More poems, sadly no fic
*sob* I am horrible, horrible updater. I'm so sorry, you guys. I plan to get my fics done someday, it's just going to be awhile. :/
In the meantime, I have poems! Written for my English classes this semester. Some of them are a little rusty, because I was assigned to write them in a specific meter, use certain imagery, etc. But I hope you guys like them anyway. ♥
My Trio
This poem was written with the following requirements; couplets, and the syllable count for both lines in each couplet had to be the same.
Sea-green robed, benched on her baby grand
As chewed fingernailed hands on ivory keys land
“I was there to hear your borning cry” are the words I sing along
Her smile recalls when she birthed me, labor thirty-nine hours long
-
Lays crunch under his white-stringed ink beard
Shirt on a beer belly, oil-smeared
Scent of sweet laundry, smoke from his cigarette
He calls me “kiddo” - I’m not a big girl yet
-
Steel-curled hair, jingle keys, and a kinked forehead
Not a mother or friend, my “Ms. Beth” instead
Oh, but the red-painted panties I did not expect
Caterpillar-butterfly, and I gained her respect
-
How we’ve hated, yells thrown like punches around rooms
How we’ve cried, mascara tracks down red-raw cheeks blooms
How we’ve giggle-laughed, wheezing and whistling for breath
We’ve loved fervently tender, then, now, and till death
Rain
This poem had to be about an abstract idea (love, joy, hate, anger), which we had to express without saying the word. I chose joy, but I think the poem isn't as exuberant or energetic as it is spiritually joyful in love.
Glossed lips stretch into curves, and delicate rain beads through your
hair and you
hold out your
arms to the universe. Your
white teeth gleam as you
dance, cat-like, your
silky arms traversing the metal sky. Rain
shudders down now, faster faster, clapping, stinging and the wind
whistles its approval. Your feet
clip-clop on the pavement - those tongued sneakers are tap dancing shoes. Your skin is slippery when I grab
your face, your milky white face with
baby eyes that lead to a soul as old as the
rain. Trees black in the night,
but their edges
glow from the moon-drops, but I can see
every miniscule movement of your mouth, how you talk
to me, yelling lollipop words through
those perfect lips. You
ask, “Is the rain God’s tears?” and I indent
your hips with my fingertips,
pressing through the tear soaked, paper flower
dress. “I am but a man, but I, too, weep at the sight of you
dancing,” are my velvet words. “Can’t imagine what
God feels.” And your
curved lips curve wider, and I
kiss those glossed
perfect lips, and bead my hands through your
hair, as your
arms hold me, your
universe.
Studying
Had to use as many elements of sound (like POP, WHIZZ, etc.), or words that indicate sound, as possible.
The air conditioner rattles
It’s broken, I think
But I don’t know what to do - I’m not handy like that
But now I’m hot, sticky, but I won’t take off this sweater, because then
I’ll be too cold
Clicking of Dell mice
Taps on computer keys
Zings of zippers on backpacks because people are leaving, they’re done for the day
It’s okay
I’m sick of their trilling laughter anyway
Cool, calm clang of my AMP bottle on the wooden desk
I’m the only one left
My sigh whooshes, and it’s depressed, I know
Books stacked, some cracked
Open, white pages yellowed with a highlighter that I
Swoosh across the page
Dzzzzzzt. Dzzzzzzt.
I jump and my textbook flies from my lap to the floor, thwack
Fingers clench around the vibrating cell phone
Crackling on the other end, I guess the service is bad in here
But that’s okay, I didn’t want to talk to him anyway
Turn on silent. Snap
Shut
Slurp on the Caramel Macchiato next to the AMP,
Suck on the green straw, get nothing but air
Rake hands through my hair and feel the pulse of my headache pounding into my fingerpads, pound, throb, ouch
Then rap nails on the desk
Glare at those books and that stupid computer screen
Woe is me! Woe is me! I wanna go home!
Guttural cry from my throat, which echoes
I hate school, I quit!
The janitor shakes her head, grins, and I glare at her, too
This Light
Italian sonnet using an octave/sestet structure, and an abbaabba/cdecde rhyme scheme.
Fluorescent, it beams down artificially from up there
On your poster of Lennon, above your bed, on the wall,
The same color of his signature, in the token corner, looped scrawl
I can no longer see the top of his head - I blame the glare
But he is obscured no matter what, no matter the ways I twist my chair
The white shining heaven on his face, mixing into a ball
Highlighting the beauty of his grayscaled peace call
Against the black backdrop, and I don’t see the flaws - no dent, no tear
They say he was an enigma, a mystery
That he was God and King and out of reach
That his legend will always live on
Someone who changed history
But the silver glow on your poster draws me like a leech
And I gain insight from this light, I see him, I see John.
Metal Flower Bars
We were supposed to write about a recurring dream we'd had, and include repetition to add a certain kind of fragmentation to the poem. Not sure how fragmented it is, but this was fun to write. It includes the dream itself as well as reflections on the dream. Names changed for protection.
Heaven clouds sky-gloom above
me, feet below me faded grass quivers in the wind
as my twelve-year-old limbs are
melancholy, curled thisway and thatway around
and through metal flower bars.
Spread-eagled, I stare out across
the playground, white gold hair tickling my
face. But my eyes see through
the strands, because I’m looking
at you.
Feet away . . . .
you say goodbye to people you’ve never met, my friends,
in this place you’ve never been, my playground.
My playground,
where I used to chase down Jason Ball, and he’d
let me.
The sun overheated my cheeks as I chased him,
the woodchips poked my feet through my sandals as I chased him -
pass through metal flower bars -
and I’d jump!
grabbing shoulders, an in-the-air piggyback ride, and we’d fall
together to the ground. His red kickball would roll
and we’d roll
together from the woodchips to the chippering grass.
I used to pin his arms to the green grass
and hen-peck him with fervor, as innocently as a seven-year-old could.
He’s not here anymore
and you’re here instead, though not for
long. You’re off to the
War, the second one that I learned about
on Monday in history class.
Back turned to the metal flower bars, you can’t see me,
you never see me.
But I can see you. I always see you.
Your eyes are blue, the way the sky used to be,
but this is a dream and your sky-bright eyes stick out
in this grayscale depression.
You give out hugs, and people press against your brown uniform jacket,
the color of paper towels and dead twigs.
I am on my metal flower bars
in my wedding dress, flowing white like tears over the metal flower bars
waiting for you to notice, waiting for your goodbye,
though we’ve never really had a hello.
My sequins don’t sparkle.
Why are you here? my church boy, you don’t belong on
my playground, where I remember a childhood that you
weren’t a part of.
When my tears fall, they fall onto my sequins
and create tinkling sounds, and you hear it
and turn around.
You hear me, you hear me,
you see me, you see me,
on my metal flower bars.
I quiver.
My legs are gumby, wobbled putty as they
disentangle. You're two steps toward me and I
meet you,
my feet landing on old, wet woodchips.
Sequins drip down my face as tears and this is me bleeding
for you, Jimmy Kirk,
and Jason Ball's kickball appears in my peripheral, red,
and I embrace you.
You kiss my cold cheeks, trace your thumbs on my cold arms,
and whisper, "I love you."
I can almost hear church bells.
I say, "Hello."
Your lips curl up softly (and Jason always groaned as I giggled) and how I'll miss you when you're fighting,
the way I've always missed you,
the way I miss you, even though you're holding me.
"I love you, too," I say
and you say,
"Goodbye," and walk off into the heaven clouds painted with rifles.
I back-turn against you, but my metal flower bars are gone.
I see you
Had to write a poem about a dream, in the surrealistic style of Joyce Mansour. This poem is another version of Metal Flower Bars.
I see through your back
And into blue eyes.
I see the pink skin
Through your uniform.
Will you drink my tears?
Will you free my pink shuttered soul?
Glue your calloused fingers to my blue, rotting lips?
Take these black wings away from me
Take away my virginity
We'll scream anguish to God together.
In the meantime, I have poems! Written for my English classes this semester. Some of them are a little rusty, because I was assigned to write them in a specific meter, use certain imagery, etc. But I hope you guys like them anyway. ♥
My Trio
This poem was written with the following requirements; couplets, and the syllable count for both lines in each couplet had to be the same.
Sea-green robed, benched on her baby grand
As chewed fingernailed hands on ivory keys land
“I was there to hear your borning cry” are the words I sing along
Her smile recalls when she birthed me, labor thirty-nine hours long
-
Lays crunch under his white-stringed ink beard
Shirt on a beer belly, oil-smeared
Scent of sweet laundry, smoke from his cigarette
He calls me “kiddo” - I’m not a big girl yet
-
Steel-curled hair, jingle keys, and a kinked forehead
Not a mother or friend, my “Ms. Beth” instead
Oh, but the red-painted panties I did not expect
Caterpillar-butterfly, and I gained her respect
-
How we’ve hated, yells thrown like punches around rooms
How we’ve cried, mascara tracks down red-raw cheeks blooms
How we’ve giggle-laughed, wheezing and whistling for breath
We’ve loved fervently tender, then, now, and till death
Rain
This poem had to be about an abstract idea (love, joy, hate, anger), which we had to express without saying the word. I chose joy, but I think the poem isn't as exuberant or energetic as it is spiritually joyful in love.
Glossed lips stretch into curves, and delicate rain beads through your
hair and you
hold out your
arms to the universe. Your
white teeth gleam as you
dance, cat-like, your
silky arms traversing the metal sky. Rain
shudders down now, faster faster, clapping, stinging and the wind
whistles its approval. Your feet
clip-clop on the pavement - those tongued sneakers are tap dancing shoes. Your skin is slippery when I grab
your face, your milky white face with
baby eyes that lead to a soul as old as the
rain. Trees black in the night,
but their edges
glow from the moon-drops, but I can see
every miniscule movement of your mouth, how you talk
to me, yelling lollipop words through
those perfect lips. You
ask, “Is the rain God’s tears?” and I indent
your hips with my fingertips,
pressing through the tear soaked, paper flower
dress. “I am but a man, but I, too, weep at the sight of you
dancing,” are my velvet words. “Can’t imagine what
God feels.” And your
curved lips curve wider, and I
kiss those glossed
perfect lips, and bead my hands through your
hair, as your
arms hold me, your
universe.
Studying
Had to use as many elements of sound (like POP, WHIZZ, etc.), or words that indicate sound, as possible.
The air conditioner rattles
It’s broken, I think
But I don’t know what to do - I’m not handy like that
But now I’m hot, sticky, but I won’t take off this sweater, because then
I’ll be too cold
Clicking of Dell mice
Taps on computer keys
Zings of zippers on backpacks because people are leaving, they’re done for the day
It’s okay
I’m sick of their trilling laughter anyway
Cool, calm clang of my AMP bottle on the wooden desk
I’m the only one left
My sigh whooshes, and it’s depressed, I know
Books stacked, some cracked
Open, white pages yellowed with a highlighter that I
Swoosh across the page
Dzzzzzzt. Dzzzzzzt.
I jump and my textbook flies from my lap to the floor, thwack
Fingers clench around the vibrating cell phone
Crackling on the other end, I guess the service is bad in here
But that’s okay, I didn’t want to talk to him anyway
Turn on silent. Snap
Shut
Slurp on the Caramel Macchiato next to the AMP,
Suck on the green straw, get nothing but air
Rake hands through my hair and feel the pulse of my headache pounding into my fingerpads, pound, throb, ouch
Then rap nails on the desk
Glare at those books and that stupid computer screen
Woe is me! Woe is me! I wanna go home!
Guttural cry from my throat, which echoes
I hate school, I quit!
The janitor shakes her head, grins, and I glare at her, too
This Light
Italian sonnet using an octave/sestet structure, and an abbaabba/cdecde rhyme scheme.
Fluorescent, it beams down artificially from up there
On your poster of Lennon, above your bed, on the wall,
The same color of his signature, in the token corner, looped scrawl
I can no longer see the top of his head - I blame the glare
But he is obscured no matter what, no matter the ways I twist my chair
The white shining heaven on his face, mixing into a ball
Highlighting the beauty of his grayscaled peace call
Against the black backdrop, and I don’t see the flaws - no dent, no tear
They say he was an enigma, a mystery
That he was God and King and out of reach
That his legend will always live on
Someone who changed history
But the silver glow on your poster draws me like a leech
And I gain insight from this light, I see him, I see John.
Metal Flower Bars
We were supposed to write about a recurring dream we'd had, and include repetition to add a certain kind of fragmentation to the poem. Not sure how fragmented it is, but this was fun to write. It includes the dream itself as well as reflections on the dream. Names changed for protection.
Heaven clouds sky-gloom above
me, feet below me faded grass quivers in the wind
as my twelve-year-old limbs are
melancholy, curled thisway and thatway around
and through metal flower bars.
Spread-eagled, I stare out across
the playground, white gold hair tickling my
face. But my eyes see through
the strands, because I’m looking
at you.
Feet away . . . .
you say goodbye to people you’ve never met, my friends,
in this place you’ve never been, my playground.
My playground,
where I used to chase down Jason Ball, and he’d
let me.
The sun overheated my cheeks as I chased him,
the woodchips poked my feet through my sandals as I chased him -
pass through metal flower bars -
and I’d jump!
grabbing shoulders, an in-the-air piggyback ride, and we’d fall
together to the ground. His red kickball would roll
and we’d roll
together from the woodchips to the chippering grass.
I used to pin his arms to the green grass
and hen-peck him with fervor, as innocently as a seven-year-old could.
He’s not here anymore
and you’re here instead, though not for
long. You’re off to the
War, the second one that I learned about
on Monday in history class.
Back turned to the metal flower bars, you can’t see me,
you never see me.
But I can see you. I always see you.
Your eyes are blue, the way the sky used to be,
but this is a dream and your sky-bright eyes stick out
in this grayscale depression.
You give out hugs, and people press against your brown uniform jacket,
the color of paper towels and dead twigs.
I am on my metal flower bars
in my wedding dress, flowing white like tears over the metal flower bars
waiting for you to notice, waiting for your goodbye,
though we’ve never really had a hello.
My sequins don’t sparkle.
Why are you here? my church boy, you don’t belong on
my playground, where I remember a childhood that you
weren’t a part of.
When my tears fall, they fall onto my sequins
and create tinkling sounds, and you hear it
and turn around.
You hear me, you hear me,
you see me, you see me,
on my metal flower bars.
I quiver.
My legs are gumby, wobbled putty as they
disentangle. You're two steps toward me and I
meet you,
my feet landing on old, wet woodchips.
Sequins drip down my face as tears and this is me bleeding
for you, Jimmy Kirk,
and Jason Ball's kickball appears in my peripheral, red,
and I embrace you.
You kiss my cold cheeks, trace your thumbs on my cold arms,
and whisper, "I love you."
I can almost hear church bells.
I say, "Hello."
Your lips curl up softly (and Jason always groaned as I giggled) and how I'll miss you when you're fighting,
the way I've always missed you,
the way I miss you, even though you're holding me.
"I love you, too," I say
and you say,
"Goodbye," and walk off into the heaven clouds painted with rifles.
I back-turn against you, but my metal flower bars are gone.
I see you
Had to write a poem about a dream, in the surrealistic style of Joyce Mansour. This poem is another version of Metal Flower Bars.
I see through your back
And into blue eyes.
I see the pink skin
Through your uniform.
Will you drink my tears?
Will you free my pink shuttered soul?
Glue your calloused fingers to my blue, rotting lips?
Take these black wings away from me
Take away my virginity
We'll scream anguish to God together.