20 Poetry Projects Writing Exercise by Jim Simmerman

Artsy Things

Nov 21

Hi readers and writerly friends!

Welcome back to my blog! I’m glad you stopped by! This week, I’ll be showing you how to write a poem from a bunch of nonsensical lines. 20 Poetry Projects is a creative writing exercise by Jim Simmerman, taken from The Practice of Poetry, Robin Behn and Chase Twitchell.

In my sophomore creative writing and poetry class, we did this activity and I had a lot of fun with it, so I figured I’d share it with you! Later in this post, I will do a second attempt at this writing exercise with a step-by-step look at my process.

My favorite example of this was “A Thousand and One Nights” written by Margo Roby for the literary journal, Lunarosity. I had this information in my files from school, and couldn’t find the webpage where Margo Roby posted the poem she wrote from this exercise, step-by-step. I did find it on her website so I’ll link that in my bibliography, but if anyone can find the other webpage, please link it in the comments!

20 Poetry Projects by Jim Simmerman

1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.

2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.

3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in

succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.

4. Use one example of synesthesia [mixing the senses].

5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.

6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.

7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.

8. Use a word [slang?] you’ve never seen in a poem.

9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.

10. Use a piece of talk you’ve heard [preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand].

11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: The [adjective] [concrete noun] of [abstract noun]…

12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.

13. Make the character in the poem do something he/she could not do in real life.

14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.

15. Write in the future tense such that part of the poem sounds like a prediction.

16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.

17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.

18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.

19. Personify an object.

20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that echoes an image from earlier in the poem. (Simmerman)

I will use these steps when my brain is not behaving, when I have an idea and don’t know where to go with it. There are steps I ignore, but not many. Below is the final draft as published in Lunarosity, a now defunct ezine. I was going nuts while typing the drafts from my old notes. I kept wanting to fix things and get rid of verbs of being. I also had to decipher the original below my first revisions.
I am a concrete person with my writing. When I first tried this, I was sitting on our bed, in Jakarta, because that was my work space. I was feeling downhearted with life — I wrote the first line. I had a small Persian carpet next to me I was staring at while trying to figure out how to do this prompt — I wrote the next line…
1. I am a prisoner without walls
2. among the flowers of my Persian carpet vines/weeds are beginning to sprout
Once I had a focus, a direction, I found the exercise much easier to carry out. I don’t think I can write this exercise without knowing where I am going. It would be interesting to try, though. Randomness has merit. (Roby)

Steps with my first draft
1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.
I am a prisoner without walls
2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
among the flowers of my Persian carpet vines/weeds are beginning to sprout
3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
They twine and curl reaching for me pulling me down into the fields of silk and wool; as I slide through warp and weft I hear the rustle of thread grasses. My nostrils fill with the pungency of sheep and goats and I taste the dryness of dust.
4. Use one example of synesthesia [mixing the senses].
The dampness of a blue silk river runs through my ears.
5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
Nearby, Omar Khayyam sits writing under a date palm, the white minarets of Nineveh on the horizon.
6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
If a carpet can have a horizon.
7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
The hunt was on; turbaned caliphs on Arabian steeds, bows and arrows slung across their backs, chased a leopard peering forever across his shoulder.
8. Use a word [slang?] you’ve never seen in a poem.
Tally ho and an arrow is loosed never hitting its mark,
9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
suspended eternally in mid-air by silken threads.
10. Use a piece of talk you’ve heard [preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand].
A thousand throats can be slit by one man running.
11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: The [adjective] [concrete noun] of [abstract noun]…
The towering trees of thought stand in an expectancy of silence
12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
and I stand in the trap free of danger
13. Make the character in the poem do something he/she could not do in real life.
my arms sliding around the leopard’s golden ruff;
14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
Ducky would have run
15. Write in the future tense such that part of the poem sounds like a prediction.
to be hunted forever through threads of colour,
16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
chased by frozen horses
17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
trapped by a web of patterns
18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.
another playmate in the Bokharan fields.
19. Personify an object.
The arrows hum through the staring trees
20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that echoes an image from earlier in the poem
and I am trapped in a web of patterns.

With a draft to go on, I stopped worrying about the steps. I listed nouns and verbs that fit with Persian carpets and Middle Eastern fairy tales, circled words I wanted to look up for other possible meanings, and started back through this draft, trimming, adding line breaks, making the story active rather than passive. I got rid of lines that I had in only because the exercise asked for them.
I will use these steps when my brain is not behaving, when I have an idea and don’t know where to go with it. There are steps I ignore, but not many. Below is the final draft as published in Lunarosity, a now defunct ezine. (Roby)

A Thousand and One Nights

Among the flowers of my Persian carpet
vines sprout curl twine me into fields of silk
and wool. Sliding through warp and weft,
I hear the rustle of thread grasses, and
my nostrils fill with the pungency of feral cats,
I taste the dryness of dust, and the dampness
of a blue silk river runs through my ears.
A blend and blur of color mark the horizon
spots of russet and black resolving into a hunt
undisturbed by my addition to the scene.
Arabian steeds damp dark with silken sweat,
silent as Attic shapes, prance and wheel
through date palms and trees of fiery-fruited
pomegranate. Turbaned caliphs, bows slung
across their backs, chase a leopard forever
peering over his shoulder. An arrow loosed never
hits its mark eternally suspended by woven
threads. Trees stand in an expectancy of silence
as I move within zig-zags of light and shadow.
My arms slide round the leopard’s golden
ruff and I am bound by threads of color
to be hunted forever through fields of silk and
wool, chased by frozen horses, another
player in the weaving fields of Bokhara. (Roby 2014)

My 20 Poetry Projects poem from 2017

In 2017, my creative writing class did this writing exercise and below is my poem that resulted from it. In the next example further on, I’ve done this exercise again (2022) and I show you my writing process line-by-line like Margo Roby did with hers. This poem was published in Rose State College’s annual literary journal, Pegasus, 2017. It was inspired by Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick. If you’ve read it, let me know if you catch all the references! (I have no idea who Caroline Janeway is, by the way.)

Angel

You were an angel
but feathers fall like bowling balls
when the air is missing from the room,
from your lungs.
You gasped when I called you out, a
baffled sound, surprised more so, only by
the startling sensation of your wings being torn off.
Though, that warranted bloodcurdling screams,
and rightfully received them.
You had us all fooled with silken lies,
but Caroline Janeway saw you in the back of Al’s
Pool Hall in Roseville, Minnesota, back in 1994.
And last I checked, heaven wasn’t in the back of Al’s Pool Hall.
She said that you were glued to the lips of some chick in a miniskirt,
that you looked like you’d had one hell of a time.
That’s when I put it all together: you weren’t an angel, you never were.
You’ve always been good at bending the truth, though.
Here I was thinking that you’d fallen from heaven,
but really, I’d just fallen for you.
Solitary walks through silent city streets seem to clear the air for me.
You needed to become a part of my past, but how
do I fix the damage that’s been done?
You had a broken halo and I, a broken heart.
I never knew you could be so savage.
The glittering look of endearment in your eyes was
lust and nothing more. I saw so much more.
You, Cupid, loose an arrow; though it sticks I can
no more than despise you, now.
I pluck it from my side, warm, sticky blood
running down in streams.
Janie would have fainted at such a sight.
I’d stand frozen, watching it all unfold before me.
Your bloodied, pristine, feathers litter the ground.
There I stood, trapped by a web of lies.
Yet, la mia anima è libera, my soul is free.
I feel more weightless, now, than any feather ever could.
Though, I suspect that they feel freed from you as well.
You were never an angel but you fell from grace.
I hand you the arrow, dried blood covering the silver tip.
(Hayes 2017, 61)

Revisiting 20 Poetry Projects in 2022

Steps with my first draft

1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.

My father is a rock. He is strong, stable, and enduring.

2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.

My family stands trapped, smiling behind the glass.

3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.

The jagged shards are sharp, threatening to cut me and the irony is not lost on me. Holding up the frame to my nose, it smells of old and the figures behind the cracks are quiet and stock-still.

4. Use one example of synesthesia [mixing the senses].

I could almost taste the film of dust around its edges.

5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.

The Payton of San Antonio is not the Payton of Oklahoma City, though she takes their riverwalks with her.

6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.

My father is crumbling.

7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.

My mother is fluid like a river. Fluid, taking up the shape of any container she occupies

8. Use a word [slang?] you’ve never seen in a poem.

Some would call her flexible, others call her flakey.

9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.

I’ve made it this far without a mother, I must be fine without her.

10. Use a piece of talk you’ve heard [preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand].

She was just ‘round the corner. Just ‘round the corner.

11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: The [adjective] [concrete noun] of [abstract noun]…

The fathomless abyss of my childhood trauma gapes before me.

12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.

I stand at the precipice, intrigued by its enormity and dreadfulness.

13. Make the character in the poem do something he/she could not do in real life.

I dive like a heron, fishing in its depths for the panacea that will restore my soul.

14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.

Peaches desires more —ambrosia.

15. Write in the future tense such that part of the poem sounds like a prediction.

And the soul food she will soon get, but it’s not what she expects.

16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.

Her just desserts have the gall to be simultaneously acidic and sweet. The second time around, the tequila feels more like a prison than an escape.

17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.

Atlas reborn, she carries a burden that is far too heavy for her to bear.

18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.

Mi familia es mi fuerza y mi debilidad -my family is my strength and my weakness.

19. Personify an object.

The bottle gazes up at her from the floor.

20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that echoes an image from earlier in the poem.

Rough draft, assembled

My father is a rock. He is strong, stable, and enduring.
My family stands trapped, smiling behind the glass.
The jagged shards are sharp, threatening to cut me and the irony is not lost on me. Holding up the frame to my nose, it smells of old and the figures behind the cracks are quiet and stock-still.
I could almost taste the film of dust around its edges.
The Payton of San Antonio is not the Payton of Oklahoma City, though she takes their riverwalks with her.
My father is crumbling.
My mother is fluid like a river, taking up the shape of any container she occupies.
Some would call her flexible, others call her flakey.
I’ve made it this far without a mother, I must be fine without her.
She was just ‘round the corner. Just ‘round the corner.
The fathomless abyss of my childhood trauma gapes before me.
I stand at the precipice, intrigued by its enormity and dreadfulness.
I dive like a heron, fishing in its depths for the panacea that will restore my soul.
Peaches desires more —ambrosia.
And the soul food she will soon get, but it’s not what she expects.
Her just desserts have the gall to be simultaneously acidic and sweet. The second time around, the tequila feels more like a prison than an escape.
Atlas reborn, she carries a burden that is far too heavy for her to bear.
Her family watches her, sip after sip, frozen behind the glass.
Mi familia es mi fuerza y mi debilidad -my family is my strength and my weakness.
The bottle gazes up at her from the floor.

Final draft

Trypophobia (Working Title)
My father is my rock. He is strong, stable, and enduring —a stone statue against the dawn.
I stare at the relic of a bygone family — shattered, they stand trapped, smiling behind the glass.
The jagged shards are sharp, threatening to cut me open and the irony is palpable.
Holding up the frame to my nose, it smells of old and the figures peering through the cracks are motionless, silent.
I could almost taste the film of dust around its edges.
The Payton of San Antonio is not the Payton of Oklahoma City, though she takes their riverwalks with her.
And now, my father is crumbling.
My mother is fluid like a river, taking up the shape of any container she occupies.
Some would call her flexible.
Others call her flakey.
I’ve made it this far without a mother, I must be fine without her.
She was always just ‘round the corner. Just ‘round the corner.
The fathomless abyss of my childhood trauma gapes before me.
I stand at the precipice, intrigued by its enormity and dreadfulness.
The liquid gold calls out to me, inviting me in with a false sense of courage.
I dive like a heron, fishing in its depths for the panacea that will restore my soul.
Peaches desires more —ambrosia even.
And the soul food she will soon get, but it’s not what she expects.
Her just desserts have the gall to be simultaneously acidic and sweet.
The second time around, the tequila feels more like a prison than an escape.
Atlas reborn, she carries a burden that is far too heavy for her to bear.
Her family watches her, sip after sip, frozen behind the glass.
She is swallowed up by the pit.
Mi familia es mi fuerza y mi debilidad —my family is my strength and my weakness.
The bottle gazes up at her from the floor.

As you can see from all the examples above, Jim Simmerman’s 20 Poetry Projects Writing Exercise provides an excellent framework for writing poetry. When you follow this process step-by-step, you end up with at least twenty lines to work from.

You may not necessarily keep them all or keep them in order. But surprisingly, this structured writing exercise allows creativity to flow freely. Once you have the rough draft, you can rearrange lines and edit the poem to your liking.

I always enjoy working with this exercise and I’m proud of both poems I’ve written using it.If you try this exercise, please let me know what you think of it in the comments! Thanks for reading this post and if you want to be notified when new blog posts come out, subscribe to my newsletter!

If anyone can find the webpage with Margo Roby’s post with her process on the exercise and poem, A Thousand and One Nights in Lunarosity, or information on the 2004 edition of Lunarosity, please let me know!