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I'm sort of on a poetry kick, so last night I wrote the first poem I've written in ages. I have to say, it's a fair sight better than the drivel I wrote in college. I've decided there are two things, however, that will never win me any sort of poet's laurels (aside from my general lack of talent).
1) The last poets I generally like are late 1800s, early 1900s. My favorite poet of all is John Donne. I like things to have structure and form and rythym, and even rhyme from time to time. Not couplets, though, except as a part of a larger scheme. Ergo, that's what I write. I suck enough that I don't remember any actual structures, so I just end up appropriating "structure" generally and using it, which doubtlessly would horrify most real poets who know what they're doing -- unlike me. I don't really enjoy free verse as such... I can write it, but it's just prose for me with odd line breaks. I think that counts as "not getting it." I get it a bit more now, but I'm still a bit too uncertain of my goal to rely on free verse to get me there.
2) I have written precisely one dark poem in my life. Not to say that they're all happy or anything, they just aren't... dark. I dunno. They're also not ambiguous. Given that I'm not particularly dark or ambiguous, I suppose this is fitting. It's highly unpopular as far as modern poetry goes, though.
So.. yeah. I wrote a poem. It's behind the cut. I have no illusions as to its quality. If you enjoy critiquing poetry, I'll be happy to listen, but I already know it's crap so suggestions may fall on deaf ears. Still, it won't hurt my feelings any either. Oh, and if you are a poetic fossil who feels similarly to me, I'd be amused to learn of it. In any case, it might amuse someone, so here goes.
Once Upon A Time
Once upon a time you held my hand
like summer, a silent majesty
that took away my breath so eagerly.
Tender, warm and strong it was,
a force with which to reckon in its way.
It brooked no argument, nor trial;
To resist was tantamount to denial.
Once upon a time you kissed
with warm soft lips, the sunlit taste
that drew me ever closer to your sea.
And so I dove in recklessly,
confident in gentle waves and buoyant hearts.
I never saw the storms roll in;
you swore each an illusion.
Once upon a time I looked
and found the breath of summer gone,
myself alone upon the cold dry sand.
Gritty powder slipping through my fingers,
icy white swirling into dark, forboding waves.
The storms have taken shelter in your eyes;
my place usurped with summer’s demise.
Once upon a time I felt
the kiss of sunlight on my cheeks,
my lips, my skin alight with borrowed flame.
The memory is blinding; echoes of a
raw and painful burn, blisters on my soul.
One burning kiss ago did summer leave;
now winter’s gaze is all that’s left to me.
1) The last poets I generally like are late 1800s, early 1900s. My favorite poet of all is John Donne. I like things to have structure and form and rythym, and even rhyme from time to time. Not couplets, though, except as a part of a larger scheme. Ergo, that's what I write. I suck enough that I don't remember any actual structures, so I just end up appropriating "structure" generally and using it, which doubtlessly would horrify most real poets who know what they're doing -- unlike me. I don't really enjoy free verse as such... I can write it, but it's just prose for me with odd line breaks. I think that counts as "not getting it." I get it a bit more now, but I'm still a bit too uncertain of my goal to rely on free verse to get me there.
2) I have written precisely one dark poem in my life. Not to say that they're all happy or anything, they just aren't... dark. I dunno. They're also not ambiguous. Given that I'm not particularly dark or ambiguous, I suppose this is fitting. It's highly unpopular as far as modern poetry goes, though.
So.. yeah. I wrote a poem. It's behind the cut. I have no illusions as to its quality. If you enjoy critiquing poetry, I'll be happy to listen, but I already know it's crap so suggestions may fall on deaf ears. Still, it won't hurt my feelings any either. Oh, and if you are a poetic fossil who feels similarly to me, I'd be amused to learn of it. In any case, it might amuse someone, so here goes.
Once Upon A Time
Once upon a time you held my hand
like summer, a silent majesty
that took away my breath so eagerly.
Tender, warm and strong it was,
a force with which to reckon in its way.
It brooked no argument, nor trial;
To resist was tantamount to denial.
Once upon a time you kissed
with warm soft lips, the sunlit taste
that drew me ever closer to your sea.
And so I dove in recklessly,
confident in gentle waves and buoyant hearts.
I never saw the storms roll in;
you swore each an illusion.
Once upon a time I looked
and found the breath of summer gone,
myself alone upon the cold dry sand.
Gritty powder slipping through my fingers,
icy white swirling into dark, forboding waves.
The storms have taken shelter in your eyes;
my place usurped with summer’s demise.
Once upon a time I felt
the kiss of sunlight on my cheeks,
my lips, my skin alight with borrowed flame.
The memory is blinding; echoes of a
raw and painful burn, blisters on my soul.
One burning kiss ago did summer leave;
now winter’s gaze is all that’s left to me.
