silly poems
almost rhyming
not quite staying inside a scheme
playing around with meter
with rhythm
with all the parts of a poem
but never in a way that feels
precise
refined
polished
my poetry exists to guide non-poets
into expression
not to be analyzed
not
at
all
quiet the mind,
shush the brain,
but don’t force the silence
because then that’s all that remains.
i wonder if that’s why others’ poetry
takes longer to write;
because rhythm/rhyme/meter
don’t all happen in one night,
or just one setting,
like sitting in this morning page sun
listening to Japanese hip-hop lofi
and just kinda ~wish~ my scheme into one
sentence
then another
and another
and losing track
and losing steam
and losing the scheme
i [vaguely] thoughtfully put in here
and hearing the rhymes in my head
but only scattered/stilted/disjointed/
disappointed
i continue on
disrupting any complex pattern that might have arisen
so i can continue on this mess of a poem
and pretend that’s just
How I Write
(instead of
how
i think)
the wind rushes through the trees
rustling the branches much stronger than a breeze
that pushing of the wind, the apprehension i feel,
used to be so frightening to me, but now, there’s appeal
the wind brings changes, newness, the switch of the seasons
and while change is scary, it’s no longer frightening without reason
i choose to look towards the possibility of what change may bring
and hear whatever the winds choose to sing
for in this poem, this struggle of rhyming couplets,
i’ve found a calmness in my fear’s former culprit
and that, i think, is worth this hassle of a rhyme-scheme.
kipventures 