[x]

sonnet confessionalnear four decades past, when i was a boy,
i began to hear muse's siren song.
though into the word sea i plunged head-long,
strange fish swam there which i strove to avoid;
fam'lies and orders of classical styles,
each rigid and gaunt in its carapace,
offered challenges i refused to face.
shut of them, i blazed my trail through the wild.
my grim refusals have mellowed with time,
though about writing i am still manic.
when both meter and rhyme are drawn in fine,
the process for me is still galvanic;
even when the structure is crystalline,
to me poetry remains organic.

poet's supplicationinspiration finds me,
i must find it's sense.
i must echo creation true,
i cannot wallow in pretense.
i'm damned with a bard's soul:
equal parts mute and deaf.
know and so negate my taint;
the message is what's left.

The Spider That Ate Cleveland     Steve and Lucy lived in a suburb of Cleveland and liked it very much.

     Steve liked sitting on the porch every Saturday evening, drinking beer and looking at his neighbors' houses, identical to his, dreaming about ways to make his house different.
     Lucy liked spending weekday afternoons watching soap operas on TV, dreaming about ways to spend her afternoons like the people did on TV.
     Steve liked going to work in Cleveland on weekdays, not so much for his job but for the drive, during which he dreamt about other places the fr

Mirage Redux
     It's the Summer Powwow, and I feel like a little kid let loose in a toy store.

     Other women put silverwork, beaded belts and more in booths that circle the empty dance area.
     Under canvas-rigged shade, chairs are saved for Indian elders.

     My chair's in full sun, but I don't care.
     I prepared for that with sunblock. It's hot and though I'm kind-of Cheyenne, it's a very small part. The outside of me is quite fair, though in the winter my hair is dark. I'd be sunburnt in seconds sinc

Silvergoldto flow is to last
to outlast
to have found
ever-seeking

fluidity of enchantment
liquid dream
awake, I touch you
aglow

tidal priestess
of ripples and magic
bound to everflow;

I know what forever
tastes like.

all rights reserved ©

First BreakThis poem isn't written by me. It's by a person close to me...

long slide down
velvet green harsh
flourescent light coned
cut by vague smoke
damp whiskey sweat
loitering on skin
in lungs
woodshaft smooth between
fingers       chalk
turning it sleek
aftershocks of contact
reverbing into hands
      leaning back
below growing
howling black clad
chopped down Hogs
honky tonk laughter
the occasional
       "how long you been out"

CLACK
roll bump fall twist
slow final lay
solid down      cue
on t

dithering druthersto peer into the wishing well:
will my will fate's forces quell?
or am i jailed in karma's cell?
oh, who can tell? oh, who can tell?

and if my tithe i to it cede
do i now practice faith or greed?
what is the outcome of this deed?
what to believe...what to believe...

we let our worries gowe let them go
on the neck of fall,
because they worried us -
shaken cans on fishing lines
over streams gone hoarse from summer -
instead, we took up a pelt of
hands,
black and ochre,
and blue,
from crawling the caterpillar husks
of drains,
finding a city of water skin echoes,
a handbag of skies
ready to be kicked open -
and in the sound
of leaves crunching
we let them go,
clipped our hopes
to a jacket of skyscrapers
flinging their arms back
and waited for a comb of bees
to swarm up into a smile

in the church of the blind the one-eyed are saintsthe multiverse before me spreads.
on this vast strand of cosmic threads
my soul now stands in joy and dread.
lost and found in goddess' hands;
on this vast strand my soul now stands.

by ignorance i am struck dumb.
i, insensate (deaf, blind and numb),
must contemplate; the myst'ries plumb.
as is and is not variegate
i, insensate, must contemplate.

Sonnet to a FatherSonnet to a Father

Fifty summers could not soften your face,
Nor the bitter frost of winter break it.
For deep in your eyes an eternal grace
Churns slowly, though it is lost I'll admit.
Impossible for any man to see,
You will hide it from us all forever.
Seeking the cold comfort of a banshee,
Instead of your family; however,
Because of your distance, hatred and lies,
I've grown as a person, stronger inside.
Hope and devotion shine bright from my eyes,
And from conflict I'll never have to hide.
For you were my Father only in name.
Without you to hate, I'd not be the same.

Caught in Battle     Lately I've been doing a lot of not sleeping at night. That is to say, I fall asleep fine, but about one in the morning the dreams turn to thoughts and I'm not at all asleep anymore. I just lie there, thinking too much to even close my eyes. My eyes feel bad in the red mornings, after staring in the dark so long each night, so tonight I light the oil lamp and sit up.

     I might as well write what was requested by a friend a few days ago, at dinner together.
     I find it doesn't kill dream memories, though.

     At that dinner, my f

Off TopicIt takes twelve minutes
to assemble sixteen desks
in a perfect circle.
Or as perfect as I can get it.

Then it takes another hour
for the first stragglers to wander in, seating themselves.
The professor always arrives seven
minutes before class begins.

He sits on the left side
while discourse flows easily among
the discordant voices.
The exchange rate on ideas
is ten seconds of silence for a halting opinion,
unsure of itself,
but backed up with a quoted passage
from page one twenty-three, read aloud then cut off -
contradicted by a second opinion.

The first voice breathes easy;
the spotlight eyes are elsewhere.

In the

MadnessI wear hot pink panties
on the outside of my clothes
just to provoke the joke
of the conformity that I love
to grotesquely and so beautifully oppose

I shave my legs
in a pitch black room
and play connect-the-dots
with my nicks and cuts
to pass the unending hours of noon

I spend eons in silence
listening to my own thoughts
then rattle off and expunge my poetry
to equate some meaningless meaning
so that it wasn't all for naught

I am madness in motion, senseless and sensual
a carnal need of squirming desires and trials
a prickly flower that blooms in hot pink panties
in a pitch black room, crystal quiet
where no one notices th

Sonnet SixAbove, the canvas of the sky is blank.
Underneath my feet, the leaves scatter
To the sides of the road in panic frank;
Uncertain of the brewing storm splatter.

My eyes cast upwards as the sky growls;
Now, I can feel the tension in the sky.
Rumbles echo behind, the sky howls;
Allowing me a chance, at last, to cry.

In the deluge you won't see me tears fall;
No soul can notice once in autumn thrall.

ConsumeI feel the weight
of your words,
or lack thereof,
crushing my
every thought,
devouring every
moment of joy.

-Brian Shuffett
July 25th, 2010

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form finds its function

by =deinktvis, Feb 29, 2012, 3:26:35 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

form finds its function in a poet's pen;
thought can flow freely regardless of rules.
rhythm and rhyme: merely means to an end;
practice makes perfect when testing new tools.
restriction's reins evoke evolution,
but watch begetting maudlin mutations;
losing thought's thread can cause convolutions,
winding one up with erased elation.
the tracing of a poet's trail is laced with triumphs and travails.

form finds its functionby =deinktvis

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

©2012-2013 =deinktvis

20.2.12

a sonnet petit [link] written for

's 'sonnet petit challenge' [link] .

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

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~Liedy Mar 7, 2012

I've never liked meta-poetry but this one was actually quite good

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=deinktvis Mar 7, 2012 Student Writer

then be careful in my gallery, it is strewn EVERYWHERE! and thanks!

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~InTheStarryNightSky Mar 1, 2012

A lovely piece. Wonderful job.

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=deinktvis Mar 2, 2012 Student Writer

thankses

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~InTheStarryNightSky Mar 2, 2012

You're welcome.

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~VicariouSoul Mar 1, 2012 Professional Writer

For what it is, it doesn't sound too bad, but I felt like the flow was
a little lacking because certain words/lines seem like they're forced.
Writing a Sonnet is no easy feat as it is, but work on your flow.

That said, I have accepted this into the Group

Thank You for sharing your words!

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=deinktvis Mar 1, 2012 Student Writer

it's my first real try at the sonnet family. thanks.

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~VicariouSoul Mar 1, 2012 Professional Writer

You're welcome.

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*alapip Feb 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

a poet's poem, Mr Nakes!
well littered with alliteration
and 'asundered' with assonance - hah!

i like the size, shape and rhythm of the sonnet,
having writ a few sonnet-like thingys myself.

pip

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=deinktvis Feb 29, 2012 Student Writer

thank you much, my friend!!

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