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Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Click-clack clatter claws at the doormat.
Right where our ramada had roofed a small rat.
"What was that?", asked the rat.
Which in fact, twas our cat.
Nearing fast to the rat
Who has asked, "What was that?"
Twas a blur, and a crash,
Then the black flash did slash,
But fell flat.
This was in response to a prompt in a poetry discord i'm in.
'Write a poem that focuses on the sound of the "a" in "hat".'

If you want to check out the discord here's a link!
https://discord.gg/6eSdZjV
1.1k · Mar 2019
The Bustling Bog
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
While contemplating natures of the moor.
So very full of life, and also death.

Briefly glancing round, the bog seems lifeless,
To walk so alert, danger life obscures
March do we, along the ash and cyprus

But after observation, I confess
Quite lively lies our grand mud-soaked detour.
So very full of life, and also death.

Every creature here exudes unkindness,
And any of them might our death ensure.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus

Yet still, I find their number in excess
Than places having more growth, and verdure.
So very full of life, and also death.

So now my new perspective does egress
Much different than it ever did before.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
So very full of life, and also death.
This was using a prompt for the weekly challenge in a discord I'm a member of, but I didn't submit it because I finished it late. We were supposed to quite a poem about duality. This is also the third poem in my ****** Journal series. Check out my page for the other poems in the collection, and free feel to check out the discord. https://discord.gg/HmgMbq7  As always comments and critiques are appreciated.
623 · Mar 2019
Unnamed Sonnet No.11
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Is poetry a way to cope with pain?
My chest throbs dully in low agony.
You see, heartache is a physical thing.
It hurts as if it's any wound to me.
I'm not afraid to state my malady,
Depression is what resides in my brain.

And it's the way it manifests, I hate
In doubting in myself, and what I'm worth
In old memories, losses, things of weight
Frustrations pop and boil as on a hearth
Sometimes I wish for return to the earth,
But I've been down that road, in bitter pace.

       I write, not for the pain, which wont relieve.
       However, when it's shared, it will indeed.
Ok I have something... different to share
The Unnamed Sonnet form is a form I created out of love for the rhyme-scheme of the Italian Sonnet, and for Shakespeare's use of the volta when used in the last couplet. I feel like it's a good deviation from the traditional kinds of sonnets because it fills a needed role. In the Unnamed Sonnet form you have the ability to talk about one idea, in two different ways, and then tie them together at the volta, which because of this will usually end up at the couplet. It is harder to do this in a Shakespearean Sonnet due the theme being carried by three quatrains. Similarly in the Italian Sonnet, the Octave usually controls the theme, then the sestet draws to the conclusion. I feel like two sestets followed by a couplet is a strong way to convey one point in two ways. Or to convey two points, separately, while still drawing a strong conclusion. I will eventually get around to naming it, the name is tied into the first one of it's kind, of which I had to strip it's name.
Would love this critiqued
590 · Mar 2019
For Nene
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
I remember how the sky cried
The mournful day my Nene died.
It sobbed and grieved; thought not prolonged.
Soon sunlight, through the darkness, dawned
As thought the tears had simply dried.

At once I wondered, scornfully, "Why?"
How dare you cease your crying, Sky!
How simply could the world go on?
Then I remembered...

My struggle, isn't her's. It's mine.
I hurt because I'm left behind.
For she, you see, has moved along
A better place she's set-upon.
Therefore, with mourning cast aside,
I'll remember.
A couple of days ago my grandmother on my dad's side passed away, and I wanted to write a poem about it.
494 · Mar 2019
Journal Entry No.4
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Onward we trudge to Miserthorpe.
On blood soaked dreams to lend support.
Knock-kneed, railing, gasping for breath
We march through the marsh toward our death,
But death will not out soul's escort.

The hordes of the undying court
Will shortly rend our lives cut short.
There is no hope; never the less...
Onward we trudge

Oh, if the past I could abort
I would have strived to build rapport
With that young lass from Watercrest.
My dreams of glory reassessed.
Yet time moves on without distort.
Onward we trudge
This is going to be a part of a collection of poems I call The ****** Journal.
You see my friends and I play a lot of D&D, and we ran a campaign in my friends world where there's this area called the deadlands, and I wanted to tell the story of an unnamed solder having to fight against the evil there. Feel free to drop a critique, as I haven't done too much poetry where I am not the speaker. So this will be kindof new to me.
487 · Apr 2019
<Initialization.start.exe>
Chase Parrish Apr 2019
<Initialization.start.exe>
[Meaning] = The way we use language to convey [FEELINGS];
Poem(){
Words have [Meaning]
Creativity, Force, Power.etc;}

If(Poem() != [Creative]){
~query~ Is it poetry?}

/* There is no point in writing what is already written */

Expression(){
It's not what we want to say that matters because the FEELINGS we experience in our lives have been felt before. It's trying to express those feelings, and share them with others in a new way.

Expression(Poem([Meaning]));
<Initialization.end.exe>
Ok, so this might be a weird one... I was a computer science major for about a year before I decided it wasn't really for me. Also, this weeks challenge in the poetry discord I'm a member of was, "Write an avant-garde poem." So I suppose this is the baby of both of those things. If you are interested in the discord here's the link.

https://discord.gg/HmgMbq7

As always critiques or comment's are very appreciated!
431 · Mar 2019
Frustrated Heartache
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Have you ever loved, just like me; and lost?
It's been a lifetime since. I shouldn't care.
And yet, bereft of life, in horror's snared,
My heart aches all the same. Could I accost
My heart I would say, "Say, what will it cost?"
"Exhaust this pain! Run out you your despair!"
"I'm tortured in this flame, and quite aware..."
"Like Hell, do you go on, and turn and toss..."

Perhaps that's morbid, terse, or just perverse,
But **** this fool heart for all of this pain.
Sometimes I think it might end with a hearse.
Instead I write poems, till morning, amain.
Lest slip my grip, and lose all that I'm worth.
I hope my dreams bring me no coup de main.
Honestly... I've tried many times to quantify this into a poem, and I still don't think I've done it here. My earlier poem "******* a Poet" was a decent start. This feels kind of forced, but It's 6 am, and I've been up all night... and I wanted to try. Have a nice day to anyone reading this.
403 · Apr 2019
The Black-Water Tower
Chase Parrish Apr 2019
Eastward we marched toward the Black-Water Tower.
Every stout hero aloft by their willpower
We knew the bloodshed the pathing would bring
March'd we with willful and unyielding hardening;
March did we eastward,
To Black-Water tower.

Damnable scourge is the Black-Water Tower.
Watching our coming with malice and glowering
Knowing what death it brings
Naught did we cower!
March did we onward,
To Black-Water tower.

First came the rattling,
Then came the thundering
Lumbering hoof-beats grew louder and louder.
Then did the marsh turn alive with a showering,
Splinters of arrows all poisoned and sour.

Bellowed and charged did we
Onward to victory.
Many did fall but were all men of valor.
     Righteous, and honored.Yes, all men of valor.

Death did not leave them fair,
Nor took them anywhere.
Save for the heavens, and memories of ours.
After we burned them, some somber few hours,
March did we eastward,
From Black-Water tower.
This is the fifth poem in my The ****** Journal series, it was also the result of a prompt we had in my poetry discord to write a poem with a unique meter or internal rhyme scheme. I took a lot of influence from Charge of The Light Brigade, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. My goal was to write a completely dactylic poem in the setting of The ****** Journal while portraying a theme of valor. As always I'm up for comments and critiques!
371 · Apr 2019
Perception Check
Chase Parrish Apr 2019
It all started on a night like tonight
It was quiet then too
With the breeze leaving
a small whistle in the air.

Fate on the breeze,
But we wouldn't know that until now
would we?
You could hear it though
if you listen to it
Oh, wait is that a crossbow bolt?
You've died.
Um... this came out of nowhere, and it might be nothing... please critique. I am SUPER uncomfortable with unrhymed poetry, so... let me know what was good, and not so good and why, if possible.
322 · Apr 2019
Swim With Shoes On
Chase Parrish Apr 2019
The bulwark of the lake
Where we would stop to play
Had fish bones in the wave's wake
So there we wouldn't stray
You are my fish bones.
This was in response to a poetry prompt about dead fish of all things, but I like the way it turned out. Feel free to critique or comment!
278 · Feb 2019
Abandonné, Rondeau
Chase Parrish Feb 2019
Did you know I wrote a poem yesterday?
I wrote of how a raven flew away.
I think t'was in the morning that it flew.
I don't know why it made me think of you,
But all I can think of is yesterday.

I can't finish it; not to my dismay.
I don't seem to finish many these days.
Every day I seem to think of you...
Did you know?

Even this... I hate it... It's cliche.
Every thought and feeling gone astray...
I keep running from the one thought that's too...
It's nothing that, it seems, I can subdue.
Oh, all the things that I wanted to say.
Did you know?
One of my first rondeaus. They're hard to write but like most french poems once you get the structure down they're a fun little exercise.Try it!
257 · Apr 2019
To Whom It May Concern
Chase Parrish Apr 2019
A slow rabble was the army tent
In the sense events commenced.
Lines lingered laughingly long

Senescent men intent in resentment
Furiously fighting fear.
Young men too, letting bravery ferment

Fools to the firmament.
Fate's Impertinent
Bent by torments underwent.

Who begged to be sent off to war?
Not me for sure; not anymore.
I won't ask why I was whisked away,
That I thought through though.
Wistfully waiting, I Inclined
To outline this old tale of mine
In the event I'm left behind.

So to whom it may concern,
Know you how my spirit burned!
Watch as I, while mortal
Fought foul fate, so much unearned
And how, with luck, I'll yet return.
This is the fifth poem in my The ****** Journal series, although I suppose you could call this the first poem in the set, as this is going to be the beginning of the narrative. Feel free to critique!
225 · May 2019
The Truth Hertz
Chase Parrish May 2019
When most people think of music
I bet they think the trash tones
equal temperament
perpetuates.

~

My outlook is messier.
When I think music,
I hear pataflaflas, diddles, flamacues
banging sticks on...
anything really.

~
Some would call the latter less barbaric.
216 · Mar 2019
Insomnia
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Tell me why I can't sleep.
I'm staring at my phone,
Draped in darkness, all alone.
Solemn, silent, joy agone;
Sorely sick of feeling nothing.

I can't muster any old ambition.
Time winds down but won't abscission.
Slowly it keeps moving, and yet I'm sitting still.

The happiest I've ever been... about three years ago.
It's cathartic don't you know?
Just to sit back and remember.

Is free verse even poetry?
It's purely unperpetuated,
Obnoxious, and inebriated
Slowly slurring slurries of distinguished eloquence and grace
With no outstanding reason, rhyme, or measure of it's pace.
It's disgusting, and undignified;
An element of haste.

Or am I just upset with all my words that hit the page?
My emotions, things of rage... or longing
My mind feels like a cage.
Oh I just hate feeling this way
And yet I do.

Oh take me back in time
To a world where she was mine
When all my poems weren't so...
Depressing.
This was a poem I wrote a while ago. I hope you like it. I just shaped it up and edited it a bit so I could submit it to a poetry discord i'm a member of. If you have discord and want to check out the server here's a link.
https://discord.gg/HmgMbq7
158 · Feb 2019
How to kill a poet.
Chase Parrish Feb 2019
Poets can die from a blow to the heart.
A corporal wound would lack harm for a ****.
Prose is an armor of wit, and of skill.
One type of trauma can get him to smart
A puncture to **** him, love as the dart.
Pen as a hammer; paper an anvil...
The poems he forges in life are fulfilled
by death; serving as his own work of art.

Shot full of heartbreak a poet can’t rhyme.
It burns in his stomach like fire, or lime.
Watch him gutter and choke on all his tears...
Till horse, rough cries splinter away his mind,
And every hour goes on like bramble’d years.
Till he can’t finish a poem,
Chase Parrish Feb 2019
Just who are you, are you lonely?
You're clearly all alone...
Are you upset about some someone?
Something old you've overblown?
Hold on, I can see inside you now; I'll tell you just whats left...
Hmm, quite bereft of something subtle; of what I can only guess.
There's too much pain, or fear, or longing; maybe something in-between?
Are you scarred, or sore, or sour?
Come on, you need to tell me everything...
Don't look at me with so much lour.
This will only take a minute.
Your heartbeats full of so much power,
It's just there's not quite something in it...
I'll admit right here that this might be a special case,
I'll still do my best to help you. What memory needs be effaced?
Can you tell me what you're missing? Or what you think it's worth?
Oh let's just take it from the top now. Oh please really, just be curt.
Where does it hurt?
Just a kind-of singsongy poem in free verse. Enjoy!
140 · Feb 2019
Unnamed Sonnet No. 1
Chase Parrish Feb 2019
Dare I compare thee to a summers day...
As reminiscent works of times long past?
A lily in a vase long spent decays.
The wine of love deserves a pristine cask.
Who, with wide eyed wonder, wants old words cast?
You are worth a diamond; not a bouquet.

Fair is fair I say. That, she may have been.
With slow and silver words he did imbue...
But when you read his sonnet you see him,
And when the world sees mine they'll think of you.
The most beautiful in the world; It's true.
Said once by legends; Now to you, again.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
124 · Mar 2019
Dream in Free Verse
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
The clock strikes four and thirty.
My conscious mind is burning.
Startled by some spectral blow it suffered while it slept.

I frightened in it's ending...
The start was all just fine.
It had a couple friends of mine, I'd lost along the line.

It only left me lonely..
I miss the long lost friends of mine
So tell me as the clock strikes four...
Did a nightmare I awake to?
And then my feelings waxed sore?
Or into only? As it left me... wanting; Nothing more.
It's kind-of rough, but of such a fleeting memory as a dream... I suppose it's kind-of fitting.

— The End —