Poetry!
So for English class, I had to write five original poems inspired by romanticism. So here's what I came up with. Also, feel free to share any poetry you've come up with as well! I've found my favorite meter is iambic tetrameter so far, it seems to be the easiest. But without further delay here you go!
Curtains
My window always closed from snowy bliss,
The curtains drawn together- shielding from
An unknown beauty waiting for her kiss. *
I hardly realized Lady Winter's thumb
That worked along my frigid window pane.
But ah! How could I even see her there?
Those blasted curtains rendered her plain,
As only shadows flick with timid care.
Just once I'd like to cut the winding chords
Attached to my computer screen that glows;
And break away, from mindless sheltered hoards
Whose monstrous influence but grows and grows.
Some say the age of info comes with us-
But curtains still cannot shut out the fuss.
Reaper of Spades
Each card you play, should be played slow,
The nine of hearts, and king of clubs
Are nothing special to my hand.
For in that deck there's cards I know;
That help me in my life when played.
The Reaper dressed in robes of Spades
Is not a well-known card per se.
Arriving quickly; eyes of jade.
Of course the lady's hard to see,
Among the other Queens and Jacks.
A Deck that's Stacked will prove a jail
For such a Reaper begging to be
Set free from being chained alone.
Un-stacking proves a challenge, yes,
A task that I have pledged to try,
And will succeed if I'm not stone.
A royal flush, an ace of spades,
Before my eyes they dance around,
They taunt me, saying "Where's your card?",
My card's been found, my nightmare fades.
For never was a man torn up
So much about a game of cards;
Perhaps there's more than meets the eye.
To rest, I find my withered cup.
To beat the Dealer- that's my goal,
Whose wicked cheating dooms us all.
If you have fives then he has eights,
His gaze will seep unto your soul.
But look! I've drawn my Reaper now,
She never fails when needed most.
A deal most grand I made with her,
And now she does deserve a bow.
A House Divided
Lincoln said it clearly,
Houses can't be broken
If they wish to flourish.
Many decades prior,
Nature was my dwelling.
Home; it's all I wanted.
Home; not much to ask for.
Home; there's no place like it.
Wood was what I made my
Humble abode from.
Still it was not plank-made,
Trunks were left to nurture
Feelings most would not have
Wanted: Gone, Removed from
People's gaze; so blinding.
Home; it's all I wanted.
Littered on the country,
Growing like a tumor;
Home? I disagree- to
Call these homes is madness.
Painted from a cookie
Cutter lying soulless;
Broken houses sit there
Home; not much to ask for.
Woods left naked always
Give a warmth unsightly;
Hoping to survive the
Onslaught mankind brings here.
Longing woods want longing
Boys; the two are made for
Meeting. Never lonely.
Home; there's no place like it.
The Two Suitors
They say a salesman makes his pay
By cheating; lying through their teeth.
Alone I sat that very day;
They knocked upon my ornate wreath.
I opened the door and there they stood,
A man of white, a man of black;
They stood up straight like most men should.
Between the two I saw a sack.
"Please call me Joe" the white man said,
"And I am Mike", the other chimed.
I let them in, to my homestead,
Their visit did not seem ill-timed.
"Good day to you, my pleasant sir,
We both have brought some goods for you!"
And so the sack began to stir!
And when it did the men stirred too;
They grinned and watched the brush come out.
An artist's brush it seemed to me,
It danced so gay up round and 'bout.
"This brush is yours for one small fee..."
I asked the man what that fee cost,
He told me that I'd have to wait
For Mike, or else I would get lost.
He said "just wait and see, good mate!"
"The brush is not the only thing!"
Said Mike; he looked filled up with glee.
He grabbed the sack, began to sing,
"I have to sing, that is the key!"
And from the sack he pulled a lyre,
Which sprang to life just as the brush.
It galloped up without retire.
"This lyre here makes children hush!"
I must admit he did not lie;
The music filled the room with joy;
It brought a tear straight to my eye.
The brush and lyre did not annoy!
"But here's the catch; you must pick one!"
The men, they sat to hear my choice.
"For sure they both must cost a ton!"
They both got close and hushed their voice,
"The cost is giving up the brush".
"For sure", said I, "I'll take the lyre!"
The brush jumped in the sack so lush,
The music never seemed to tire.
I said goodbye to Mike and Joe,
And showed them back outside the door.
This all seemed to be long ago,
I could not love my music more.
Mother
My mother makes no judgment false,
We're all alike; the same to her.
She's silent often; noisy not.
The birds are how she lets us know
That she is still around us all.
Then why do we forget she's here?
The siblings fight in front of her!
They stain her dress of earthy green,
Her shoes of luscious golden brown.
The rest of us just stand and watch.
I never did quite understand
My brothers' fights or why they do.
It can't be Her, she's there to help!
But who can blame her when she does
Remind us with an icy storm,
That she can still throw us around.
Our Father is another shame,
He left our mother all alone.
Us kids we doubt he ever was,
For who could leave a dame to fend
Against her children all the time?
So cruel a man I could not see.
And in the End I hope we learn
just who to trust and who to blame;
For Mother's death that will come soon.
It started many years ago
I start to think it's too late now.
The vultures fly around her head,
But I do not give up on her!
Come on, let's work as one, to cure
Mother.
Curtains
My window always closed from snowy bliss,
The curtains drawn together- shielding from
An unknown beauty waiting for her kiss. *
I hardly realized Lady Winter's thumb
That worked along my frigid window pane.
But ah! How could I even see her there?
Those blasted curtains rendered her plain,
As only shadows flick with timid care.
Just once I'd like to cut the winding chords
Attached to my computer screen that glows;
And break away, from mindless sheltered hoards
Whose monstrous influence but grows and grows.
Some say the age of info comes with us-
But curtains still cannot shut out the fuss.
Reaper of Spades
Each card you play, should be played slow,
The nine of hearts, and king of clubs
Are nothing special to my hand.
For in that deck there's cards I know;
That help me in my life when played.
The Reaper dressed in robes of Spades
Is not a well-known card per se.
Arriving quickly; eyes of jade.
Of course the lady's hard to see,
Among the other Queens and Jacks.
A Deck that's Stacked will prove a jail
For such a Reaper begging to be
Set free from being chained alone.
Un-stacking proves a challenge, yes,
A task that I have pledged to try,
And will succeed if I'm not stone.
A royal flush, an ace of spades,
Before my eyes they dance around,
They taunt me, saying "Where's your card?",
My card's been found, my nightmare fades.
For never was a man torn up
So much about a game of cards;
Perhaps there's more than meets the eye.
To rest, I find my withered cup.
To beat the Dealer- that's my goal,
Whose wicked cheating dooms us all.
If you have fives then he has eights,
His gaze will seep unto your soul.
But look! I've drawn my Reaper now,
She never fails when needed most.
A deal most grand I made with her,
And now she does deserve a bow.
A House Divided
Lincoln said it clearly,
Houses can't be broken
If they wish to flourish.
Many decades prior,
Nature was my dwelling.
Home; it's all I wanted.
Home; not much to ask for.
Home; there's no place like it.
Wood was what I made my
Humble abode from.
Still it was not plank-made,
Trunks were left to nurture
Feelings most would not have
Wanted: Gone, Removed from
People's gaze; so blinding.
Home; it's all I wanted.
Littered on the country,
Growing like a tumor;
Home? I disagree- to
Call these homes is madness.
Painted from a cookie
Cutter lying soulless;
Broken houses sit there
Home; not much to ask for.
Woods left naked always
Give a warmth unsightly;
Hoping to survive the
Onslaught mankind brings here.
Longing woods want longing
Boys; the two are made for
Meeting. Never lonely.
Home; there's no place like it.
The Two Suitors
They say a salesman makes his pay
By cheating; lying through their teeth.
Alone I sat that very day;
They knocked upon my ornate wreath.
I opened the door and there they stood,
A man of white, a man of black;
They stood up straight like most men should.
Between the two I saw a sack.
"Please call me Joe" the white man said,
"And I am Mike", the other chimed.
I let them in, to my homestead,
Their visit did not seem ill-timed.
"Good day to you, my pleasant sir,
We both have brought some goods for you!"
And so the sack began to stir!
And when it did the men stirred too;
They grinned and watched the brush come out.
An artist's brush it seemed to me,
It danced so gay up round and 'bout.
"This brush is yours for one small fee..."
I asked the man what that fee cost,
He told me that I'd have to wait
For Mike, or else I would get lost.
He said "just wait and see, good mate!"
"The brush is not the only thing!"
Said Mike; he looked filled up with glee.
He grabbed the sack, began to sing,
"I have to sing, that is the key!"
And from the sack he pulled a lyre,
Which sprang to life just as the brush.
It galloped up without retire.
"This lyre here makes children hush!"
I must admit he did not lie;
The music filled the room with joy;
It brought a tear straight to my eye.
The brush and lyre did not annoy!
"But here's the catch; you must pick one!"
The men, they sat to hear my choice.
"For sure they both must cost a ton!"
They both got close and hushed their voice,
"The cost is giving up the brush".
"For sure", said I, "I'll take the lyre!"
The brush jumped in the sack so lush,
The music never seemed to tire.
I said goodbye to Mike and Joe,
And showed them back outside the door.
This all seemed to be long ago,
I could not love my music more.
Mother
My mother makes no judgment false,
We're all alike; the same to her.
She's silent often; noisy not.
The birds are how she lets us know
That she is still around us all.
Then why do we forget she's here?
The siblings fight in front of her!
They stain her dress of earthy green,
Her shoes of luscious golden brown.
The rest of us just stand and watch.
I never did quite understand
My brothers' fights or why they do.
It can't be Her, she's there to help!
But who can blame her when she does
Remind us with an icy storm,
That she can still throw us around.
Our Father is another shame,
He left our mother all alone.
Us kids we doubt he ever was,
For who could leave a dame to fend
Against her children all the time?
So cruel a man I could not see.
And in the End I hope we learn
just who to trust and who to blame;
For Mother's death that will come soon.
It started many years ago
I start to think it's too late now.
The vultures fly around her head,
But I do not give up on her!
Come on, let's work as one, to cure
Mother.
Comments
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
I do not write poetry.
Oh shit I just did."