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Knit one and purl two…
I repeat the mantra
in hopes of changing the simple yarn
into the intricately woven epic.
I add words of varying weight,
loop after loop of texture
in a frustrated attempt to produce brilliance,
yielding what can only be described as an ugly rug.
Just once I would love to create something pure,
to hear the precious sound of iambic feet
pitter-patter across my desk,
and watch with pride as the stanzas grow stronger.
I long to hold a newborn trochee in my arms,
nuzzle it and recognize its scent as my own.
But for now, I am left with this boring yarn,
a lump of anecdote pooled at my feet.
Perhaps I shall take up painting instead.
just mercedes
Unregistered
I like the extended metaphor - and love to see a man knitting! 'newborn trochee' is great.
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Well done CJ. Enjoyed it from start to finish. No knits here.
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First, I love this, the sweet little trochee and loving pitter patter. I'm more confident in your capability than my own, but I can't resist a word of warning.
Be Careful What You Wish For
They said I had an inborn knack
for natural rhythm with some rhyme;
I might be slightly less the hack
if I would spend a bit more time
to learn the tricks of metered form.
"You'll be a whiz." they slyly said,
"With practice it becomes the norm."
Now all's iambic in my head
but metaphor has flown the coop,
my sonics take a second seat
to meter's steady rise and swoop;
I blather to a brutal beat
knee-deep in my iambic trash,
my own poetic burn and crash.
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips
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well, since we are on a theme - not new but made me think of it:
Knitting
She stiches three knots straight then one that's purled
while looking straight at me, she gathers slack,
"You know what's wrong today? The whole world
staring at their phones!" My needle's knurled
ends blister thumbs. And though my skills may lack
she stitches three knots straight. Then one that's purled
then, "watch your edge!" as if her skill had burled
my side. I sigh. "I'm really just a hack
you know. What's wrong?" "Today, the whole world."
I look away to find a skein that's furled
down at my feet then change the yarn to black -
she stitches three knots straight then one that's purled,
but then her hands knot up her face is curled
as she undoes a perfect stitch and then a pack,
you know what's wrong. Today the whole world.
A thread of white like tears in milk, it's swirled,
"he's left before, you know that he'll come back."
She stitches three knots straight then one that's purled.
You know what's wrong today - the whole world.
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mercedes: thanks. i knit with what are supposed to be opposable thumbs but some days i wonder...
tiger: you cheeky cheeky cat...thanks!
ella: HA! love it, thanks for the cool reply.
milo: that is simply brill. you slay me.
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Presto Agitato
The tempest when it breaks free of the swells
held to the edge of sky by unseen hands:
a cavalry’s hard ride on hoof-beat lands
to oceans where winds cry a song of whales
and steer a floating mountain by the sails,
stiff rudder, and a grecian god’s commands -
from sea back up a river to the sands
of a dark desert swamped in fish entrails.
The sky is filled with battleships that fly -
drop lightning, rain, and thunder from a height
the moon can’t claim - and yet a thrush’s cry,
when it fights its way across the night,
echoes a stillness where no apathy
can live. Not one will pass without a fright.
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CEEJ.
Simply adore it. Keep your yarn tight. (that's why it turned out to be a rug)
Ella,
you are hilarious.
Milo,
you scare/scar me with your brilliance.
True: wow...loved it. the title and the image of "a dark desert swamped with fish entrails."
which I might steal. (well, no, my stupid moral code gets in the way) F YOU MORALITY!!!
love you all. Made my morning when I was so ill.
melicious the vicious.
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enjoyed all the poetry so far,
bena; get well soon
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(08-27-2014, 02:07 PM)trueenigma Wrote: Presto Agitato
The tempest when it breaks free of the swells
held to the edge of sky by unseen hands:
a cavalry’s hard ride on hoof-beat lands
to oceans where winds cry a song of whales
and steer a floating mountain by the sails,
stiff rudder, and a grecian god’s commands -
from sea back up a river to the sands
of a dark desert swamped in fish entrails.
The sky is filled with battleships that fly -
drop lightning, rain, and thunder from a height
the moon can’t claim - and yet a thrush’s cry,
when it fights its way across the night,
echoes a stillness where no apathy
can live. Not one will pass without a fright.
beautiful!
(08-27-2014, 04:21 PM)bena Wrote: CEEJ.
Simply adore it. Keep your yarn tight. (that's why it turned out to be a rug)
Ella,
you are hilarious.
Milo,
you scare/scar me with your brilliance.
True: wow...loved it. the title and the image of "a dark desert swamped with fish entrails."
which I might steal. (well, no, my stupid moral code gets in the way) F YOU MORALITY!!!
love you all. Made my morning when I was so ill.
melicious the vicious.
awww hope you're well soon. take care of you, Melificent!
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You guys give good thread.
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better than getting kicked in the face by a baby ghazal...
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