Time to Leave

 Okay, Word Daddy is missing in action. He must be on another one of his cross-country road trips. I hope his motorcycle breaks down and leaves him stranded in Tucumcari. Sorry, I shouldn’t be mean. I decided to hang out with the Golden Shovel Poems in October. What can I do with a missing muse and so many great poets in the world? I’ve used William Blake, Robert Frost, and Amy Lowell for inspiration. He was an interesting man. He proposed to Maud Gonne four times, and she repeatedly turned him down. When that didn’t work, Yeats proposed to her daughter. She also turned him down. Yeats was the first Irish person to win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Therefore, this new poem will be titled Time to Leave.

 Terrance Hayes invented the Golden Shovel style of poetry. This form of found poetry allows the writer to take a favorite poem and use it to make something original. I experimented with found poetry last year when I wrote Blank Verse poems. Now, I am having fun writing Golden Shovel Poetry.  

The rules for writing a Golden Shovel Poem and  Time to Leave

While researching this style of poetry created by Terrance Hayes, there seem to be four simple rules. You can use as many lines of the poem as you want, and the poem will end with you being your creation. I find this idea interesting. Written below are the three simple rules.

1). Choose a poem that you like. Currently, I will use poems by William Butler Yeats.

2)Use each word in the line or lines as the end word in your poem. Make sure they stay in order.

3) Construct an entire poem around them. The meaning doesn’t have to be the same.

4) Give the original poet credit who wrote the line or lines you used.

Now that I’ve finished using Yeat’s poem, The Circus Animal Desertion, I plan to play with this poem to create my next Golden Shovel Poetry. Many of the images in this poem are taken from Irish folklore and mythology. Things could get complicated before I finish creating from this one, but I never like to back down from a challenge. I will title this poem Time to Leave.

Time to Leave 

The party was growing ragged and old 
Like silk made of threads of iron
These brutal festivities are now so old
They cause a cold chill in my bones
This merry making is growing old
And I laughed when I saw us dressed in rags
And none of us ever realized that
When we heard the ridiculous ravings
Emitted from the mouth of the sleazy slut
The showy one that accuses and who
Knows ever secret but always keeps
Her mouth shut until the 
Perfect moment to pay the till
And I realize the truth of it all now
She charged the price of admission that
More than I could afford and my
Purse is empty and my tall ladder’s
Collapsed and been moved and is gone.

Who is Molly Shea?

Molly Shea is an accomplished fictional short story writer from Indiana who writes short stories and novels about a fictional town called Tecumseh.  To read more of her short stories and adventures, click here.

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