Some Poetry... :)

As finals are rolling along I thought I would post some of the poetry I've composed this semester as a testament to my months of introspection and, hopefully, for your enjoyment during these rough, hectic weeks of studying! I've shared a variety of modeled poems (from sonnets to aubades), some romantic, others comedic. Ezra Pond said "Read seeds, not twigs." I hope that these pieces I've written serve as metaphoric seeds for you to initiate contemplation and self-exploration. Another poet's words to consider as you read are those of the famous Wordsworth who, wouldn't you know it, had a way with words! (Please pardon the pun :P) He defined poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotion recollected in tranquility." Another hope of mine is that these next few weeks of finals are indeed tranquil and not too stressful for you!

O’Clock

O, Sovereign Clock, we to thy chimes arise

With queries thick’ning our sleep-heavy tongues:

Where go lost spans of time—sweet subtleties

As minutes, hours, days breathe from our lungs?

Do seconds venture to a space obscured—

Beneath lush, chartreuse canopies of leaves?

Or to neglect-scarred rooms is past time lured,

A sepulcher to which bygones do cleave

Thy poker face of porcelain beguiles,

Concealing where the present’s fast cajoled:

To music staffs where rhythms reconcile?

Each syncopated note beats uncontrolled!

Though veiled slyly, no tick rests in peace—

Each settles steep in mem’ry, ne’er to cease.

The Sun Risen

Foolhardy soul to chide me so

You err with airs;

Thy lascivious virtue ne’er compares

To the primrose gold that tints my tableaus

Cloudy clod thou baffle me—

Egoistically likening thy mind

To the rank of a Heavn’ly deity:

Hast thee been cast adrift by some trade wind?

For thou underestimate my love’s power;

On it your praise and respect should shower

In truth, thou lauded my keen, brawny beams

Art thou jealous?

For thy contentions seem overzealous—

Thy bed: the “Copernican centre?”[1] So extreme!

Mine eyes are not blinded, leverage not curbed

Even as I wane, my brill’iance persists—

My paint palette shifts, but I’m no more perturbed

(Lackluster you claim; legacy mere gist?

I smile on you ruefully, vile withal).

A mother of pearl sheen coats the Great Falls

I know what I am and what I am not

And the nothing[2] that thou art!

If states and princes ye be, royalty I’m part;

Prepared to conquer any Gordian knot.[3]

Indeed I warm the world: amber and fierce

My gaze accentuates your slumber grand

Mountaintops and canopies I too pierce

And I take pride in the distance spanned

Thy sphere is my own and thou art but part

Of my domain in which dwells thy servile heart

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[1] Copernicus was a Polish astronomer who proposed a model of the solar system in which the planets orbit in perfect circles around the sun.

[2] “Nothing” alludes to the 21^st line of Donne’s poem in which the speaker claims that nothing beside he and his paramour exist in the world.

[3] an intricate knot tied by Gordius, the king of Phrygia, and cut by the sword of Alexander the Great after he heard that whoever undid it would become ruler of Asia; any very difficult problem that is insoluble in its own terms

 

 

Fed Up With Concession Stands: Memoirs of Motion Picture Magnificence

Resplendent velveteen of blushing red

A stately throne from whence critics pronounce:

“A humbling plot,” “Director’s in great stead!”

All poor reviews and comments they’d renounce

Is Regal entertainment not its name,

Its legacy fallaciously imbued?

No more am I seat for fresh acclaim

But withering—in pools of Sprite I’m sloughed!

My golden seams do burst with bloated stress

As crunching, clapping, slurping permeate

My cushion’s globbed with Sno-caps!—I digress,

Is this indeed the fate I must await?

The culture industry’s to blame, I swear!

For unseating me to “casual affair.”

Perfection (I)

A world unabashed—Pandora’s sealed box

Before curiosity intervened,

A frosted cake tier pearled with pink fondant,

Sliced, syrupy apples languishing in a flaky crust,

A baby’s slight, milky fist curled around a parent pinky,

The breath of a misting fan on a steamy summer day at the zoo,

A car trip devoid of the incessant “Are we there yet?”

A graduate’s smile captured in a frame,

A thornless garden of dew-laden blossoms—

Swaying as wind whistles, glistening as heaven smiles,

The blessing of adoption to a family unable to conceive,

A picnic unperturbed by the arrival of crumb-craving ants,

The sea foam veneer on a spiraled nautilus shell,

An unexpected yes from a love yet unrequited; attainable  

Perfection (II)

Pandora’s sealed box, scintillating

Before deep curiosity befell

Unleashing demons of corruption, sin,

Hope itself just retained, nearly quelled.

A gymnast acrobatically entwined,

Competition taut as she dismounts:

An unremitting battle with the scale,

 “Lighten and prevail”—her coach recounts;

A workaholic reeling for success

A caffeinated sleepwalker: entranced

He yearns not for his wife’s caress, and worse,

Neglects his toddler for métier financed;

A soldier, seeking homecoming at last

His uniform unable to disguise

Reality: he’ll leave as he returned

Boot steps ling’ring longer than his eyes…

Immobilizing motivation sought

At any cost: perfection is hardbought.

Autumnal Tree

Autumnal tree, festooned in auburn garb—

Sienna branches draped in patterns rich,

Leaves faintly clasped, no need for Rose’s barb

And with sweet dew each crispy blade is stitched

Reverberating with wind’s whistling hymn

As through bark hollows notes are whispered brief

Thy leaflets sway in cadence on each limb

Raindrops descend, seas’nal aperitifs

Ye grace our lawns costumed in russet, gold,

Accessorized in gauzy, umber slips

Thou manifest what wild Zephyr[1] foretold

As nakedness becomes your fingertips

Yet thou ensemble is but transient

To summer, winter, spring—not ambient

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[1] The West wind, esp. as personified as the god of the West wind