Category: Poems about Poetry
-
On Reading (Sonnet)
There is a point when writing’s not enough. When quippy verses fade into a stew of diaries relating daily triumphs, nuisances, and other such banalities. But wherefore would I take the time to read those drippy ruminations of another listless poet, deep in their own misgivings and tired projections of losses and finalities? Unless, of…
-
Poems like Puberty
(a crude attempt at a follow-up to “Poems like Pixels”) Poems, like puberty present themselves when you’re least prepared, no pen in your hand, no pad in your ‘wear, and the rush to acquire such necessary items leads only to leakage, to the loss of what’s there. And who but a pubert or poet would…
-
Poems like Pixels
Poems, like pixels, all spread out and presenting a picture despite their partial, and perhaps complete, irrelevance. To be fixated on a particular pixel is to be missing the picture, mistaking a brick for the castle… Though put together with precision and care, it by itself is not all that is there nor was ever…
-
The Thing about Words (Triolet)
(Triolet – certain lines have to be repeated word-for-word in a specific order throughout the poem, changing only in punctuation.) My words can say anything I want, but the truth is that what I really think is bleeding through. And whether or not my words can say anything, I want to force them to do…
-
On Writing
To write defies our very nature, the little that we’ve left to lose– to think in dying words that never manifest, that echo once and suffocate before we ever had the chance to choose them. Solace lies in constant ambiguity, the freedom to have never been, and thus to feel at ease to take the…
-
Wonder
(continuation of “On Meaning”, really) So wonder, with me, if you dare, and disregard the waning references to small indifferences. As if we care. Remember phrases. Words, we hate you, slathered down like salt and rye… Wonder if, and if, then why, and is this only my interpretation? Slander thinkers at a loss to write,…
-
On Meaning
If by meaning, illustrating meant to disconnect and reconnect in scattered disentanglements, to juxtapose aesthetic senses, lost and found inside bejumbled sentences — And then if meaning, ever once intended, rendered beauty thus pretended, and to circumvent would only serve to further muddle meanings as of yet befuddled by the very feelings meant to silence…
-
Diction
Poetry dost not alone to courtly kings, nobility, and gentlemen belong; but lends itself to be degraded, diction chosen like the scrap the peasant scribbles on. Knights and fools together, and with teenagers enjambed. Typing sonnet as a song; like olden days, in summer shade, with paper, pen, and phone– for lists of careful words…
-
Lost for Words
Words are not the perfect friends they used to be When I need them– They’re empty Meaningless paraphrasings Of better things I’ve said, at times I cared much less.
-
Structure (Sestina)
(Sestina – a VERY restrictive form in which the last word of each line in each stanza has to be repeated (in some form) in this exact pattern, and then all appear again in a final triplet. Also it’s supposed to be in iambic pentameter.) Structure is the kindle for the fire of everything that takes…