Poetry…Oh Joy…

First a few words on poetry as a whole…

Poetry is a form of writing,

Poetry is a form of writing, one that doesn’t necessarily have any bounds,

Poetry is a from of writing, one that doesn’t necessarily have any bounds, which can interpret, explain, define, emote, or do nothing at all,

Poetry is a from of writing, one that doesn’t necessarily have any bounds, which can interpret, explain, define, emote, or do nothing at all; it is a way make people think or not think through their own interpretation,

Poetry is a from of writing, one that doesn’t necessarily have any bounds, which can interpret, explain, define, emote, or do nothing at all; it is a way make people think or not think through their own interpretation, it is a annoying practice who’s goal in life is to make me suffer and make my brain hurt…but here it goes…

 A few of my poetic dabbles (oh even that sounded poetic, I’m so good…not.)

Moonflower

A moonflower is different,

It is the needle in the hay stack while the the other flora are content being needles in a needle stack,

A moonflower grows between a rock and a hard place and doesn’t question the whir of the world against it,

A moonflower is different,

While the roses and lilies, cherry blossoms and blackberries bloom habitually in and out,

The moonflower cries out “No  I will not sit in the noon day sun with you.” voice collected,

A moonflower is different,

Though the sunflower comes abundantly, big and bright, and reaching to a cloud grazed sky to work for the day,

The moonflower sleeps in, pulling the covers up to the chin and throwing the alarm clock across the room,

Like I said, the moonflower is different.

 

What The Sunflower says to the Moonfower

Come this way, let me help you,

Don’t slouch.

Don’t rest your elbows on the table.

Don’t look down when you speak

Don’t wear that, it’s far to plain.

Don’t wear that, it’s far to flashy.

Don’t eat that bread.

Don’t eat that Chocolate.

Don’t eat that.

Don’t say that.

Don’t mess about with those people unless you want to end up poor.

Don’t mess about with those people unless you want to end up in jail.

Don’t mess about with anyone except for the right people.

Don’t ever find yourself with out money, it’s bad form.

Don’t think that way, it’s far too simple.

Don’t think that way, it’s far too complex.

Don’t think that way, it’s far too unique.

Stop trying to fight the river.

Stop trying to stand out.

Stop trying to be different.

Stop trying.

What the Moonflower says to the Sunflower

Hm, what? I wasn’t listening…

01-night-garden-moonflower-636

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty step poem… Something about socks

People are snowflakes in disguise, like shoes in row upon row,

Have you ever stopped and counted how many people have brown hair?

See that girl, the one with the dark hair?

She doesn’t judge the roughness of sandpaper,

She doesn’t condemn the sweetness of sugar,

She moves past the aroma of a rose just to get to the thorns,

Only to hear the backlash of her disregard of the petals.

I hear the colors that make her different,

Her name could be  Sarah or Jane, she could be from New York or Utah,

But she is not a shoe in a line.

Have you ever stopped and counted how many people have freckles?

That girl, the one with the dark hair, she never says YOLO, she doesn’t need to,

She says: “Au contraire mon frere.”

The lone snowflake of profound wisdom…

But a snowflake melts, transferring heat, and making everything around it cool until it is warm,

That girl with the dark hair, she transfers heat, she transfers fire, setting ablaze everything in sight with the touch of her thought.

Billy transfers heat  too, though no one understands why she is…

And this girl with the dark hair and Billy, they will be set apart, misunderstood like socks in a line of shoes,

Divine socks.

Everybody wants to be divine socks…

Mais, au contraire mon frere,

Divine socks do not wish to be shoes, like you do.

No, people are just snowflakes in disguise, unless they are blue stripped socks.

productimage-picture-ss14-blue-striped-socks-11772

Well, you might not have guessed, but these poems are about being different….a topic that there is a lack of in poetry. So I just decided to write a few.

Pictures cited:

http://www.ivillage.com/amazing-night-plants-bloom-night/7-a-541181

http://www.prettygreen.com/shop/product/ss14-blue-striped-socks/

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