"elision" poems
When I decided to write my first poem, I thought back to the days,
when we were studying poetry and the teacher would amaze,
she'd make me write down words and things, I'd be chasing praise.
But looking back at my book now, I know what I should do,
and so here follows my glossary of things I'll write for you:
I have - Alliteration, Antagonist, Allegory and Anapest.
Characterisation, Complication, Convention and Connotation.
Elegy, Elision, Epigram and Exposition.
Free verse, Falling action, Falling meter and also Fiction.
Literal language, Imagery, Lyric poem and Irony.
Rising action, Resolution, Rising meter with Recognition.
Acatalectic, Anacreontic, Amphimacer and Amphibrachic.
Cliché, Common Measure, Couplets and Catalectic.
Deconstruction, Dispondee, Dialect Verse with a Dictionary.
Iambic Meter, Incantation, Impromptu with Inspiration.
Laureates and Limericks, Light Verse poems and Linguistics.
Metaphors, Mock-Heroics, Middle English and Movement Poets.
Oh gosh that seems a little worse, than I had it made to be,
I was expecting just to write a poem 'bout my cat and me.
I guess it's harder than it looks so I'll just give up now;
I'll let those big brave poet people, write them all somehow.
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
(From a Persian Carpet)
Ash and strewments, the first moth-wings, pale
Ardour of brief evenings, on the fecund wind;
Or all a wing, less than wind,
Breath of low herbs upfloats, petal or wing,
Haunting the musk precincts of burial.
For the season of newer riches moves triumphing,
Of the evanescence of deaths. These potpourris
Earth-tinctured, jet insect-bead, cinder of bloom—
How weigh while a great summer knows increase,
Ceaselessly risen, what there entombs?—
Of candour fallen from the slight stems of Mays,
Corrupt of the rim a blue shades, pensively:
So a fatigue of wishes will young eyes.
And brightened, unpurged eyes of revery, now
Not to glance to fabulous groves again!
For now deep presence is, and binds its close,
And closes down the wreathed alleys escape of sighs.
And now rich time is weaving, hidden tree,
The fable of orient threads from bough to bough.
Old rinded wood, whose lissomeness within
Has reached from nothing to its covering
These many corymbs’ flourish!—And the green
Shells which wait amber, breathing, wrought
Towards the still trance of summer’s centering,
Motives by ravished humble fingers set,
Each in a noon of its own infinite.
And here is leant the branch and its repose
of the deep leaf to the pilgrim plume. Repose,
Inflections brilliant and mute of the voyager, light!
And here the nests, and freshet throats resume
Notes over and over found, names
For the silvery ascensions of joy. Nothing is here
But moss and its bells now of the root’s night;
But the beetle’s bower, and arc from grass to grass
For the flight in gauze. Now its fresh lair,
Grass-deep, nestles the cool eft to stir
Vague newborn limbs, and the bud’s dark winding has
Access of day. Now on the subtle noon
Time’s image, at pause with being, labours free
Of all its charge, for each in coverts laid,
Of clement kind; and everlastingly,
In some elision of bright moments is known,
Changed wide as Eden, the branch whose silence sways
Dazzle of the murmurous leaves to continual tone;
Its separations, sighing to own again
Being of the ignorant wish; and sways to sight,
Waked from it nighted, the marvelous foundlings of light;
Risen and weaving from the ceaseless root
A divine ease whispers toward fruitfulness,
While all a summer’s conscience tempts the fruit.
2.6k
A word gathering dust on my internal junk shelf,
Inseparable, it would seem, from my ego.
Assuredly it seems just a threat to my health;
It's a surefire harm to my heart, this I know.
But once given the chance to examine my state,
As impossible as it seemed to let go,
I saw glimpses of wisdom, redemptions of fate,
Which swore to this word’s worth, its quo.
For when read alone, on a page in my mind,
The “him” was the syllabic gong that rang twelfth.
But I took a fresh gaze, and upon my collate
Saw its syllabic partner alone; saw the “self.”
My “self,” I then saw, was discovered through “him;”
Made naked, and shivering, and new.
He’d unveiled hottest passions, and fears, with great stealth.
So “him” I can thank, now the word’s split in two.
Driven apart by an unlikely shim,
I have his remains, but see more clearly my “self.”
The dust I will likely now brush off my shelf,
For uttering the loveliest elision since “him.”
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
in a time of peace and love to float
scarred the baby embraces being shook
backward forwards into the coat
we flip through pages of the book
like a sigh we're fading away
to the stars and the moon we see
time allows us to embrace May
you have meant so much more to me
than people elision the star
we are crossin' everyon' over
(to smell the smell of your pretty car
that i've never been in all sober
always i'll be here sitting You
beauty change metamorphoses
your Love your Peace we are both two
all of these i'll take all of these
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
your words cut deep,
deep in the flesh of my soul
and that was how it’s always been,
I guess. And we were just waiting for
words to go between the words we said,
to add up to the little things that brought us
together, saying words to each other slowly,
without affixing other words that can drive us
away from each other, like when the love was said,
and when the love was gone, and all we ever did was
say ‘I don’t love you no more,’ instead of what we always
told each other, as if the words ‘don’t’ and ‘no’ are always just
negatively inserted between the cartridges of our vocabulary, and instead
of loving each other more and more, we settled on elisions, thrown between
our words, our sentences, our 5 AM conversations, our used-to-be-connections.
your words cut deep and we tear our tangled limbs. elision. that’s what it will be.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
Five bars boxed conceal my fate,
opulent stiff trees sit outside an iron grate.
I can't leave this prison for I'm the secret's committee--
my captors want the source of my surreptitious serendipity.
In the surreal landscape stood a man
laying in the vertical catamaran;
he's not a man queer and unknown,
but a queer man with the same face as my own.
I stare as I stare, and a smile breaks
like a mirrored leaf fallen, ripples a still lake.
The forest becomes him, for blurred vision ensues.
Teared freedom he uses, for to blink I refuse
My oppressors' gaze won't break away.
Believing I pine to nap under the trees' shade
Yet I'm as liberated as I am confined,
so my life alone I will never mind
I've done, will do, and am doing everything I want,
so when I close my eyes the wind is my confidant.
Speaking to me I follow its every elision--
the eurythmic breeze unleashes my inhibitions.
Leading me to the dark corner of my cell
with beauty all around me I stay in this hell
As night falls the bars rise in turn,
for the clear, star-streaked sky I yearn.
On queue the creek of a door latch is heard
I must choose but my decision won't be deterred:
the door leads to my guardians' labyrinthine maze,
the window-- a drop to the darkness, who preys.
So what do I do? Flip a coin with no sides.
With the decision face up in the moon's candlelight.
Frozen by fear of the known and untold.
Convinced I'm not ready, my merits must mold.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
her slurred speech is just elision
her blurred vision is ... risky business
she walks around her friend's house
nobody home ... but a gaggle of crazy teenagers
she walks around (laughing) oh god
like a baby horse.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:54 AM UTC
The elision of logic
The entrance of crepuscular thought
Your ethereally ways- they enchant me
Every of my fibres and filaments;
They have became incandescent
To one visible ray of light
My speech, languid
My being, in lassitude
My mind, incorporeal
You lace your words with mellifluous embellishment
You shroud me with a luminescent mist
You touch me with your lithe fingers; igniting a scintilla of hope
Our compasses have been discarded
Our maps torn
Polaris is kept under the icy glaze of the winter skies
Aren't we lost now?
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Sometimes I'm afraid to decide
For fear I will make a mistake
But I have found nowhere to hide
For hiding is a choice I make
I try to hem, I try to haw
I try to stall, to delegate
But making decisions is not
Simple to circumnavigate
Should I blink once?
Should I blink twice?
With every step I roll the dice
I cannot count the consequences
Never know who pays what price
But silence is a message
And there's meaning hidden in elision
Saying that I won't decide
Is still no less of a decision
Still I am afraid to speak
Unknowing what it will inspire
Like a dragon afraid to breathe
Lest it should set the world on fire
And slowly I have learned to try
To take the step
To roll the dice
And slowly I have spread my wings
I have decided
I will fly
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 6:10 AM UTC