There will be some poems here. Comment and, hopefully, enjoy!
12/21/2011 - Sestina for a Canoer
This is something I wrote about a year ago. Since I wrote it I have drastically changed it. Certainly, this is a completely different poem than what it was when I first wrote it. I still change it. It may be different another year from now.
Trees and wildlife reflect in the water;
Glistening and shining, wobbling in the waves
Made from a canoe that glides by, floating.
Silently the water spreads and ripples
As a lone man gently dips his paddle
In to the cold and ancient lake's body.
He looks down and gets lost in the ripples.
He sees the reflection of his body;
A new and different world in the water
Which he pokes at with his hand-made paddle,
Further distorting the world in the waves,
Sinking a fallen leaf nearby, floating.
He looks out at the expansive body
And thinks about a lost life in the waves.
A reflected world mirrored by water,
So easily disturbed by his paddle
And the canoe that is softly floating,
Causing the array of lively ripples.
Suddenly he becomes tired floating,
And with a few strong strokes of his paddle
Moves quick and swift across the large body,
Creating powerful, momentous waves
Which turn into the tiniest ripples,
Evening down into flat and calm water.
Now that the wind had died there were few waves
Visable on the lake's massive body.
Using great strength he managed to paddle,
A master of his craft, like air, floating
Across the large display of still water.
All that is left are the canoe's ripples.
He reaches shore, where he throws his paddle;
He steps out, leaving the canoe floating.
Alone, bobbing, it makes tiny ripples
Flattened by the shore's reverberated waves.
He lifts the canoe out of the water;
Finally, some time to rest his body.
His paddle rests, his thoughts ease, dreams floating,
But not of waves or any small ripples.
Beside still water a resting body.
12/15/2011 - Retribution
I got a little drunk one night, and this is what came of it. I guess I was thinking of how people end up going to hell...and then this came to me. I've been playing with it ever since I first wrote it, and I happy enough with it now that I can comfortably make it a first post. It's definitely more sinister than most of my other writing.
When I come there will be no cricks in the night,
The smell of the burnt will stick in your mind;
Those goosebumps of fear aren't only the cold,
So pull up your blanket and shut your eyes.
Clench your fists together, oh! so tight!
If you open your eyes you know you'll find
Me above you, grasping at your soul
While you can only lay still and call cries-
I have come to put you where you belong;
Worse than behind steel bars and cold stone,
Through the flame-licked torments of Hell,
Past the halls of the tortured-man's land
To a secluded spot to sit with your wrong;
Desolate wandering and forever alone.
And I will sit back and laugh, knowing full well;
I am your master, the King of the Damned.