so, i was looking through my school notebook from earlier this semester, and i found this piece that i had written in my Classic English Literature class. a great course, awesome Professor and we read a lot of John Wilmot, one of my favorite English poets, as well as Alexander Pope and Jonathan Swift, two of my favorite critics; so it was a chance for me to indulge.
it is always an inspiring reminder of the authenticity of poetry to see rhyming verse that is (the furthest from) corny and lame.
if you've never read any of these guys (many have probably heard of, read, or watched one of the movies based on Swift's Gulliver's Travels), i would beg you to do so; they are worth the time, i promise.
this piece is half structured. it started with an arbitrary rhyme pattern, but changed in the third stanza to just repeating the first letter of the last two words of the previous stanza; but what follows the third stanza (this assuming any of them can be referred to by such nomenclature, Walter*) lacks any of the previous frameworks, so...
i tried. i did. but sometimes my hands and my brain and the other parts of my brain don't do the best with consistency.
give me a break.
who said progression?
told and known
i remove all remnants of the glimmering,
old crown
that muffled my voice with echoes of
gold-plated language
that will not shine like a star nor
stir-up fresh damage; no--
an adornment now splintered
leaves each piece to trace the face onto
the outline of a dead noun
denying a likeness to adjectives
i've become unwittingly tense--i wait
searching my closed eyelids for signs of a fable
a story to keep warm and with me
while i try to sleep--but can't--
words i can repeat on daunting walks,
wanting only to not sing flat
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