Pleasure, Sonnet, Apostrophe

The music that enters my brain through my ears
Some soft, but some rough, but some smiles, but some tears
It keeps the dreadful silence at bay
And brings such pleasure when I hit play.

The soft songs slip a strain of sweetness in
The sacrament of song, getting under my skin
When the music is rough, it does have its power;
It dances and echoes, I forget the hour.

Sometimes when I smile, I reminisce
A melody reminds me of a sweet first kiss
But tears are different,and from something stronger

The songs that bring tears can be much longer.
Oh, notes, don’t desert me, your flats and your rests,
Stay with me and fulfill my requests.

Cold, Concrete Poem, Anaphora/Epistrophe

It’s the middle
Of the night
My toes are
Cold, so cold
I flipped the cover down
To cover them
Because they were
Cold, so cold
I tucked them in
In the pocket I made
But they were still
Cold, so cold
I twisted and turned
To warm them
But they were still
Cold, so cold

They never warmed
I can’t sleep in socks

Flavor, Elegy, Enumeratio

I tasted your lips once, that much I do know;
The kiss that took place a long, long time ago.

I smelled your sweet scent as you leaned to my face
And I forgot all of that cold, dark, hard place.

It was night, it was winter, I was young and alone,
But wherever you were was my one only home.

You tasted of sweat, and of smoke, and of lies
You lingered not long past our final goodbyes.

You left me alone and you left me afraid,
But there on my lips, your flavor stayed.

When I opened my eyes, post-kiss, you were gone,
And I felt that somehow, something had gone wrong.

I waited and waited for you to return
I waited so long, my heart started to churn.

I knew I had lost you; I knew it was done
I touched my own mouth, and in short, I was stunned.

Many long years passed; now, I remember you still
I close my old eyes, and I savor my fill.

Neighborhood, Ballad, Assonance

The night was dark, and bedtime nigh;
I made my rounds, put things in place,
And lo, a man came walking by.
He wore a hood to hide his face.

I paused a beat, unsure of him,
He tipped his head to look at me.
The measure of his face was grim,
And I saw blood upon his knee.

I yearned to know what he was after,
And so I asked him, quietly.
He sprayed the loudness of his laughter
Into the night, so riotly.

The windows lit up down the street
I heard steps stirring behind me.
My spouse came out, this man to greet,
Cats lined the window, up to see.

I looked around and saw them there–
The neighbors, concerned, keeping watch.
Some came outside to wait and stare.
Some, curtains twitched apart a notch.

So many eyes, and all on us,
But this man, he knew not, nor cared.
His laughter felt of cruel mistrust,
The cats still watched, but with teeth bared.

His cold, hard laughter petered out
And he pointed at my stockinged toes
He yelled, I know what you’re about!
He followed up with What are thooose?

Faces, Found Poetry, Chiasmus

the fact I can see you
soon enough I have a good idea
a very good and bad day a few years ago
a new song; one of them in my life

time is not a new song
until they fix it please
I can’t even see you
you are not a good fan of this

report on this album
you and your friends
do you think of it soon
a great little bit

my all to be you and you
I have to do that for you
so much better for days, than now
to be able to see, so bad

I don’t even know
or I could, would use up for weeks
I have one of them
I have to be able

this one has to be my life
for like that, if I had been
I could, will not let it
have it done; not in a day

Not as directly reflective of the assignment as I’m used to, but finally, I’ve found something to do with that predictive text.

Map, Ode, Metaphor

I remember when we met at first:
You lay easy on the rack; uncursed
Standing tall, proud, smooth, and glossy
The black wire rack near the self-serve coffee.

Remember when we left that town?
You were flat and smooth, your edges down.
The car was warm, the car was dry
And you and I, we learned to fly.

Your crinkling would break the silence
I’d fold you carefully, never with violence.
My finger traced tracks along your planes
And my love for cartography never wanes.

How far to Milwaukee? I’d ask, and you’d say:
Six hours and a quarter, if we go this way.
But detours were nice in their own sense of being,
I learned miles and the clock weren’t always so agreeing.

I miss you often; I long for you so–
I never imagined how soon you would go.
TomTom and Google, they just aren’t the same
We would travel forever; the road was a game.

An entire generation has grown up this way
Without real maps to guide them on the roads of today
I’m glad that we had an amazing experience
And traveled the highways, nearly no interference.

Writing 201: Poetry