Category: Poetry

#30Days30Sonnets

Ode to a Worthy Thirty

  • by kwirb

ODE TO A WORTHY THIRTY

Aye, the time is nigh. Sigh my bye, slump my spine and redefine
the eyes that strides advise; a pint-sized supply of decipher’s
rhymes revised, the demise of compromise, guises of prized decline
from swine to higher inclined lines – a geyser of wiser ciphers. –

Awake the dead, embed instead the words unsaid, of themes misled.
Tread ahead this beheaded head that swelled and bled in dread;
shred the rose bed, shed your wit’s end on sleds of words penned.
Ascend on the befriended extent of distended intentions webbed.

Clemency Menagerie – memory tremors of clever elemental remedy –
a feathery assembly of loquacious entity, empathy’s treasury,
of sensory summaries for empty sympathy; an emotional dispensary,
an airy trajectory of the exemplary infinity of a happy visionary.

Unveiling tales that inhale, travail to assail our flailing’s wail,
trains derailed, boats ne’er sailed, shocks entailed, exact’s detail,
in scales that prevail, trails that curtail, and plots that impale;
a frail veil of blotched braille nailed against a phrasal exhale.

This arc of light recites the typewriter’s plight; these nights
of psychic flights incite the might of quiet knights that invite
blights of rewrites that give the eye’s whites no green lights.
To smite and fight spiteful slights with exciting frights, a right

to rephrase blockades; phrasing amazing blazes of traded dazes
weighed in sways of jadedly hazes, to gazes of stray charades;
clichés cascade to overplayed tirades that survey the frayed delays
away from grazes decayed. An array of dismayed portrayals conveys

a simple, limbered difference in the quivering cinder’s flicker
and timbre’d, mirrored, thinker’s whisper which hinders and withers
these dis-configured, shriveling fingers, whose limbering whimpers
deliver linear figures of quicker, richer, pictures that linger.

This quirky curtsy is my earthy ode to this topsy-turvy journey;
a mercilessly wordy ode scurries to a more sturdy, worthy thirty.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets

So, in less than half an hour, I turn 30. Yay, adulting. Thanks for joining me on this ride from day 1, if not, just click the #30Days30Sonnets on the menu above and see the cray cray that led to this final post using this hashtag.

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#30Days30Sonnets

Dithering Gibberish

  • by kwirb

DITHERING GIBBERISH

Your moralistic judgments fade, countering slighter compulsion;
(necessary, you suppose, adjusting to the diversity of the times)
beyond them, unmasked admissions: total unmitigated revulsion.

Blundered words fail to address, in schemes or in rhymes,
the sinking slips of misdeeds excused from your countenance;
Does apathy wink at the negligent indifference in slight crimes?

Your boundless disinterest, acceptance of ignorance, in consonance
with your heedlessness’ needs to impress upon me impressionistic
jargon, provisions that do nothing but behoove my moral sustenance.

Yet, this dilemma is as pointless as your surrealistic logistics
whose voiceless facts are smothering scores of statistical vendetta
and further expunging sums of unrealistic and more imperialistic

ideals. This dilemma whose ownership divides; this taunting dilemma,
offed hopeful days and blithe nights, from faded, foggy, tattered morals
to the unenlightened lethargy of your oddly stoic, emboldened agenda.

I do not need nor desire to indicate in specificity to which immoral
tolerance or to what demeanor, that implicates or disproves your deeds;
however, I may, with tact, upturn your strife towards a laudable quarrel.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
Experimenting with terza rima; in response to the decline of the educational practices and standards plaguing the media as of late.

Poetry

An Acrostic Admission for Ethel

  • by kwirb

hokeypokey

AN ACROSTIC ADMISSION FOR ETHEL

This is the last time that I take your advice.
– Hey, it won’t hurt. In and out procedure. –
Ethel, you lying sack of shit.

How did I not know better?
Of course, this wasn’t going to be anything but painful.
Kneesocks unfurled along with my pants down.
Ever felt a breeze between your thighs?
You don’t. Trust me.

Prodding me with needles and
oddly shaped tools that make my
kneecaps shiver along with my insides!
Endless investigating of my bodily prides!
You could have just said so, Ethel!

Can they turn the heat up in here?
Listen, it’s very cold.
I really am not complaining.
No, look, I can see my breath.
I am not being difficult.
Call my wife, she’ll tell you. “ETHEL!”

And then more prodding ensued.

Please, Ethel. I’m sorry I called you a…
Liar.
And a sack of shit. You and I both know that the
C word would have been worse!
Ethel? Hello? Can you redial, I think we got disconnected.

Thank you, nurse.
Oh, yes, she said she had a headache. Chat tomorrow.

Thank you for returning my call.
Understandable. We were both upset. And had. Words.
Right, of course, I agree.
No. Okay, yes. Maybe tomorrow. Feel better.

You’re sounding very… alluring… today.
Oh, I didn’t know that you had a cold.
Uh. It sounds more sexy than nasal.
Right.
So…
Ethel.
Look… can you just…
Forgive me?

Alright. I can agree to that. I really do
regret saying it. I love you, too. Yes, the doctor
ordered me these special little blue pills.
Uh. About an hour ag…
NURSE, PACK MY THINGS!!!
Don’t worry, Ethel! This hokey’s pokey is coming home!

Wrote this as a prompt to the picture above on AllPoetry.com. Thought it was something different to write, lol. It was quite fun, to be honest and, though acrostic, was not as difficult to write as I had thought in theory. Hope you enjoy, I know that I did!

#30Days30Sonnets

Bourgeois’ Bauble

  • by kwirb

BOURGEOIS’ BAUBLE

Baubles. Plentiful of such exuberance,
our futile playthings: Our idling muses.
From our buoyant imaginations useless
did we craft our calmer, lesser nuisances.
Adults had found these, things, ludicrous,
( lack of logic, form or function, for excuses),
but our childish unsophistication refuses
to find this alternate gospel humorous.

We galloped on stallions in deserted fields
or were they plains of candied grassy lush
invigorating our vitally wasteful imaginings?
Now, adorned in protective masks and shields,
the day breaks: we awaken from our rush,
bemoaning the loss of lesser understandings.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets

#30Days30Sonnets

Tint

  • by kwirb

TINT

I caught glimpses of your blushing face
this evening, you bashful orb of night!
If only clouds didn’t dull my focal space;
your crimson disintegration from white.
Your moonshine’s murky and opaque ascent
is surely (arguably?) your lunar effort to bleed.
A blurry admission of your crimson consent
to never gleam fully to a bittersweet extent.

Slowly, I transmogrify from my silky glow
to a flaming luminescence, oddly juxtaposed
with the banality of your order, to bestow
upon you a conflicting moonlight transposed.

In thirty-three years, the pair of us will reconvene;
contemplative for now, the less tinted nights between.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 27th 2015.

#30Days30Sonnets

Smiley’s Quagmire

  • by kwirb

SMILEY’S QUAGMIRE

There are hidden smiles in your every sizzled, cut word.
The more contemptuous the replied tone sliced by love,
as wings torn by wind’s fury from a crippled, flightless dove,
the more I am to behave placidly, as a taciturn blind bird.

But, I am but a tiny beast trilling from my chest furred;
scarring sounds silence my simpering sighs devoid of
emotional things that in itself make you unworthy of
fancying flights of wingless volitation deterred and unheard.

Although there are days when you grace me with your smile,
a sight so truly unique that surely no one would believe
my ramblings of supposed cracks in your face unbreakable,

it is still my belief that your intent is to beguile
my attention, if only for a while, as an orderly reprieve
to remind me that, though lamentable, you are irreplaceable.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 26th 2015.

#30Days30Sonnets

Anthem, Incarcerated

  • by kwirb

ANTHEM, INCARCERATED

There is an intimate melody, a tuneful wreath,
whose lyrics escape your lips as whispers hissed,
sheathing your cavernous spirit and delicate teeth
with trivial whiffs of choral inflections reminisced.
The ardor of stuff you fail to describe hits bottom;
Measured in simple tones is a chorus of disclarity,
composed with verses, weakened as leaves in autumn,
polished proof of endless afterlife in familiarity.

This recognizable warble frequents your conscience.
Perhaps a natural theme for your ordinary life,
as you surround yourself in unceremonious nonsense,
this tune drones more of gripe than melodious strife.

True to form, this functional ballad will imprison
your dysfunctional lullaby from breakthroughs arisen.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets

So… To make things clear. This is about a song I couldn’t find the chords to on the internet. And it kind of annoyed me. If anyone knows the chords to “One Love” by the Carpenters, do send me a tell, lol.

#30Days30Sonnets

REMISSION (RE: Me, Shun)

  • by kwirb

REMISSION (RE: Me, Shun)

I am content with lesser poems that show
my lack of skill in rhyme and words that blend;
or when revision’d greater things are penned
with useless words and phrase’s endless flow.
Perhaps, in time, I will revise, although,
with metric phrase it often tends to bend
with rhymes or less; this poet’s pressings lend
some words of woe, thus, ending flow.

You seem to have the meters right (I guess),
but think of what these words convey to you
and if it’s worth “a good review” explored.
Perhaps you’re less of prodigy’s success
and more of vague and strange retorts that spew
amorphous blobs of turgid verbiage adored.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets

Joined a workshop / forum group where the moderators basically shit on people instead of giving feedback. Now, in fairness, they did warn ahead that they are ruthless — but when they purposely lock your post after giving feedback — meaning no one else can give you feedback nor can you respond to their query, it’s just wrong– because then it’s no longer a workshop; it becomes an avenue to bully others with their “superior knowledge” and shut the door in their face instead of, oh, I dunno, accepting revisions? I submitted Red Wine to them, someone had given me feedback, I revised it about a week later, and then a moderator chimed in, calling my sonnet an “amorphous blob of turgid verbiage”, then promptly locked the post, which has inspired me to write today’s sonnet using his own words, lol. Thanks, Howard M2! Also, according to this moderator, revisions are apparently only doable after a minimum of 6 months — and that he didn’t expect me to revise anything before April 2016. Like, wtf, bruh? Maybe I should go brood in a corner somewhere first for six months, cry about all sorts of meaningless crap, and come back 6 months later with better prose?

On a lighter note, if anyone can direct me to a better workshop, I’d super appreciate any feedback or recommendations. I’m part of AllPoetry.com, but I find the poets there are the polar opposite — being too nice instead of critical, lol.

As I said, I don’t mind the criticism — it’s an occupational hazard. What I cannot tolerate, is the locking of posts in a forum to prevent a) Other people giving you feedback and b) to re-assert their dominance in a field where they are apparently more superior to me, close a work-in-progress post, discard revisions, and flip me the proverbial bird. 

/EndRant

#30Days30Sonnets

Twit

  • by kwirb

TWIT

I keep looking for sunlight in dark nights
where the moon’s shine does not feed
my soul, nor do the stars that twinkle lead
me to paths beyond my grasp’s heights.
I need the effervescence of blinding lights
to engulf me in strength within my need
for meager whispers that seem to impede
my vision from the lacking, luminous lights.

Twilight falls and the darkness devours
your precious sunlight
and your pathetic quest for it;
if sunlight were to shine at these hours,
your useless moonlight
is then palpable as deplorable wit.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets

Written as a response to a CHALLENGE on AllPoetry.com, using the following writing prompt “I keep looking for sunlight in…” I kind of feel like I’m cheating by using a prompt but, in fairness, the rest of my poems this whole time were prompt-less, haha. And it’s day #23 of this, so I’m surprised I have had it in me somehow, lol. Thanks!

#30Days30Sonnets

Boulevards and Avenues

  • by kwirb

BOULEVARDS AND AVENUES

Do you remember our pensive, meager strolls
along the boulevards of Creation by my side?
How the absolute cadence in our exacting stride
wore down our shoes and socks to feet for soles?
Could you recognize, then, your own self-control’s
confines from, now, the falseness of your pride?
Or did you presuppose that I would misguide
you, fathomless, into these illusive black holes?

I remember walking, fearfully, somehow treading,
carefully, along perpetual avenues of the unknown.
I recall the breaths I held when facing temptations;
I dwelt deplorably upon my own scraped feet shredding
instead of reciprocating the loyalty You had shown,
rather, lamentably unseeing past inferior fixations.

@kwirb #30Days30Sonnets
September 22nd 2015.