and it seems that i run out of time at least once every napo but what can i say? life exists and life happens and i procrastinate and y'know, earl grey milk chocolate ice cream is delish
smiles on the windowpane (kyrielle; France; at least 2 quatrains, each line has 8 syllables, each stanza has the refrain in its last line, can have varying rhyme schemes)
secret codes intrigued me even when i was a child who'd weave in fantasy into the mundane, drawing smiles on the windowpane
i had nothing to hide, but i was still so fascinated by hiding messages in sight plain i drew smiles on the windowpane
now i call it cryptography or perhaps steganography long words, but it's still the same rain i see smiles on the windowpane
over & understatements (ars poetica; Rome; a poem about the art/craft of poetry)
this combination of computers and creative writing has always captivated me and i have noticed i have become too fond of the word always, overusing it, perhaps but i enjoy exploring all the ways, all the combinations of these interests of mine and to me, poetry at its heart is a way to experiment creatively, not quite like chemistry but something unique, of its own, beauty on paper (or the screen), something meant to be and it can be crafted with logic and rules like conlangs or something programmed but it can also be spontaneous, or rambling, or random, like solar flares i guess what i mean to say is i do rather like poetry (an understatement, perhaps)
the side (blackout poem) (based on the first poem i published on YWS: The Other Side)
this is the kind of poetry late-night mint does XDD
ads
bad ads on rad additives add additional madness to saddened lads and natty wads, oh drat sands are a tad bit gaudy and i had to jot notes on a pad ratty dandy ads go zoom zad zat -- what's that? ah, another ad.
a modern-day story (each line has a reference to a company, browser, OS, etc. =P) (because really, these names are so funny sometimes)
today i woke up and ate an apple as i walked to the edge of my room and marveled at the chrome railings that were outside the windows. i cleaned the glass with a soft microfiber cloth then goggled at the birds that twittered exciting things outside, eating blackberries as if they didn't have a care in the world. then i downed a gram of instant coffee and when my phone went bing! with a notif, i snapped it open to chat with a friend, at least until i had to zoom away for work. in the lab, i measured a magnetic field in units of teslas but then a fiery fox broke into the room?? it threw a book at my face and then ran away. then my coworker sam sung a song. sam has a bro named s and oh, right, i owe s some money. anyways my attention span is like-- ooh, hula hoop! gosh i have dizzy knees. probably cuz i did flips on a net. it was an unintend- oh, actually, i need to go roll down a hill now. you think you have a tube i could borrow?
oh, to be kidnapped by a tomato, it makes you quite confused-oh. though really, it's better than being kidnapped by celery, cuz at least you're seeing that you don't have to deal with nasty fumes! join me for some tunes before the potato zooms awayyyyyyy~! i say! tomatoes aren't veggies; they're fruits but really, who gives two hoots? not me, 'least not on april fool's dayyyyyyy
light cast by the things that end us (prompts from @WeepingWisteria and @Ley! thanks for the very poetic ideas :>)
we could be pompeii. yes, a city preserved by destruction. isn't that ironic? tell me, if you clasped hands with my nuclear shadow, would you pull it to the thunderstorm in the distance? or stand there as the energy of the blast bleaches everything (everyone) else? (in this multiple choice question, we both know the answer is c.) i wonder. is that rumbling the sound of the hunger of the volcano or the discontent of the thunderstorm? i make mud pies and cake mud over my fingers and feed you this imaginary meal. and then. the time(line) passes. i feel the mud dry into a cast for my alter ego and you cast your net into the sky. when we cast the die, did you know we were casting a spell of woe? we are the cast of a box-office bomb. these bombs we use for our wars with(in) ourselves. when there is a ceasefire in the war of the skies, paint expired body glitter onto the shadow i cast. paint fresh eye shadow onto my body's cast. cast away your caste system and replace it with sarcasm. because of course, makeup equals beauty equals equality. you snicker. easy as pie, easy as 1 2 3-- the next step of this beginner's tutorial to war is to profit. sell cellophane, prison cells, and cell phones. sell your shadow. sell your city & everything you will be.
the prompts (that i ended up combining into one poem xD)
Spoiler! :
A poem referencing a nuclear shadow A thunderstorm that's only in the distance The feeling of dried mud Expired body glitter poem about war (internal or external)
4/21/24 ahaha i am 7 poetic forms behind... time to catch up!
chain link fence (decima espinela; Spain; 10 lines of 8 syllables each; rhyming abbaaccddc)
chain link fence stands there in the cold fluttering wings land quietly fence for humans, apparently no defense against things of old or weather, or rust that is bold will metal pass the test of time? claws can help it fail, for a lime beak can chip away at coating paint only muffles the clear ring chain link fence stands there with its rime
each night, the moon beats back the tyrant sun then yields to slumber once her job is done
ocean perfume (canzone; Italy or France; usually consists of 1-7 stanzas, 8-20 lines per stanza, hendecasyllabic (11-syllable) lines with end-rhyme or keywords)
once i had a bottle with ocean perfume before sleeping i would inhale its clean fumes but then it shattered, and i started to fume as i swept it away, now sparkling refuse but still, even from the sharp shards wafted fumes of that once sweet and salty ocean perfume though if one asked me to once more the glass fuse, to that, i'd shake my head and simply refuse
a walk (silva; Spain; 11- and 7-syllable lines, often with rhymes)
if we were to take a walk in the woods, or in the field, what would we talk about? the sky, the sparrows, the meadows, the grass? or silver-tipped arrows? or perhaps we would discuss the world, the towns, the cities, the rest of us. but to tell you the truth, i'd be happy with peaceful silence, forsooth.
4/22/24 4 behind now, but Ant's wall post also introduced me to two new forms to try, sooooooo possibly i am 6 behind XD
are we in a sci-fi or a satire novel? (magic 9; United Kingdom; rhyme scheme abacadaba)
funny how these characters i type can make figures move on-screen, can display fruits that are ripe, can create worlds and games. funny how we quickly swipe through our feeds, looking at photos and clothes and a pipe, feeling invisible and yet seen. dust collects; my screen i'll wipe.
in praise of the internet (izibongo; Bantu peoples of South Africa; oral poetry of praise or possibly criticism)
lo and behold, we live in a web. and some call this web a trap, revealing our darkest desires and the anarchy that comes with anonymity. but webs are also connection, are also threads that link us with our fellow human beings and remind us that there is more than ourselves and our bubbles. yes, nets can trap, but nets can also catch us when we fall. and rock climbers know the value of ropes of safety. isn't it crazy that we can speak (nearly instantaneously) to those across the world? isn't it wonderful that we can learn and have access to such an extensive library of information? and so, internet, i offer you this praise because i'm afraid we've gotten too used to your wonder, too accustomed to this modern-day magic.
my ideas got lost in ikea just like a certain sprite and pixie wandering the arrow-marked paths flying towards the pretty lights-- did that plant just move? no idea are the walls trying to eat our fingers? maybe we should get out of here... some quick maths will help us set ourselves to rights. huh. that dream sure caused a fright. preeeeeeettyyyyy liiiiiights... aren't the stars beautiful tonight?
charcoal like your sketches; art dropped in a sketchy part of town, charred and holding holes, not whole; you told me your stockings were never filled with coal; too bad the store ran out of stock; i would've torn down there and bought you coal to draw with.
persian green like your woods; would you care for me like you cared for your carpet of green; perchance i, wooden, dream care- lessly in the coal-black cold.
saffron like your scents; expensive, so fond of pens, pensiveness, and perfume; recently, you've sent too many fronds of green to the grave.
sandy brown like your laugh; great yet grating, a round sound; grains of sand fall down; live love laugh lie lose look at the beach and its sprinkling of saffron.
burnt sienna like you; burning bright bumbling bee; seeing seen soothing sea; young unique never to be more than a flicker to me; the sunlight washes you out like sandy brown is swept away by waves. i wave goodbye.
It's fun to read your poetry in different kind of styles, it's so creative!! I really like the 'ikea' poem, and the 'cold/hot colors' too! The imagery is amazing :]
4/25/24 um. so. it's a little past midnight right now and i realized i forgot to write a poem for 4/24 sooooo that'll be my missed day i guess XD
late-night ramblings 2024
the concept of self is hilarious. am i really unique? logically, i know no one else has had the same combination of memories as me, doesn't have the same dna as me, is not the same person as me. but in many ways, i am just another stereotype. i am an asian who is good at math. i am a girl who likes stationery. i am a writer who, try as she might, cannot fully rid herself of cliches and tropes. i am slightly above average in height, average in weight, average in appearance. i list my facts and figures and data and average them but really, i mean, i have a range of skills but what mode is best to operate in and my standard deviation is deviating from standards and i am stringing words together like lettuce on string cheese. let us depart this cheesiness. and sometimes words have no meaning but that's alright because we write to create meaning and if we pour out enough of ourselves, surely it'll eventually make something? we'll make something of ourselves. as if we aren't enough already. as if we aren't three dimensional (how funny it would be if a fourth dimensional being was reading this) as if we aren't real-- isn't reality relative? really, i should be releasing my cells into rem sleep. i think i used to ramble better, but this is what i'm left with, right here, so it shall have to do.
loving this thread, mint! You make me want to try more adventurous things, but I don't think I could pull of half of them as well as you're doing. Nearly there!
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