Alright. Lame post warning. I'm just throwing up some of the poetry I had to write for my Modern Poetry class. Mind you, this is definately not the style I write in. This is a response to Gertrude Stein. Our assignment was to take the first line of three poems of hers and build off of it with automatic responses. I figured... I'll do it when I'm ready to pass out aka this morning. So. Here is the first one. This one I had to do with the monitor covered.
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.
Rose. The symbol of love.
What love?
A love that shrivels up and dies away.
A love that wilts and turns sour, dropping petals as it falls apart
What is a rose?
A flower that smells sweet
But it is not hearty
I want a hearty, resistant love
A love that can cope in all weathers, in all forms, and under all circumstances
I want a forgiving love
Since I am far from perfection
And closer to failure.
I want a love that will forget my trespasses
A companionship of two
I want to sleep
And dream of the love that I will never have
A love of chivalry
Imagine.
Of all the things I dream of
I dream of a knight.
Not a figurative one
But a literal knight.
A night of knights
Tall
Dark
Handsome
Intelligent
Strong
Honored
With a steed and shining armor
I will give him my flag
A thing to cherish and keep by his heart when fighting
A knight of honesty
The knight that fairytales are made of
I want that love
Can a rose give me that?
No.
A rose once cut is dead
Like chivalry is dead
I give me wine instead so that I may dream f more glorious days
Of joust and magic
I will back the day of corsets and skirts
I will back the day of masculinity
I do not want these frivolous nacy boys that patrol around
No dandys
No Wildes
I want none of that
Instead of a rose
Give me a bed and a chance to dream in color
To create a knight to my design
A man of my making
Give me a book filled with poems
Filled with pictures and drawings and diagrams
Of all the my knight would love
A lance, a sword, a shield, a steed
The rose..
A sign of flouncey attitudes and wishy-washy feelings
Do not give me a rose
I despise them
Live up to my expectations
Hah! My expectations are unlivable.
A female Miniver Cheevy
Another child of scorn
I wish nothing more than to sleep through this life
Scraping by til the end
Where I may finally rest
And permanently dream o knights
And of a better world.
A Camelot
That I will never be a part of
The second I actually titled. I think. Yeah I did. This one was another one that I typed on the computer, but could look at the screen.
This one I like a bit better.
Worthwhile?
Love is being existing.
It is, it is.
Love is being existing.
Without you are naught.
Without you are dry.
Without you are carrion.
Love is all.
Love is the ultimate that we reach to achieve.
To reach within the boundaries of said love.
Love of self.
Love of another.
But mainly
Love of self.
Love is self is the most crucial.
Loving yourself is existing.
There are many ways to love oneself.
One of which Joe is to see before us all.
Love is existing.
Is existence necessary?
No?
If so, go.
Why stay?
Why remain without love
Within the confines of madness and qualms.
Love of another.
The playful tease of the beginnings.
The calm, smooth, relaxation like a ship with full sails on a quiet sea.
The sailors don't see.
Don't see that the quiet is but the eye.
The eye of maelstrom
The tempest's eye.
The tempter's eye.
The lovers eyes.
Eyes. Windows.
Both alike.
Peer in but wait. Thou art blind.
The sea is churning.
The waves are roiling.
The slap, slap, slap
The dull thud of each monotonous crashing wave.
Monotonous.
Monotonous.
Metronome.
Monotonous.
Each wave a new meaning.
Each wave a new hurt
A new insult
A new grudge.
Add salt to the wound with each splash.
The tempest
Calms.
Calming.
Sails unfurl as the sun dries each soft, white fold.
Open again.
Heading forward
Full speed ahead
Until you reach the next siren and the next and the next siren and the next.
Like Odysseus.
Tossed about by Circe
Tossed about by Poseidon
Tossed about by all in a cruel game
Love is existing.
Is existing, is existing.
It is.
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.
Rose. The symbol of love.
What love?
A love that shrivels up and dies away.
A love that wilts and turns sour, dropping petals as it falls apart
What is a rose?
A flower that smells sweet
But it is not hearty
I want a hearty, resistant love
A love that can cope in all weathers, in all forms, and under all circumstances
I want a forgiving love
Since I am far from perfection
And closer to failure.
I want a love that will forget my trespasses
A companionship of two
I want to sleep
And dream of the love that I will never have
A love of chivalry
Imagine.
Of all the things I dream of
I dream of a knight.
Not a figurative one
But a literal knight.
A night of knights
Tall
Dark
Handsome
Intelligent
Strong
Honored
With a steed and shining armor
I will give him my flag
A thing to cherish and keep by his heart when fighting
A knight of honesty
The knight that fairytales are made of
I want that love
Can a rose give me that?
No.
A rose once cut is dead
Like chivalry is dead
I give me wine instead so that I may dream f more glorious days
Of joust and magic
I will back the day of corsets and skirts
I will back the day of masculinity
I do not want these frivolous nacy boys that patrol around
No dandys
No Wildes
I want none of that
Instead of a rose
Give me a bed and a chance to dream in color
To create a knight to my design
A man of my making
Give me a book filled with poems
Filled with pictures and drawings and diagrams
Of all the my knight would love
A lance, a sword, a shield, a steed
The rose..
A sign of flouncey attitudes and wishy-washy feelings
Do not give me a rose
I despise them
Live up to my expectations
Hah! My expectations are unlivable.
A female Miniver Cheevy
Another child of scorn
I wish nothing more than to sleep through this life
Scraping by til the end
Where I may finally rest
And permanently dream o knights
And of a better world.
A Camelot
That I will never be a part of
The second I actually titled. I think. Yeah I did. This one was another one that I typed on the computer, but could look at the screen.
This one I like a bit better.
Worthwhile?
Love is being existing.
It is, it is.
Love is being existing.
Without you are naught.
Without you are dry.
Without you are carrion.
Love is all.
Love is the ultimate that we reach to achieve.
To reach within the boundaries of said love.
Love of self.
Love of another.
But mainly
Love of self.
Love is self is the most crucial.
Loving yourself is existing.
There are many ways to love oneself.
One of which Joe is to see before us all.
Love is existing.
Is existence necessary?
No?
If so, go.
Why stay?
Why remain without love
Within the confines of madness and qualms.
Love of another.
The playful tease of the beginnings.
The calm, smooth, relaxation like a ship with full sails on a quiet sea.
The sailors don't see.
Don't see that the quiet is but the eye.
The eye of maelstrom
The tempest's eye.
The tempter's eye.
The lovers eyes.
Eyes. Windows.
Both alike.
Peer in but wait. Thou art blind.
The sea is churning.
The waves are roiling.
The slap, slap, slap
The dull thud of each monotonous crashing wave.
Monotonous.
Monotonous.
Metronome.
Monotonous.
Each wave a new meaning.
Each wave a new hurt
A new insult
A new grudge.
Add salt to the wound with each splash.
The tempest
Calms.
Calming.
Sails unfurl as the sun dries each soft, white fold.
Open again.
Heading forward
Full speed ahead
Until you reach the next siren and the next and the next siren and the next.
Like Odysseus.
Tossed about by Circe
Tossed about by Poseidon
Tossed about by all in a cruel game
Love is existing.
Is existing, is existing.
It is.