place.

Yenti 17-09-19

The fine blue and white china and crystal wine glasses
Sitting atop rustic knotty pine table
Each person sitting just close enough for clinking of glasses
The smoke coming from candles as lights were turned down
For the callout Happy Birthday!
Here! Here!

fruitfully fragrant imagery
my mouth waters like watermelon
how I wish my lips are deeply kissed
reading this lovely piece, yes this
my heart beats in symphony
has any one the sweetest heart to kiss

Examples of Tactile Imagery
Roll up your sleeves and get comfy. We're about to go on a sensory ride including stabs of pain, slobbers of puppy drool, and delicate wraps of cashmere warmth.
• As I tumbled down the hill, the loose rocks raced alongside me, pricking my hands and face like a hundred tiny knives.
• The little puppy accosted me as he slobbered my face with his wet and eager tongue.
• I had no choice but to pet his cotton soft fur. I ruffled his floppy ears as he slapped his mink-soft paw into my hand.
• She started to sweat so feverishly that, when she rose from the leather couch, her slippery skin stuck to it like a Command Strip.
• The baby cactus appeared to have soft little spines that wouldn't hurt a fly. Turns out, one touch of those "soft little spines" will leave you with a bloodied finger!
• She ran her hand across the dark, concrete wall. It was cold as ice. When she came to the middle of the room, she felt a thick, slimy substance actively oozing down the wall.
• As she wiped the sweat from her brow, she realized her skin was just as cold and sticky.
• The masseuse rubbed warm oil, scented with lavender, across her stress-riddled shoulders.
• He picked up the ice cold fountain pen, the cool metal barrel resting against the side of his index finder, and sat down to write his last letter.
• He wrapped the buttery soft cashmere throw around her shoulders and drew her close.

the kitchen is sweating, its window glass dripping
the breath of hot chicken spreads out from the pot
in the broth floats chopped yellow, green, brown and white
on my tongue the sharpness of onion dropped
on the cutting board near the gleaming knife
i tap on the board, thinking of my childhood

so many imaginary poets at hand
how can lovedly also stand
imagery is not a new found brand

no poetry can ever be composed
if poet is bland
no images at hand
three of my guffaws you have glossed
now what can I do boss

touch me not with an iron rod
nor smell me like smashed putrid potatoes
smell not my nose
nor toes
this is how imagery goes
who knows
did FROST
who will vouch
I went in search
when in Chicago
I got lost

Imagery is in the eye of the beholder. There was a Star Trek: The New Generation episode that illustrated this with the culture that spoke in allegory. Each referenced story had a shared meaning.

The issue I see is writing in imagery that satisfies your intended audience and realizing those who are not your core audience will find the example less fulfilling.

And we've got to be okay with that.

An example is winter. many folk find it alienating and invoking feelings of loneliness. I find winter, to be a pause, a deep breath, a respite before continuing on the journey. when it is present as winter=despair, it does not connect with me.

Perhaps an exercise that state the desired outcome might be helpful. Such as:

"Six lines invoking a rough stone wall."

So that we are all working on a common goal and can determine which approaches have the maximum effect.

Ancient stones and flint laid flat and skillfully stacked stride across the valley, grey yet mottled with amber and rusty litchens, clumps of sheep wool caught on sharp corners flutter in the breeze emanating an odour of lanolin and droppings, I adjust the cold sharp shards and hear the rhythmic slap of sandals, smell leather and pungent musk
I shiver, as I continue my lonely task

or else lovedly will fly
like an eagle sky high
use similes and metaphors too

I have used so many before
you know

One was a bay cowhorse from Piedra & the other was a washed-out palomino And both stood at the rail of the corral & both went on aging In each effortless tail swish, the flies rising, then congregating again Around their eyes & muzzles & withers. Their front teeth were by now yellow as antique piano keys & slanted to the angle Of shingles on the maze of sheds & barn around them; their puckered Chins were round & black as frostbitten oranges hanging unpicked from the limbs Of trees all through winter like a comment of winter itself on everything That led to it & found gradually the way out again. In the slowness of time. Black time to white, & rind to blossom. Deity is in the details & we are details among other details & we long to be Teased out of ourselves. And become all of them. Larry Levis, from “Elegy with a Bridle in Its Hand”

My being sapped by the wind, blown to many other realms.
Now dust thrown to the very edge, taking a part of my whole.
Traffic beating it, even the feet of a child, dispersing ages of being.
Then the elements take control, my clogged parts washed away.

In rivulets of sludge trying to cling, colours of past days floating away.
I await the suns warmth once more, sealing my extremes
Part of me is left to wander free across my mother earths domain.
You may join in my flight one day, without you having to move..

Just a thought in passing, Love you all..

i think i am behind. i cannot find the posts with the suggestion to write about a wall, but i did it. here it is.
A Summer

he pulled my pigtails from your other side
standing on top we watched the river wide
your cold hard sides got warmed in summer's heat
the moss that loved you smelled warm green sweet
on rough and hard places our soft hands got cut
you could be unforgiving, hard, cold - but
that little boy and i played hide and seek
using you and i admit i would peek
around the spot where suddenly you stopped
where one lone, lonely piece had been left, dropped
by a hand with a reason, to us, unknown
do rubber balls hit your sides yet when thrown
i think of you fondly now that i'm grown
where the warm wind of summer once was blown
standing partial guard still but all alone
still standing although cracked now all alone
silently still standing now all alone

I am lost floating a bare inch from the ground
I have no cohesion since the conflagration
I am buffeted along the blacktop
I shout but people ignore me even when
I batter their faces and pause beside them
I see an open mouth and spring inside
The tongue moves me tastes the bitter gall
Dust to dust ashes to ashes I will survive.

DELETED CREATING SPACE
WILL DELETE ALL MY COMMENTS
OTHERS MAY FOLLOW
STAN PL TELL EM

This subject and its writes has become far to big, it cannot be taken in .
Can we extract each of our six line writes onto a new page ,
that is the modified ones, or the originals.
Then ask for each of us to edit to a higher level, if this has not already been done.
It will make for the next phase of this great workshop a lot easier,
as we will only need to read fewer Pieces, and comment on the finished pieces better,
Yours Ian

here is both my six line and now modified eight line pieces for this workshop
Hope they are both within reason,
Yours Ian ..

Quiet,

How can I drink of the beauty?.
Close your eyes to really see
Listen to the colours blend
The children are playing again
There in the forest of dreams.
Feel the life, jostling for a place.
Yenti 17-09-19

A dirt road

Being sapped by the wind, blown to many other realms.
Now dust thrown to the very edge, taking a part of my whole.
Traffic beating it, even the feet of a child, dispersing ages of being.
Then the elements take control, my clogged parts washed away.
In rivulets of sludge trying to cling, colours of past days floating away.
I await the suns warmth once more, sealing my extremes
Part of me is left to wander free across my mother earths domain.
You may join in my flight one day, without you having to move..

Just a thought in passing, Love you all..
Words can build a nation

The dust of the red dirt road
Lays thick upon my sleeve
'Bout most clinging stuff, I think
I ever saw, I do believe
The smell of water haunts me
I wish there were some now
Through the haze of rusty air
I see the errant cow

It starts out with the description of the shirt and it brings me visual quality. How the dust makes his arm feel scratchy musty and irritating upon his skin. tactile, odor musty . I like how he guzzled down a pint
Sounds more like he's tasting beer. But if it's water I still liked the way he guzzled it down. Geezer I liked the rhyme in yours. But I think that Mark went one step further than you. Yours is more subdued and I like the action in Mark's. I would be proud to say I wrote either one of these though.

B9Pat

Scratches from the cactus, bleeding legs and arms
Red dust from this old sandy road, lends nothing to it's charms
I can smell the water, that lures my skinny cow
Wish I had some left, in my canteen right now
Sweat drips down my neck, seeps along my sleeve
It doesn't cool my temper, just stains the cotton weave
Dust clogs my throat and burns my eyes, turns my vision red
I hope we find that water, before we both are dead.
.

Would it be a good idea to sum up the learning to date so we have a synopsis of the main points?

This workshop has broken one of the cardinal guidelines of running workshops on Neopoet. These guidelines have been written and refined over 12 years to fit our unique format and naturally vary from live workshops and other online formats.

We do not post poems to the workshop thread, we post them linked to the workshop. The reasons for this are manifold but can be summed up as:
- keeping discussion of posted works focussed on the works themselves
- keeping the discussion on the workshop thread focussed, without distractions, sidelines and irrelevancies.
- keeping the workshop thread to a manageable length so that late joiners can catch up easily.

There are more, of course, this has been a long, well thought out process.

I'm not saying this is a bad workshop, it has values and has raised valuable notions, which unfortunately have not been able to be followed through in a cogent manner.

What do you say, Stan and all participants, to trying to find a way to wind this up? We are well overdue for a Critique Workshop and this has been running for three months.

Yeah, I'm back. [grins]