The will of purple
Or only the little night man
Her everything who doesn’t
***
I created this poem after feeding many of my poems into a word frequency counter. It listed the words I used by the amount of times I used them and in alphabetical order. You can find the word frequency counter I used here: http://www.writewords.org.uk/word_count.asp
Out off how
What was until just
Want this more got do because
Who through so see life his
Would where leg know into him back about
***
I created this poem after feeding many of my poems into a word frequency counter. It listed the words I used by the amount of times I used them and in alphabetical order. You can find the word frequency counter I used here: http://www.writewords.org.uk/word_count.asp
Afternoon Amazon alive and able
Armed with arched armpits
Ample with apple argument
Affording of advice and accusing of activity
Awash in awkward autumn arrows and ashamed
***
I created this poem after feeding many of my poems into a word frequency counter. It listed the words I used by the amount of times I used them and in alphabetical order. So I went to the end of the list and chose from the words that started with the letter ‘A’ that I only used once. This poem ends up as both the kind of thing you would expect me to write and using words I infrequently use. You can find the word frequency counter I used here: http://www.writewords.org.uk/word_count.asp
Halloween breathes on your neck
When you are standing alone in the dark.
It lurks just behind that next trashcan
In the alley waiting to jump at you with hollow eyes.
You can hear it dragging one foot as it follows behind you.
But it is always just far enough away that you can’t see it.
But when you do, it will be too late.
Is there nothing to be found
Carved like names into headstones
Forever declaring births and deaths
Of the people who once found faith
On slow walks through this field?
.
Like a tree rooted in death
Looking for peace in the cemetery,
I try to find my bit of happiness
Slowly pushing aside the graves.
***
I wrote this poem in response to the Wea’ve Written Weekly prompt on Skeptics Kaddish. This week’s prompt poem is “It’s a Stretch” by Steven S Wallace. If you would like to read the poem or participate in the prompt, visit the post here: https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/08/31/w3-prompt-18-weave-written-weekly/
But more specifically, I wrote this poem after reading Murisopis’ response to the weekly prompt. I was inspired by the poem’s focus on the tree roots grinding through the bodies of the dead trying and failing to get sustenance from them. The poem is well worth a look. You can find it here: https://murisopsis.wordpress.com/2022/09/02/looking-at-a-dead-tree/
Come electrons, fuse boxes, and buses,
Thick conductors used in electrical substations,
Fry the gaming computers we’ve overclocked.
Powning the newbs was your only job!
***
A free verse poem has no set pattern for line or stanza length. Rhyme is not used, or it is used sparingly. The line length and the rhythm or the lines are dictated by the natural rhythm of speech or other concerns such as emphasis on a particular word, image, or idea.
Thirty minutes before class staring into the whiteboard
Wondering how I am going to keep the class engaged
Until the students come. Then, it’s free sailing.
Five limp, pickled jalapen(is)o rings
Where the life happen(i)s
To let the whiskey open(is) up
Kick the door open(is) with your pants around your ancles
Ears twitch with eyes open(is) for a second
Just a man with a pen(is)chant for midnight mass
In fact, they spen(is)d most of their time on fire
***
A free verse poem has no set pattern for line or stanza length. Rhyme is not used, or it is used sparingly. The line length and the rhythm or the lines are dictated by the natural rhythm of speech or other concerns such as emphasis on a particular word, image, or idea.
Rockside on the beach far from the oceanfront restaurant,
The pay parking, and the bustle of the pier
Where the lifeguards turn a blind eye to the families
Who bring their dogs to nip at the oncoming waves,
A young boy digs next to his daddy sitting in the sand.
.
He brings up gobs of sopping sand and remnants
Of seashell, a few rocks, and a bottlecap.
Burrowing a hole shoulder deep,
The boy finds ocean between his fingers
And a whole childhood in one freezing hour.
***
A free verse poem has no set pattern for line or stanza length. Rhyme is not used, or it is used sparingly. The line length and the rhythm or the lines are dictated by the natural rhythm of speech or other concerns such as emphasis on a particular word, image, or idea.
Good morning, Tungsten Marmalade.
Good morning, monster mech monkeys.
Good morning, the mark that we miss
As the turning point approaches.
Good morning, and how I may convey
A sense of the meatball dinner I cooked
About fifteen years ago?
Good morning, and welcome
To the constant howl of a new puppy
And the old nagging of everyday life.
***
A free verse poem has no set pattern for line or stanza length. Rhyme is not used, or it is used sparingly. The line length and the rhythm or the lines are dictated by the natural rhythm of speech or other concerns such as emphasis on a particular word, image, or idea.
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