I write a lithograph of lies.
Stone tablets.
The language of broken rules.
To chisel faces of stone emotion.
Chip at the grain with hardened steel
Until sparks fly.
To anger the mind.
To light flame to mountainside brush.
To scorch the lips of the faithful.
Until flame sparks tender
On the lips
To burn down the page.
I created this poem entirely from lines generated in a poetic line generator. In no way do I claim this as my own poetry, but it does have a similar feel to a lot of the abstract poetry that I have written.
You can check out the poetic line generator that I used right here: Poetic Line Generator
Go ahead and let me know what you think. Are the robots going to be taking the poets’ jobs any time soon?
The Memories of Pain Embrace in the Water
Two figures of love turn after the storm.
Your oldest friends of words sleep amongst the
Shadows. Shapes of summer echo like a
Dancer alone on the stage. The leaves of
The soul sleep inside the meaning. Men dressed
In the color of the dance reach stillness.
The trees of harmony vanish like a
Child. The oceans of desire join in
The insect air. Your oldest friends of tears
Cry in your forgotten dreams. The seasons
From your past whisper inside the meaning.
Two figures of wanting echo beneath
The surface. Some of the waves of wanting
Breathe sensuously. Poets of time touch
The meaning. The children of winter speak.
In these two revisions I tried to work with rhyme. In version #1, I added rhymes to the end of the lines, and in version #2, I added rhymes inside of the lines. Both versions follow the ABABCDCDEFEFGG rhyme scheme.
Version #2 has much more subtle rhymes because they are not where you expect them, but version #1 makes use of some slant rhymes (words that almost rhyme), so its rhymes are not all that blatant either. I am not sure which of the two versions I like better.
Which one do you like better?
If you want to compare these two versions to the original, you can follow this link: https://therichardbraxton.wordpress.com/2017/09/14/september-poem-25-the-words-spoken-rocking-on-the-water/
#1: Words Spoken Rocking on the Water
Two fishermen anchored deep and boating
Surrounded by silty beaches, scrub land,
Thick brick walls in dollar bills, and smoking
New dams. And eddies. And dead rivers. And
Great many anglers. Allies puffing through
Just lit one idea and lit another.
The light edges to end one subject. To
Start another. To find no one other
Extreme at study from search and use of
The poles and hooks and tackle and what all.
Of drifting fish, dreaming in among the
Floating ice that keeps them. Bumping the walls
And breathing in the liquid air they rend
Pulling through their gills numbing to their end.
#2: Words Spoken Rocking on the Water
Two fishermen anchored in a tin boat
Surrounded by silty beaches, scrub brush,
Thick brick walls in dollar bills, and smoking
New dams. And eddies. And dead rivers. And
Great many anglers. Allies puffing herbs
Just lit one idea and lit another.
The light replies to end one subject. To
Start another. To find no in-between.
Extreme at study from search of catfish.
The poles and hooks and tackle and bucket
Of drifting fish. And dream in among the
Tickle of ice floating. Bumping the walls
And breathing in the liquid air like smoke
Pulling through their gills numbing to their end.
The retaining wall. To save your parents
The erosion that served to strip you of
Your most valuable resource. Your land. The
Hill. Your livelihood. You should have something
To behold. Trailer tailgate the top of
The Earth. Offloading boards at the awkward
Angle from front of the grave. The little
Vine from the world’s fair. It grew so fast. Land
Scraped smooth as much as smothered. Furniture
Of your house. Your salvation. Vanishing
Nothingness. How it burned bright across your
Throat. But you know squalor. And the trick of
Nothingness. Soft toilet paper. And a
Good toothpaste. It will be missed when it’s gone.
Like the siren of the neighbor’s tail lights
As he scraped ice from the windshield, the trees
Waver through the silver of a full moon
And decry the hawk and blade that spread the
Hardpan of dampened earth to the daub and
Waddle communities of people who
Say hello when stepping out to check the
Mail. The communities who may know your
First name but not the color of your eyes.
The communities who can only look
On your face until the small talk gets stale.
The communities who lift the blinds just
Enough to be out of sight until the
Neighbor’s car is warmed up and driving on.
A Stephen Earley Jordan II Initiative
Inspiration and Spirituality **Award Free**
therichardbraxton 