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Discrimination
by Michael R. Burch

for lovers of traditional poetry

The meter I had sought to find, perplexed,
was ripped from books of "verse" that read like prose.
I found it in sheet music, in long rows
of hologramic CDs, in sad wrecks
of long-forgotten volumes undisturbed
half-centuries by archivists, unscanned.
I read their fading numbers, frowned, perturbed—
why should such tattered artistry be banned?

I heard the sleigh bells’ jingles, vampish ads,
the supermodels’ babble, Seuss’s books
extolled in major movies, blurbs for abs...
A few poor thinnish journals crammed in nooks
are all I’ve found this late to sell to those
who’d classify free verse "expensive prose."

Published by The Chariton Review, The Eclectic Muse, Famous Poets and Poems, Poetry Life & Times and Trinacria (where it was nominated for the Pushcart Prize)

Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, rhythm, rhyme, meter, traditional poetry, metrical verse, poetry journals, literary journals, number, numbers, feet
s y k Mar 2019
I see the stages of our days-
as markings in calendars and time stamps on calls,
signs of devotion, all in all.
I see them in reels of film
and picture frames,
playing on shut-eye screens,
and hanging, in the walls of my mind.
Visions of a life that passes me by.

The look in your eyes when you tell me "you're mine".
The sound of your laugh, how it melts like honey and warms me inside.
The taste of your lips, when you've had a lot to drink. Your saccharine smile, flushing china pink.
The feel of your hands, caressing the ivory. Dreaming up melodies so effortlessly.
The scent of your neck, of daisies that daze me, when you're all over me.

Enamoured with the way you walk, your hands in your pockets.
How you care for your dogs, and every living thing.
Your mind and the riddles it speaks, the genius of your thoughts sweep me off my feet.
And how you sleep so gracefully, how you reach out to me and wrap me in your arms unconsciously.

I beg my heart to capture this, to remember this,
I wouldn't want to forget it.
Like permanent tattoos and ancient wallpaper
I want you inked and plastered
in journals, poetry, & my psyche.
I do this just in case, for my heart's sake,
There's no doubt of you leaving my mind.
I can say it with candour,
There's no putting you away,
You, in all your symmetry, are here to stay.
About Jordan (of course, could I be more in love?). In the words of wolf alice- "when I see you the whole world reduces to just that room", and that's exactly how I feel. I notice everything about him when I'm with him. I never want to sleep or blink or look away. I love being in his home and just watching him live, he makes it look so beautiful.
Where do I begin? I'm lost. So much is personal you see. I had apps and apps full of feelings, moods, poems, my stories and goings on saved onto my device. Now these apps suddenly disappeared, so I downloaded them only to discover they won't reappear! I don't understand, I can't comprehend. I didn't memorize all of those months in some and years in others to recall so I can't just rewrite. Sure instead I could've used paper & pen & locked them away from peering eyes elsewhere but guess what notebooks on top of of notebooks from all my years also to did the act of a disappear. Yes, burned in my house fire with most of my prized possessions that were photos of some but the photos that meant the most were the photos of a man that loved me most and loved me more than any other could, my dad. My dad the man that died & left me to a cruel family that could only hate... only hate me that is. I was so little when he died and I never understood why I wasn't allowed to take that ride to death... with him. Anyone reading this by chance, do you know how I can get the content in those apps back? If I write the things I wrote there esp of recent events then you'd think it's an improper way to vent not being in poetic form and such. It's pretty weird, different and personal too, but my wounds are deep and writing them gave some relief. Now they've disappeared.
No poetry here, just asking for help that'd be much appreciated. Thanks and blessings.
All gone, it's all gone and I'm a mess over it. If I can't keep a journal on paper for fear of fire again not on a writing app where does that leave me to ink the poison out if it's just a journal, diary, feelings with no reason and rhyme. Author Ven J. Arnold
J Sep 2018
I don't share a lot with people. I share a lot with my notebook.

My feelings overflow onto a blank page.

My worst fears tower in the shadow of each letter.

My happiness bounces off every sentence.

And the things I love most stay hidden between the lines.
small excerpt from a long poem/rant about how writing has always been there for me no matter what. I changed a couple of things to make it more of a poem but yeah here it is.
Lyn-Purcell May 2018
Mysterious wood
A large, surreal petal sleeps
near my golden pen

Open near woodlands
A beautiful, soft bird sings
under the lotus

Shining afforest
Special aged waters glide on
in spite of the calms
It's so weird going through my journals from a few years ago.
These haikus were scratched out
Mims Oct 2017
Reading old journals
I might start a small fire
Set old me ablaze
I don't write haiku's, too many rules. But inspiration struck me today.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2017
Answer to problems
Acceptance, changing, leaving
Use one of the three

When its acceptance,
The situation at hand
Can be accepted

If you can't accept
The situation at hand
Then strive to change it

Can't change or accept
The situation at hand?
Walk, and leave it be

In this world of pain
Many battles will be fought
Much blood will be shed

In some instances
It's better to have your peace
Than fight and be right

Remember the three
Accepting, changing, leaving
Three roads, your choices
Haikus that I wrote in my journal today. I was reflecting on the battles that I have overcome myself with these three choices. For me personally, I had to leave the situation be because the people I was around were toxic and couldn't see any faults in their actions.
wraiths Aug 2015
you're right.
i am not a poet.

i am a human with words sitting in the pit of my stomach;
discarded letters and ink-stained pages litter my skull;
empty pens and broken-tipped pencils snap between my teeth;
half-full journals stare hopefully from my ribcage but never to be touched again.

i bleed emotions onto paper, and while it might not be beautiful, it is real.

i am not a poet.
but i am most certainly a poem.
Gabriella Torres Jul 2015
11:32 pm July 4th

I love fireworks.
I feel like a kid on July 4th,
but someone in the crowd was wearing the same cologne you wore, and all of a sudden I could't look at the fireworks anymore.
Instead I was looking for you
wondering if we were looking at the same thing?
I started thinking about "what if's" and "i wish"

I wish I was under the fireworks with you.
What if I hadn't ****** it up?
Would I be under the fireworks with you?

I called you.
We haven't spoken in months, but I had to try
and I practiced what I was gonna say over and over on the way home, if by chance you picked up.

You're all I could think about- Again.

Even though I knew you wouldn't answer, I called.
I tried so hard to be independant.
I tried so hard to not need you.
I tried so hard to be okay without you.
I tried so unbelievably hard not to think about you when I'd rather be asleep
I was good at it for a few months.
I told myself I was okay because "I am my own"

I spent so much time running form that, being afraid to give in and belong to you
But now I know
Its become clear now that I always have and always will.
and I've lost you
you said we have no future together
I couldn't see where I was going anymore, I'd never pictured my future without you ever before, but apparently you had already decided there was no future to envision.

Keep me in your mind as the girl who was so afraid of your love that it destroyed her; forced her to re-create herself with new knowledge of what was hidden from her while she was in the dark.
if nothing at all.
Because I know now
and I've never been more sure of anything in my life.

Now every july 4th will mark the day I became a cliche
Because I realized too late how good I had it.

I love you
so emo
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