"freeverse" poems
I fear I've become
formulaic and dishonest
though honesty has never
flown freely when I bleed.
I instead inscribe
insolence, decadence
dolled up in demand and
hand picked participles
to show my snappy wordsuits
down this two dimension catwalk.
I've tasted the fraudulent freeverse fantasy
and washed out what I've done
years past, former lives,
servitude to scheming rhymes
and tracking down the feet
meter by meter.
See!
I own the jargon,
jot it down freely
with a casuality undeserved.
Read carefully, cause herein spouts my effort.
Slink back to default,
once in whiles,
show them that you
got it still.
Baring teeth or
gleaming smiles
differ at souls'
windowsills.
And simply so, it seems again
like pox against my aching skin
I simply substitute some time
to rhyme and let it all begin...
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
I sat frozen
Watching three surfers
They wandered on waves
Beyond the riptide
Of the north shore
Each moment a destination
The rolling aqua
Swells pounding in my eardrums
The heart sound of the earth
Mountains of salty blue
Crashing
Driving out the thoughts of a noisy mind
Twisting and driving them back into quiet energy
Where I awaken
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
-
i took no pleasantries in that adjustment
from the top shelf of Pastry Perfection
to the wicker-wire dust bunnies at the
"sole" level of humanity
after i mistakenly thought —you— took
some element of freeverse i had posted a
couple of years ago at one of the more-read
poetry sites on the internet-
then i realized something, Poet..
that for all those sleepless hours you
spent cramming for the SAT—
i posited on how many welding rods
could be burned down during a two
hour period of trade school
and with respect to those thousands of
words diligently packed into your
undergrad dissertation—
(*including that humorous description of a
knitted strap you used to keep the pencil
from rolling off the table*)
i wrote a brief essay of commonalities
on how much Gerald R. Ford and
Elwyn Brooks White
actually disliked
football,
and to those thoughtfully crafted lectures
in front of scores of distinguished
scholars and senior staff—
i was projecting shadow puppets onto a
screen during a slideshow while the
teacher excused herself to the restroom.
basically this;
as to the volumes of books
you have published
over the decades—
i have a few thousand words of
amateur poetry posted online
inside of a few years.
That Said,
for those carefully-placed words
(of mine)
you incorporated into your
latest masterpiece,
realizing poets will not always
happen upon the same instant
at any given intersection,
i recognized that most familiar sensation
we Both get when having correctly
delivered the punchline to the funniest
joke of the evening.
we —in fact— have only the readings
of fellow writers to blame for each
other's blending of creative impulses,
that during these miraculous,
yet humble birthings of verse—
i have it now on good authority,
that we all could possibly exist
within this capacity
as mere equals...
"The Lanyard of Amateur Poetry"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 6:53 AM UTC
Do you people know.
How much this **** gets real?
Do you know how it makes my heart drop?
Throw-up.
So many Amore chunks.
You ever hung a persons tongue from a wire hanger?
Then let them convulse.
I'm about to do that on my nickel wound stirngs, I'll never stop having a pulse.
I got the only pulse.
Iv'e destroyed every vein in my body with notes of
putrefying chaos beauty.
SCREAM. SHRIEK!
The jazz tones palpitate my tongue,
chatter my teeth,
destruct my *****
The ones in my feet
Like drugs
only positive
motive based
rather than sordid.
All things are bruises
if you look hard enough
symphony of colorful E's.
positive, negativity.
Skram, ,Dock, Cross, Plot.
Rotatilled rows of pounding chest, human humanity.
The epic of chimpanzee.
Never understanding.
Being alone.
I will never be anyone else
Anonymous
I atone.
i wish i could make all my i's lowercase.
Freeverse, with a dial tone,
Trying to call out to every person by undeniable tension and catharsis
like rigor mortis death ligaments,
such purposeful
pretty
I believe every single woman/man
creating this. This
means more to my spirit.
than being sad.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
Waltzing on the fine line
Between love and pain
Yet burning with happiness
Leaving the blurry shadows
Incongruities behind
Tight rope
Watching our bodies sway
Every fault made perfect
Yours and mine
In the bright eyes
You see this bird has wings
And she needs to fly
Needs to free fall out of the sky
He, the wind, will catch her
Before she hits the ground.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
i am supposed to be okay.
i told them all i knew what to do if i started feeling this way again.
i really thought i did
i thought i could prevent this
but it is all coming back
i was supposed to be the miraculous recovery
the story of hope
but i have slipped back into my old patterns
faster than i could realize it
it seems too late now
another round in the match against the darkness
that fills my insides
the darkness that slithers and creeps
its way through my once bright mind
putting out any source of light and
draining all colors
i have fought this before
and seemed to have won
but it never takes long
for it to regain strength and start
strangling me from the inside
once again
a familiar feeling of emptiness fills my body
each time those cold dark fingers
wrap around my soul
it grows stronger with each
grotesque thought it sends
into my now darkened mind
the color and light that once inhabited this cavern
are starved of the positivity they need to burgeon
and so they lie weakened
dwindling and starving on the damp ground
becoming more frail with each wave
of pain and despair
faster and faster this climate becomes too harsh for them
and they are gone
vanished alongside hopefulness and optimism
i try to recall what it felt like
when the color and light still remained
but the thought seems distant and foreign
i cannot wrap my mind around the way i used to think and feel
filled with naivety and hope
i squashed negative thoughts
with thoughts of love
and positivity
but now the roles are reversed
every day i search for that sliver of love and happiness
which i know is behind one of these doors
in the darkened hallways of my mind
one day i shall find it
i know this search will not conclude soon
and i will not find what i am looking for
as quickly as i want to
but when i do
and i know i will
i will nourish it
like my own child
it will grow stronger and stronger
with each step i take towards the light
it will nurse on my laughter
and feed on my joy
one day i will find this light
and care for it like one of my own
i just cannot bear the wait
the search
the feeling in its place
but for now
i will keep on looking
because i refuse to let
the darkness win
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 1:12 AM UTC
What The Heart Feels
-SlimKwAgGa
Gotta pain,whilst missing you;
Get insane,girl you know it true
Crazy games,played boo,
It's getting' ma,mind taboo
Like You Know Who
Is your name,girl you got no clue
How much I think bout you
Your worth more than 102
Don't tell me “I love you”
Cos I love you more than 2
Drunk textin' you,but I got no *****
In ma' system,guese I'm drunk in love with you
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 3:02 AM UTC
When I have a daughter,
I feel I'll have to make some decisions.
For the sake of simplicity,
Let's equate them to poetry.
Limericks are one way to live,
With structure, but fun left to give
Though we'll love each other,
I'll still be her mother,
And that part, I hope she'll forgive
Or we could live like haikus,
Simple and structured,
With emphasis on order.
Why don't we live freeverse?
No rules, no rhymes, no reason.
We don't need those things to be happy.
We'll have each other, after all.
This is simply speculation,
I'm not especially certain
What I'll do when I have a daughter.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 7:31 PM UTC
I wish to write a free verse,
But to rhymes I'm so addicted,
If I stopped I'd be in a hearse!
Oh! How I am so restricted!
To forms I am conscripted,
Without it I shall rot!
If there's none depicted,
My life shall go to ***
You can write a free verse,
It's nothing to be appalled,
Except I have a dreadful curse,
To rhyme is what its called.
How will I remove this horrid curse?
So that I may write a free verse.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
Inkpot is golden
My quill is dipped and ready
For the bard's freeverse
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
this is not a poem.
this is an idea next to a blank canvas
it is up to you to make it your own
think about it -
maybe you could write about
the relation between the faded white hues of chef boyardee's hat and the color of the used car?
or maybe about Mr. Boyardee negotiating with the Jeep salesman, bribing him with Chef Boyardee © branded ravioli?
think about the different scenarios
make this idea happen
freeverse, limerick, haiku
whatever you wish to do
YOU are the chosen one
good luck.
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 1:42 AM UTC
poets without borders
poems without restriction
poetry freeverse freedom.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
You said her voice was like nails on a chalkboard you say mine is mommas lullabies and until the shrieking shattered glass cries you said you never knew I could sound like a familiar pain. I show you how its tacked to my shadow, say how a stay in the dark wont offer me escape. You said her cries echoed wolf to a choir and when the preaching drowned you out like school hall lectures you found yourself waiting for the bell to ring. You said her touch was like a doctor checkup and mine was family reunion hugs each time we met but I warned you I wanted to be the footprints in the sand before the tide takes me along cause I know she was searching your smile for a glipse of forever but I've been so hooked on your now that I'm hoping the future finds reason to wait. You said the shards of your heart she trailed you along have turned to lillypads in my presence and I tell you I know you must walk on water because I'd never believed in such holiness before, you say you only wish to make me feel full in no higher a power than the moment to make, I tell him to feed me freeverse compliments at no stakes cause the past cant catch us in its wake and we won't plot a plan for fate's fingers to break cause all I want is my now in a kiss I will take
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
a keeping of structure framed into the confines
of expectations for readers who are by far more
educated and better read than if i can just keep
to writing within those experience perimeters of
uhhh, someone else—
who claims to have seen that the world is about
roughly the size of a really really big asteroid,
hiding behind the thumb of an astronaut floating
some distance away from the pad i wrote my
last poem on a quarter-sheet of tissue paper
with a china marker.
*As per the vocational experts of my youth;
i may well have qualified for the position of
"document shredder",
or even the author of small gift books—*
—had ANY of this material fallen into
the wrong hands...
"freeverse"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 6:55 AM UTC
A series of poems
That range in quality
And seem to be done in freeverse
Until you step back and connect the dots
Your mileage may very, the metre is open for interpretation.
A series of wordsalads,repetition
And screetch-
ing derivity.
Poems do not ask to be wrote
But it is a blessing that they are.
Just as the sun can't help but shine
A poet must write--
Your mileage may vary, your poem is seperate from mine.
Poems do not kneel to time. The reasoning comes
As you go along and is almost always both right and wrong.
But
Words
Set an
Unrealistic
Standard.
Write your poem the best you can and try your best not to intercept
Or compare
To the works of others. A poem is just a reaction to the world
Going on around and the other poems that inhabit it.
Collages are a necessity, no poet
Is original, and
A poem is only finished when the poet is dead and buried.
Write kindly, write smart, write of art for the sake of
Writing for art. Write free, write based, write loose,
Write dumb, write alot, write nothing some days,
Write because you love to write, write as if one day
Your tongue will be mute and your hands broken
Write in the manner that suits you best.
Life is just what it is
And you make the rest up
As you go along.
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 6:34 PM UTC
You, the vaccinated
seem to me
to be
just as neurotically fearful
of that chest-cold/flu thingee
as you were BEFORE your jab.
This inspires confidence
neither in your logic
nor in your vaccine.
You are supposed to be protected
by your magic jab.
I have come to believe
that COVID occupies that place
in your neurotic soul
where GOD is supposed to dwell.
Sep 14, 2021
Sep 14, 2021 at 9:10 PM UTC