Tag Archives: poet

Bloodied

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“Poetry is

an abstraction

bloodied.”

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~ Wallace Stevens

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More from Reading, PA’s own.

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Elfje: (also known as a Cinquain)

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right

no left

a purposeful distraction

only the artist knows

abstraction

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Haiku:

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a high temperature

seasons begin to collide

freezing tomorrow

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Poem:

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not a corpuscle to be seen

her face turned ashen and then she swooned

detectives would not scour the scene

for them it was just another full mooned

she was only the lovers go between

everyone told her the tryst was doomed

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parents disapproved the high school sweet hearts

the self centered stud seeking his own desires

she was the enabler suffering by fits and starts

he used her by pulling her puppet wires

the delusions of love they fashioned into arts

their passions never consumed by the same fires

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his conquests were often and many

she always stood by turning a blind eye

she knew the times and the names were plenty

her dreams were always pie in the sky

her best friend would not submit, would she help any

she would do anything for him, she let out a sigh

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that fateful night as on the silver screen

she walked to that dark place were all assumed

she was only the lovers go between

everyone told her the tryst was doomed.

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ME and the Boss

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Never Equal

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Poetry is an orphan

of silence.

The words never quite

equal the experience

behind them.

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Charles Simic

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Elfje:

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silence

inadequate words

poets can’t explain

been there done that

experience

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Haiku:

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can’t express my thoughts

experience the teacher

at a loss for words

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POEM:

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He said you’ll love  the experience

can’t find the words to describe it

he was know as a grandiose hypocrite

who feigned that he lived in luxuriance

women feared he possessed prurience

his objective was to never commit

to enter his heart he gave no permit

his demeanor put on a smug indifference

 

her beauty would turn every head

the deportment was poised and polished

many a man she spiritually demolished

two opposites  that would eventually wed

it was what the family could accomplish

because, would you believe that they were amish

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having fun with the sonnet format,

he poem took on a life of t’s own,

even I am surprised.

ME

and the Boss

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..

 

slinking around being mysterious

his actions hinted of the nefarious