Forget Rhyme Schemes. I'm a Rebel.

IN OTHER NEWS: I'm probably worrying too much (as usual), but I was just curious if you, all my readers, like my blabbing before posting poetry (like what I'm writing here). I've been looking at a lot of other poetry blogs and I've noticed that no one else seems to chat about what they've written in each post like I do. Does that make me unique, or is it annoying? Do you read my little introductions or skip right to the blockquotes? Just curious.

ALSO IN OTHER NEWS: I will be on a short LOA from the internet for the next two weeks or so, as I am leaving for a camping trip on Wednesday and then it's time for band camp! I'll be playing trumpet this year, for those who are interested. Anyone else do marching band (or color guard, for that matter)?

This here's a poem I wrote the other day inspired by a fallow field of alfalfa by my house. There were thousands of dandelions just waiting to be used for wishing, but I resisted because they actually grow alfalfa there and they wouldn't appreciate me spreading the love. I abandoned the rhyme scheme in the second stanza because I couldn't think of anything that rhymed with "farm" except "arm," and I couldn't think of a way to make that sound un-cheesy. (Actually what happened was I got bored and it made sense the way it was. ;)

Also, I haven't decided on a title. ;)

How many wishes d’you think lay concealed
In the corners and pockets of alfalfa fields,
Cotton-white dand’lions nodding their heads.
Forget about wheat; let’s plant wishes instead.

Farmers, forget all the weeds you’ve been weeding,
And think of, instead, all the wishes you’re seeding
By letting the dand’lions grow on your farm.

Then if fishes were wishes we’d scour the seas,
Seeking the goldfish to end all the pleas
For the wheat and the flour that we had stopped sowing
Because our main crop was wish-flower growing.

And, for the heck of it, here's another poem I finished recently. It was inspired by mascara, and it has a title.

Arachnophobia

Her eyes were like flies’ eyes,
How they shone back the light in five thousand colors
Like multi-faceted black-and-blue diamonds
Shuttered beneath butterfly eyebrows.

Her lips were silkworms as she
Pulled thread from her mouth
Full of maggots
To weave a skirt like a spider’s web.
 
The lies she lied were locusts,
Jumping out at me and scratching my skin with their
Grasshopper claws and lying eyes.

 Her hands were like spiders,
Spindly, five-legged carnivores
Attached to praying mantis arms,
Twitching across the sticky thread
Reeling between her silkworm lips.

 But as I think about it,
It was not her hands but her eyes that preyed
Arachnid-like on my face,
Hungry for my flies’ eyes eyes.