I don't like rhyming poetry. That is, I don't like writing rhyming poetry. I find it too predictable, also so easy to get wrong and so hard to do well. But that is how, despite attempts to the contrary, this poem came about. This is a brief snippet of the last few years of my life. I think there's a message here, though I'm not too happy with it if I'm honest. Comments welcome(!).
Searching for Love (and finding it among brackets)
Holes in my face to be with a woman
(Who said she loved me)
Marks on my skin for a musician
(Who didn’t love me)
Poets and paintings tried to convey it
(but I couldn’t feel it through their work)
I wore it in Claret and Blue form
(but no one else loved my shirt)
It wasn’t in the biscuits I ate
(though they gave me power)
It wasn’t in the roses I bought
(nor does it smell like flowers)
My cat’s head butt contained it
It was in a white flag from my sister
Her eyes over the phone displayed it
(And it rules my thoughts when I miss her)
Then I saw open arms
And a face both red and pale,
Found all I needed on planks of wood
(Realising I’d had it nailed)
Thursday, 19 June 2008
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1 comments:
I know what you mean about rhyming poetry - I'm the same. So often it can feel forced and rather 'twee'. I think many people see poetry and rhyme as the same thing, hence you get these absolutely awful attempts where the word order is hilarious and the vocabulary makes you cringe. I tried to write a rhyming poem recently and it took me ages to get it right - because I didn't want it to sound like that.
I like this though - your poem doesn't seem forced, almost as if the rhyme is coincidental, natural - which is nice. Again I love the way you describe things.
I was tempted to write this comment in (very bad) rhyme, but decided against it. Maybe next time!!
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