Poetry on the Fly

Sometimes I do this weird thing where I write in my journal whatever pops into my head--doesn't have to make sense or be poetic. Sometimes it's just words, and I try not to think about what I'm trying to say; try not to force it to go in any specific direction. I'm often surprised by what I find. It's kind-of cool. Whatdya say I try it now, and you can respond with comments written the same way--just for fun?

He wasn't awe-struck for misinterpretation's sake. He fell short only on occassion-- and then only with beautiful, painful harmony. The last words spoken keep night watch over the paul bearers. But Paul didn't mind it. He loathed and needed his solitude. Blasts of scorching wind move beyond where I'd been, but I'd do it all again for a taste of sunshine. Borders surround the town I once knew...and black beyond the clouds beckons as if to a stranger. Dream in peace. Sleep in the dark, and wake in the light. Drink deeply from the sea. And far off shore, when you see the trail, don't hide from me.

Weird. That sort-of turned into poetry. Maybe I'll coin a new phrase: "Poetry on the Fly"...what do you think?

Seasons

...yet another poem in iambic pentameter.

Seasons

The children played until the light grew dim
Pretending they were no more boys but men.
The grown-ups watched the children as they played
And reminisced about the good ‘ole days.

God's Poem

This week I thought I'd share a poem I wrote for my creative writing class in iambic pentameter. I'm always wary to post my poetry and short stories on here. I guess it goes without saying that this is copyrighted material, people, and that all rights are reserved. =)


God's Poem

Come, come, my dear, and rest your weary mind
And dream about another place and time
I’ll hold your indiscretions; hold my tongue
Come, come, my dear, such pleasures we shall find

Dream, dream, my dear, but not as in the past
Please do not breathe a word of what will last
For colors never fade, nor lights grow dim
Dream, dream, my dear, the world is sleeping fast

Dance, dance, my dear, for you have stood too long
Your melody has burst forth into song
The freedom that you crave you now control
Dance, dance, my dear, there’s footprints on your soul

Rest, rest a while and find your solace here
For winter’s long, but spring is drawing near
And peace is but a moment far removed
Come dream and dance and rest a while, my dear



If you think this poem is kind-of sing-songy, blame the iambic pentameter, not the author=) Lemme know what you think.

Memoirs of a Love Lost

I was going to wait until I received AT LEAST ONE comment on my last blog entry before I started another one, but, as you can see, no one did, so here I am. I had thought about writing about my day again, or even the past few weeks since I last blogged, but, so as not to bore you to tears, have decided not to. Instead, I have decided to throw caution to the wind and post a poem I wrote entitled:

Memoirs of a Love Lost

One orange pumpkin lay
Stranded on the dirt road,
Soaking up the rays—
Basking in the memory
Of last night.

Gutted.
Rotting.
Seething in the sunlight.
Would she even remember
His name?

Beauty stepped inside him
With peeked anticipation
Though never a word was spoken
Between the two. If only the ride
Had been longer.

There he lay—
His seed scattered
His heart shattered
By the heel of one
Glass slipper.

Let me know what you think, but don't be too honest. I have feelings too, you know.