LOVE POEM#40 – THE GAME

She told me that I had to play the game,

Like love was some sort of arcade machine.

Or else, they wouldn’t remember my name,

And I’d be part of the men left unseen.

And I told her love wasn’t just some sport,

Where men won women like they won trophies.

It was more like a queen and king in court,

Who fell in love because they were lonely.

But with a small, wry, smile, she replied

“Well then go learn to play your game of thrones,

Though I think you’ll find you win or you die.”

And with that, she turned and left me alone.

And as I played I found myself a king,

But she told me that I’d lost a good thing.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #34 – SOLACE FOUND

I’ve never seen a more handsome couple

Than my best friend and his hesitant bride.

Which isn’t to say that either’s supple,

But that no lovers exhibit such pride.

He’s round ‘bout the edges, and pudgy too;

With a mouth you can’t take home to mother.

And he loves to make a hullabaloo

By saying that they don’t love each other.

And I’m not quite sure I’d call her a catch.

She’s quiet, and a tad bit annoying.

She’s the kind of girl that would leave a scratch,

And I would prob’bly find disappointing.

Yet together, somehow, they pirouette,

Like he’s Romeo to her Juliet.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #28 – MOONLIGHT SONATA

I construct the notes of my piano

To a song that I composed just for you.

It’s about the trips I took through the snow

To see that smoke rose from your chimney flue.

Your dainty footsteps across the wood floor

Are like an angel walking in the clouds

And the white smile you flash at the door

Is like the moonlight peeking from the shrouds.

But as my hands dance on the iv’ry keys

I feel the tune slip to C minor,

Because last winter I felt the sharp breeze

Of your voice calling to someone finer.

I saw your smile in that nirvana,

And hence I wrote this Moonlight Sonata.

——

 

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SNOWFLAKE

There’s a problem with being a snowflake,

Which is that, despite being beautiful,

It is crushed underfoot in human’s wake

And left for dead in a winter quite cruel.

And while it can glister like regal gold,

If left in light it will begin to melt.

Few snowflakes get to see their days grow old,

Even if in life they were made heartfelt.

Snowflakes are at the mercy of the wind,

And in the ravishing torrential air

Their valiant edges will find themselves skinned;

And their beaten bodies left weak from wear.

I think I know why people can relate

To the fragile life of a lone snowflake.

——

 

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CAMOUFLAGE

I implore you to ask yourself, Uncle,

What it means to be an American.

Is it to stand in the face of trouble,

And tell the rest of the world “I can.”

Is it to protect the poor and helpless

Against the blades of all the enemies?

Or is it to protect corporate interests,

And sell the rich their path to amnesty?

If we are to be one voice, united,

Why do you exile those you oppose?

Isn’t that making us more divided?

Why is it good people that you depose?

If we are free, Sam, why is it that you

Hide behind that suit of red, white, and blue?

FEARLESS DEPRESSION

His face in his hands and his shoulders slumped,

A man sits in the corner of the room.

Happy people’s feet a floor above thumped,

While rain pitter-patters and darkness looms.

In thick droplets, water pools from his eyes,

As though each one contained a part of him,

And they scatter, like the storm in the skies.

His heart begins to rip him limb from limb.

And then, like a flash of lightning it comes,

Pain and agony shoots through his being,

It rocks and shakes him like the beat of drums,

And all his sadness runs away fleeing.

He looks out the window to greet the night,

And in fearless depression he takes flight.

 

Hello everyone,

Happy end of the week! I decided to change up my poem for this week with something not romance related (at least, not necessarily romance related, this poem is still open to interpretation). Let me know what you think of it! Its a sonnet, and it’s fairly close to being in iambic pentameter, so, you know, judge it how you will.

CRAFTING POETRY

Hello everyone,

 

Here we are again, with Wednesday coming to a close. Though at the time of writing, my Wednesday has just started. Today, I’d like to talk about writing poetry, mostly because I really like doing it, but also because someone asked me how I write poetry so easily. Typically, a 3-4 stanza poem takes me about 40 minutes to get right, though if my rhythm is working well it can take less time.

In terms of structure, one of my preferred poetry styles is to mimic the style of Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s In Memoriam. This follows the pattern A, B, B, A—which means lines one and four rhyme, and lines two and three rhyme. Additionally, each line is 8 syllables in length. These are just aspects I’ve noticed while reading his poetry. I don’t know if it consists of iambs, sorry. That being said, there are a lot more forms of poetry. One I’ve been toying with lately is A, A, A, A, which is a lot harder than it would seem, mostly because the style can feel forced and redundant. That being said, it certainly makes a person rack their brain more.

One of the popular poetry styles nowadays is a Free Verse poem. Free verse poetry typically is more…well, free form. It’s just line breaks. There’s no need to rhyme, or follow a pattern of syllables, and so on. While this can often be interesting, I don’t really like this type of poetry that much. I’ve used it before, and I have no doubt I’ll use it again, but it sometimes feels lazy to me. Maybe this is because I make deadlines for myself, and in doing that I have some inner expectation of what a “poem” should look like. That being said, one of my most “liked” poems, Stand Up Citizen uses this style.

A sonnet is one of the more difficult styles for me, mostly because iambic pentameter can be a bit hard for me sometimes (quick note: iambic pentameter means lines of 10 syllables, which alternate unstressed and stressed. I.E., I like to ride my bike—“I,” “to,” and “my” are all unstressed, where as “like,” “ride,” and “bike” all have more emphasis on them). A sonnet’s rhyme pattern is A, B, A, B, C, D, C, D, E, F, E, F, G, G. Of course, there are many, many, many ways to craft a poem, and it really should come from the heart a lot more often than forced. That being said, any time you write as often as I do, sometimes writing from the heart doesn’t come as easily.

Choosing a topic can often be difficult. I stray toward love poems quite often, but sometimes writing about internal frustrations, or other aspects of society are good as well. Take I’m Looking for My Friend, which another poem that people have received fairly well. It’s about other aspects of society besides romance. The key, I’ve found, is to find something you can cling to and ride it out until you feel good about it. Then reread it, clean it up, and see what people think.

Am I wrong? Do my ideas make sense? Let me know!

WINTER’S INNOCENCE

Dead. Dead. The leaves from autumn are all dead.

They crackle under the feet of people

Too busy to appreciate the red

Covering the trees of the cathedral.

 

A child, no taller than my own waist

Stopped to observe the breath of the world.

His wide eyes, flushed pink by the wind, were graced

By light distorted from clouds as they swirled.

 

A smile crossed his face, like the winter

Frost as it melts beneath the summer sun.

Then he heard his mother calling him, “Dinner”

And the cold set in, the moment was done.

 

But the boy could look back and remember

That beautiful red glow from December.

 

Hello everyone! This is a quick attempt at a sonnet. It’s pretty rough. But I’ve wanted to do a first sonnet for this blog and not had the time. So yeah. Let me know if you have any creative insights that would improve it! Have a great weekend!