There’s much to be said about what lies beyond the narrow strand of a horizon. What about the delineation that makes it so? The horizon line. In Billy Collins’ poem, he describes the potential and possibilities awakened by a simple narrow band:
Horizon
You can use the brush of a Japanese monk
or a pencil stub from a race track.
As long as you draw the line a third
the way up from the bottom of the page,
the effect is the same: the world suddenly
divided into its elemental realms.
A moment ago there was only a piece of paper.
Now there is earth and sky, sky and sea.
You were sitting alone in a small room.
Now you are walking into the heat of a vast desert
or standing on the ledge of a winter beach
watching the light on the water, light in the air.
Try It: Horizon Line Poetry
Go find a sheet of paper. Any will do. Grab a pen, pencil, or a monk’s paintbrush and draw a line just as the Collins poem suggests. Look at the line you’ve drawn. Write a poem about this horizon. Where is it? Describe the landscape. What does this horizon represent?
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Featured Poem
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s form-themed poetry prompt. Here is a recent poem from Monica we enjoyed.
Global traveler, make the horizon
your aim, though mountains break the horizon.
Whether in eighty days or hours, see through it;
don’t make it opaque, the horizon.
Like Passepartout, keep your own time
whenever you overtake the horizon.
Like Aouda, remember the past,
the present, the future ache her eye’s on.
And I, like Phileas, walk with a posture
and attitude that can remake the horizon.
Photo by Patrick Jonas. Creative Commons via Flickr.
Browse more writing prompts
Browse poetry teaching resources
How to Write a Poem uses images like the buzz, the switch, the wave—from the Billy Collins poem “Introduction to Poetry”—to guide writers into new ways of writing poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology and prompts included.
“How to Write a Poem is a classroom must-have.”
—Callie Feyen, English Teacher, Maryland
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Rick Maxson says
Monica, I love your featured poem so much that I wish it were mine, but it is not. 🙂
Heather, can you change the author, please. I will be content that it was virtually mine for a short while.
I will try and come up with one this week.
Heather Eure says
Haha! I’ll see what I can do, Rick but I think Monica’s fingerprints are all over it. 🙂
Laura Lynn Brown says
Horizon / her eye’s on. Love it.
Monica Sharman says
Made my day, Laura.
Rick Maxson says
On the Horizon
Yesterday as the last light went
over the tree-ragged line of mountain
it was the color of Oleander,
marching a familiar season
across the sky. The ruled lines
of a notebook—each another blue day
set on a course—I crossed in a flight
of letters, like the rolling of finches,
to describe how the flowers rose
once again in pink rows over the world.
These were the petals set in gun barrels,
flourishing in the Winter air, from a Summer
fifty years ago, and flowers from a desert
Spring of justice,—cacophonous cordons
of color ascending from silence.
There is no other line but this for now,
standing on the brink of a mountain,
in the bouquet of morning and evening.
The past, the present, and the future,
in one breath, assembled for a shout.
Monica Sharman says
“The ruled lines
of a notebook—each another blue day”
Rick, I will never look at college-ruled paper the same way again!
Heather Eure says
What a good poem, Rick. Among your thought-provoking words, the passage “the tree-ragged line of mountain” settled in my brain, and painted.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
The petals set in gun barrels…
love the sound of this. Richard a very good poem. I like the last line a lot, as I am more and more mindful of how important the last lines in fact are. I like the phrase, you stuck the landing. I think you stuck the landing, friend.
Bravo
Rick Maxson says
Thank you Monica, Heather and Elizabeth.
Monica Sharman says
I did what you said, Mr. Collins, three times, the first
on Mead Académie tracing paper with my best
mechanical pencil, the lead peeking two clicks out.
I kept the page in portrait orientation—
no need to give all that nebulous translucence
too much azimuth. This sheet is nine by twelve,
so I measured four inches up and drew the line
but didn’t stop there. I lifted the bottom corner,
giving space for my fingers to sidle up the other
side of the page. The lines on the insides
of my knuckles and palms became branches,
the fingers a tree.
The second horizon: purple-infused black ink on white.
This time, the sheet was opaque and I was okay
with turning it landscape. And this time I guessed,
didn’t measure the third with a ruler. The scene
turned out to be the same sunset I drew
over and over as a kid: on the left, some curves
for the edge of an island. A single palm tree leaning.
The standard three coconuts under its four
coarsely serrated leaves. To the right, the sun,
its upper curve balanced on water. Where each end
of the curve meets the ocean: the sunset’s reflection,
squiggly lines getting farther apart as they come
to the viewer, enclosing a silhouette-sailboat.
For the third one: a precut square origami sheet
preprinted, no kidding, with overlapping waves.
I meant to find the most vibrant Prismacolor
marker. Instead, I made the horizon
by folding a crease in the waves.
Heather Eure says
I used to draw the same kind of islands, Monica.
Love the addition of the crease.
Rick Maxson says
“sidle up the other/side” Nice one!
Prasanta says
Horizon
If you draw a line there
and I draw a line here
what do we draw beneath and above ourselves?
Are we walking toward the same inimitable sunset?
If you put a tree there, and I put one here
can we rest under the same shade?
We see one other, walking in parallel—
is the chasm between us too wide
for our hands to reach?
When younger, the horizon is golden,
untainted, glorious, magical, wondrous,
the world not pinned down by lines.
The future blooms with promises,
an iridescent and resplendent hope,
even the shadows of sunlight are brilliance.
In the passage of time, walking onward,
we wrinkle; wisdom teaches us
the length of a flower’s breath.
The journey is boisterous and silent,
bounteous and deserted, brimming and solitary,
bewildering and illuminating, beauteous and somber.
Paradoxical, like rust requiring oxygen,
treading at night reveals fullness of day;
painful feet make us cognizant of joy.
This pilgrimage toward the horizon,
this sojourn toward a red and amber sky—
it shapes, molds, burns, instructs.
One thing is certain, only this I see—
the mystery is staggering, overwhelming—
will you walk with me?
If I draw a line here, and you draw a line there,
we still breathe the same air—
can we meet on the road, somewhere?
L.L. Barkat says
You have grist for several poems here, Prasanta. 🙂 And, much language that feels wonderful in the mouth.
If I were revising (and I realize I’m not ;-)), I would keep some of the first stantzas and the last stanza and change some of the question marks to periods—because there is incredible power in what is being said in parts of this, and I’d want to free that.
Prasanta says
Revisions and suggestions are most welcome! Thank you. 🙂
You are right- too many ideas going on here! I’m glad you pointed out the question marks. I divided this up into three ideas, based on your suggestions:
Horizon: Drawing Lines
If you draw a line there
And I draw a line here
What do we draw beneath and above ourselves
Are we walking toward the same inimitable sunset
If you put a tree there, and I put a tree here
Can we rest under the same shade
We see one other, walking in parallel
Is the chasm between us too wide
For our hands to reach
If I draw a line here, and you draw a line there,
We still breathe the same air—
I wonder, can we meet on the road, somewhere.
Horizon: A Perspective
When young, the horizon is golden
untainted, glorious, magical, wondrous
the world not pinned down by lines.
Future blooms with promise
an iridescent and resplendent hope—
even the shadows of sunlight are brilliance.
In the passage of time, walking onward,
we wrinkle; wisdom teaches us
the length of a flower’s breath.
Horizon: A Paradox
The journey is boisterous and silent,
bounteous and deserted, brimming and solitary,
bewildering and illuminating, beauteous and somber.
Paradoxical, like rust requiring oxygen;
treading at night reveals fullness of day—
painful feet make us cognizant of joy.
This pilgrimage toward the horizon,
this sojourn toward a red and amber sky—
it shapes, molds, burns, instructs.
One thing is certain, only this I see,
the mystery is staggering, overwhelming—
I wonder, will you walk with me.
L.L. Barkat says
Love how you put these into their respective poems. Yes, this works! 🙂
Heather Eure says
Delightful, Prasanta!
Prasanta says
Thank you, L.L. and Heather!
Rick Maxson says
“wisdom teaches us
the length of a flower’s breath.”
This is a beautiful image, Prasanta. It reminds me of the last stanza in cummings’s “If I love You.”
“if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resembles beauty
less than our breathing”
Prasanta says
Thank you, Rick. That is a lovely stanza from e.e. cummings – I appreciate you mentioning it. I looked up that poem and a few more of his.
Monica Sharman says
Thanks for featuring my poem! It was my first try at a ghazal (which is why I chose that form over the other suggestions listed).
Heather Eure says
Your rebellion paid off, Monica. 🙂
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Monica, your poem is rich and wondrous. And you mark your art well. It is very Monica and that is a good good thing indeed.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Love Lost
I waited on the other side of white
Promises made forced my hand
Lost on a black diamond slope
Of vertical horizontals
Tall timber tree lines
Muted, made invisible
Horizontal verticals
Lay me down, love’s vertigo returns
The way is short
For the knowing
Endless for the lost
In white-out, quiet deafens
All indicators are void
On a monochromatic plane
We stopped speaking in technicolor tones
love, long ago
The ice is melting now
I see ecru and eggshell
Color returning
My cheeks blush with new love
Robbie Pruitt says
Out on the Horizon
Out on the horizon
beyond light’s bend
and the water’s end
all will transcend
© February 3, 2017, Robbie Pruitt
Katie says
dawn, dusk
peek over me
increasingly brighter
then dimmer, dimmer, out of sight
day, night
Katie says
earth and sky meeting
intersecting in a line
edge of two half spheres