I've been working a little on a poetry journal lately, and I thought I'd share some of them today—the ones that fit under the broad theme of reading and writing. I can never come up with titles, so I'll just use dates to differentiate them. Enjoy!
4/28/17
A book takes you
transports you
makes you forget
about the choices you've made
the things you regret
A book shows you
leads you
to a faraway land
so don't close the back cover
'til it's real in your hand
6/6/17
If your poetry has no rhythm and rhyme
I'm sorry, but it is a waste of my time
If your poetry is any form of "abstract"
I'm sorry, but it is really quite sad
Poetry without rhyme is as if you took
Ten words from a newspaper and called it a book
Poetry without rhythm is like those "artists" that paint
A single dot on a canvas and think they're some saint
All of the poems oh-so-highly regarded
That could have been written in a kindergarten
All of the poems critics call "works of art"
Might as well be humans sans bones and a heart
6/10/17
A sonnet is composed of fourteen lines
Contained within each one five brief iambs
But how am I to tell you in these lines
Enough detail that you know who I am?
I have already wasted four of them
And I still have no clue how to begin
By now I've used another three, so then
I'll have to find some way to fit stuff in
With eight lines down the drain I'm getting scared
(You'll find I'm usually a bit afraid)
(Though friends tell me that I'm always prepared)
(However, for this poem, I've lost faith)
I've reached a dull penultimatum here
Suppose I should just end it now. Oh, dear...
8/30/17
There once was a comma named Oxford
She made sentences far less awkward
When writing a list
Before "and" she sits
But many poor writers forgot her!
4/28/17
A book takes you
transports you
makes you forget
about the choices you've made
the things you regret
A book shows you
leads you
to a faraway land
so don't close the back cover
'til it's real in your hand
6/6/17
If your poetry has no rhythm and rhyme
I'm sorry, but it is a waste of my time
If your poetry is any form of "abstract"
I'm sorry, but it is really quite sad
Poetry without rhyme is as if you took
Ten words from a newspaper and called it a book
Poetry without rhythm is like those "artists" that paint
A single dot on a canvas and think they're some saint
All of the poems oh-so-highly regarded
That could have been written in a kindergarten
All of the poems critics call "works of art"
Might as well be humans sans bones and a heart
6/10/17
A sonnet is composed of fourteen lines
Contained within each one five brief iambs
But how am I to tell you in these lines
Enough detail that you know who I am?
I have already wasted four of them
And I still have no clue how to begin
By now I've used another three, so then
I'll have to find some way to fit stuff in
With eight lines down the drain I'm getting scared
(You'll find I'm usually a bit afraid)
(Though friends tell me that I'm always prepared)
(However, for this poem, I've lost faith)
I've reached a dull penultimatum here
Suppose I should just end it now. Oh, dear...
8/30/17
There once was a comma named Oxford
She made sentences far less awkward
When writing a list
Before "and" she sits
But many poor writers forgot her!
