"understates" poems
Poetry with simple rhyme scheme
isn't really poetry at all.
It takes all the artistry of language,
and crushes their greatness
into something rather small.
It belittles the sharp peaks of your smile,
that peek through porcelain veils.
It takes the beauty of your eyes,
and brings them down to scale.
The rhyming ruins all seriousness,
true poets take in pride,
it leaves their work in ridicule,
though their emotions are implied.
It vastly understates
the warmth in your cheeks,
and incredibly discounts
the lions of your dreams,
making them seem weak.
That is why I will never write a poem
describing the perfection of you
in a silly little rhyme scheme;
that is what I shall not do.
I will, however, jest
at what rhyming cannot describe,
although it tries to do its best,
it falls by the wayside,
For limericks cannot contain
my pretentious heart and soul,
and cannot compare
to the magnificence you hold.
Because if I could contain your spirit,
in matters of stanzas and rhyme
my talents would be wasted,
this atrocity a crime,
But you make my writing worthwhile,
and give me ideas to muse,
instead of the dull and dread,
the pretender's butter and bread,
with none of my talents to use.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Twenty- seven years
In a prison cell
Like Dante’s Infernal
A version of hell
All he wanted was freedom
For his native land
Where because of apartheid
Things had gotten out of hand
This is a song for Nelson
Who changed everything
A song for Nelson
Is the song that I sing
There on Robben Island
Where he would be still
If not for his courage
And his indomitable will
He led a movement
That endured and prevailed
Even from a prison cell
Locked away in jail
This is a song for Nelson
Who changed everything
A song for Nelson
Is the song that I sing
To say he was transformative
Understates the case
A man for the ages would be better
In its place
He changed a people’s destiny
Saw apartheid get erased
As the father of his country
His name has been encased
This is a song for Nelson
Who changed everything
A song for Nelson
Is the song that I sing
In 1964 an indictment was lodged
Against Nelson Mandela
Accused of sabotage
Which he never denied
Or tried to camouflage
The truth of the matter is
He was guilty by and large
And locked away until he was discharged
This is a song for Nelson
Who changed everything
A song for Nelson
Is the song that I sing
Twenty- seven years
In a prison cell
Like Dante’s Infernal
A version of hell
All he wanted was freedom
For his native land
Where because of apartheid
Things had gotten out of hand
This is a song for Nelson
Who changed everything
A song for Nelson
Is the song that I sing
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester, All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Hot Days, Cold Hands
after much negotiation,
the owners of our (her)
west coast gran kids
agree to a meeting
in a neutral city
a day of great joy,
hugs kisses real life unlimited,
playing pool catch, shark,
(Ian is the ball)
and splashing
in Miami pool warmth
and you don't think about
poetry writing cause you are living
it
this morning two icy lumps,
of coals wake me at 6:15 am,
icy understates their arctic nature,
my poor chest burnt
by frost fingered nails
message in a ten fingered bottle,
freshly drawn from the cold Atlantic
Thank you
they say,
and I reply,
Let us
move south to my warmer climes
6:47am
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 6:50 AM UTC
if it ever crosses your mind
how i never wrote you letters
how i haven’t written you into a poem
please understand
that there are things words cannot paint
no combination of any phrasal collection
will ever be enough
to show the rest of the world
what a masterpiece you truly are
to prove my affection, such a connection
is never enough
words merely underwhelm the feeling, you
understates your existence
so i choose not to write
until i realized
until i learned
that love is no art, no masterpiece
it is not the way your ears turn red (when angry)
not the accusations you throw at me for lying
definitely not the kisses you give some other girl
no, it is not
and so for the first time, and not the last
you are written
you are in words
you give me reason to write this
my heart is not your canvas
i am not your muse
if it ever crosses your mind
how this poem is not in your mail
how you never read this
please understand
that there is no reason for me
to be wasting
exactly two hundred words
for a boy who’s forgot how to love
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC