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125,021 Literary Works • 672,740 Reviews
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Spoiler
you know those games you play as kids–
the ones where you hide under the shade of
a willow tree as you scrape your knee trying to climb
it and yet somehow you still got found?
and that one game where you sat at your
living room table with your pencil and you tried to
nucrasbmel ______
sare;phs ______
genaarrer ______
het irfamtenm ______
fo? ohodlchid______
oh, the game where you took out all those markers
and you found the crosslines between “summer” and “sunshine”
so you filled the margins with umbrellas and
beachballs, still caught in the cold of winter–
the game where you hit that card and your
hand aches for the kind of joy that only comes
with the infantility of it all– you play with
the boundlessness of a mind and you are sated.
sated, fated, hated– hater, later, rater– raker,
staker, maker. meet your maker– me, the maker–
meat; your maker. your making– making you–
making me.
that’s always been my favorite. word games.
sometimes there’s the blurry line between the
creation and the creator, so i pull the letters through
conjugation and speaker and “i” becomes “you’ve”.
stubborn is one of my favorite words. i think that
coating the word in its faux-synonyms denounces
the prestige of being stubborn. you are stubborn because
your will has solidified. we desecrate the word, but
in its essence, stubborn is the best thing to be.
i know it makes me abrasive, but that is a fine
trade for knowing what i want. i feel the thorns dig
into my testaments but it only allays my fear of
becoming something truly irredeemable.
that idea– being irredeemable, it sticks to you like
some sort of constant. you are no longer innocent,
you have grown up. and maybe that is what made
humans birth into the state of sin, we are irredeemable, sure,
but we are also beautiful in the way we are irredeemable.
we strive to disparage our past in hopes of reforming
the future.
that requires at least some sort of merit. at least,
i think so. being human and being brash and being
irredeemable and being, just being, i think there’s something
quite humane about that. the remembrance of childhood
is the remembrance of human nature. you find yourself
wishing to procure that kind of child-like nature.
my favorite poet is e. e. cummings, my favorite
poem of his is r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r. i think there is
something so interesting about the ending of the poem.
“rearrangingly become, grasshopper.” because we all
become through rearranging. as a child, i was always
one to love a haiku. i always loved an acrostic.
i was born to be a poet at heart.
november: 9-25-\\\\
Nice
cOol
Vents
Every
Monday
Breezes
awesomE
novembeR
summer: \\-\\-\\
Sun shines down on me
Umbrellas we open for shade
Mochis i eat from the freezer
My popsicle i eat to cool me down
Everyone splashes in a pool
summeR, i think is nice
birthday: 10-2-\\\
hurray! hurray! it’s
almost my birthday today
hurrah! hurrah. yay.
maybe i was writing in the margins to search for myself.
Wait a second. This is still in the green room? From February? Eulogy, if you need reviews, blink twice.
Good grief.
Well, here I am. You are deserving of a review, and this is a beautiful poem. This is inventive in a way I don't see as often, and I think that's what makes it stand out as exceptional.
I think you capture the playfulness of childhood games perfectly in this poem. There's an irreverence in the examples that points to the stubborn, child-like nature you dig into in the latter half. Your exploration with formatting communicates the tone so well: the poem is like a part of the game, a revisiting of them, and a reflection of the past.
I like that it's interactive. The scrambled words force the reader to dig deep -- stubbornly, just like you are, and just as we are, as children -- to understand, if we want to. We have to pause to engage with it, use our attention and our energy to rearrange the letters. I like that the poem grips the reader and there's an invitation not just to play with, but a challenge to read and think critically -- to decipher meaning out of the wordplay and the fun.
The wordplay stanza was especially powerful: "sated, fated, hated-- hater... your making -- making you -- making me." And was so beautifully tied in in the later stanzas as you correlate the loss of innocence with redemption, or rather, the feeling of being irredeemable that everyone has to grapple with at one point, when they grow old enough to truly reflect on their mistakes, and the consequences of their stubbornness. Just as in the wordplay stanza, there's the underlying theme of the power of a person's will, to create, to change, and to become. And in your case, to even become a poet.
The irony, humor, and the depth of the poems from childhood strike such a chord. The blocked out dates contribute to the overarching act of reflection, where the details of memories get lost, and we're left with just the feelings -- translating what we find, without all the pieces anymore.
I love how you tied it all in with the stanza about e.e. cummings: how you used that inspiration as a thread, tying the whole poem together.
Becoming through rearranging: a means of discovering oneself.
What a beautiful note to end on.
Thanks so much for sharing your poetry, eulogy. It's been such a joy watching you grow in your craft. Sorry it's only praise from me, today, but I'm cheering you on as you sharpen your pencil.
- sound
omgness thank you so much sound !!! literally blinking twice rn %uD83D%uDE2D
point me to your other poems that are in the green room!
the third law of motion
april may march, march may, april will. (3/17/25)
Oh my gosh, I loved this so muchhhh <33
are you secretly a professor of poetry or a published poet masquerading as a yws user.....
this is possibly one of my favourite poems I have read on this site... and not even just because you mentioned my favourite poet and one of my favourite poems by said poet!!! Though that amazed me, some e.e.cummings appreciation is needed around here!
the scrambled words games were such an amazing touch, it kind of makes the reader have to actually put effort into reading the poem (though as e.e. cummings fans, we are used to this of course) and adds a whole other layer. They make it playful, interactive, and add to that nostalgia you're building up.
The structure is brilliant, i've tried a lot of times myself to play around with the structure like this but never quite got it to THIS level.
The poem is a beautiful exploration of how language shapes the self, with philosophical depth too.
I am actually quite lost for words, to be honest!