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[poetrycan]

Programming My Computer to Write Poetry

You list the function name first

Defun will state the name

Its argument created next

In name or nil

Nil is an empty set, or no

No argument, no truth, no nothing

    Defparameter creates lists

And lists get stuck between parentheses

With names like noun, verb

And adjective

They get defined and listed

Noun contains tree leaf root

Verb contains run fall jump

Adjective contains red gold soft

  Sentence structures are listed in the same way

Parenthesis adjective noun verb end parenthesis

Repeat as many times over as you can

    Destruct, short for structure, create just that

A structure to input data

Your arguments are noun, verb, and adjective

The lexicon is the list

Pick and read and print just repeat what is already stated

    Define “recite” to mix structure with arguments

Put the equation of adjective noun verb

With the variables of gold, leaf, and fell

Add “the” as a modify that symbolizes nothing

Write out the code

Execute the command,

“The gold leaf fell”

    And my computer writes poetry

[poetrycan]

The Fall

I want to fall in love like an autumn day in New England

I want to be a leaf stuck on a tree

Slowly turning yellow in the increasingly frozen air

I want to cling to the branch despite the others who have fallen

I’ll see my world become golden fire

And hold tight until, suddenly

A breeze pulls me away

And I gently float to the ground

[poetrycan]

My Reality Fits Me

My reality fits around me like a garment

Something old and worn

Something I’ve had forever

But that’s gone through some alteration

Like a dropped waistline

And, suddenly, doesn’t fit right anymore

[poetrycan]

Rhyme Time

I came here to work

To muck, it’s a quirk

To lurk through the murk

It’s a perk.

This performance needs doing

It’s cutting, it’s cooing

And wooing

With catcalls in back halls near black walls

On stages in phases while climbing through mazes.

These gages are breaking

They’re shaking and quaking

Perhaps I am faking my desire to act

With tact, it’s a fact. I need to react

To this strange change of range

That appears just the same

Like some game. It’s a shame

I’m changing my name

In able to work

To toil. I’ll smirk

At the clerk who calls me berserk

The knee jerk

Who crawls through caves with waves

And saves the lamb and clam

From a collapsing dam that would slam

And break the crate and bait the hook

To look like the brook where I found the book

That taught me to work

To muck, it’s a quirk

T lurk in the murk

It’s a perk. 

[poetrycan]

When The Colors Are Muted

I feel my energy slipping

Like sand through my fingers

When the tighter I hold, the more I lose

I’d be better off opening my hand

To let it all go at once

This leakage is draining

  I could sleep until tomorrow and still feel tired

  The world around me is muted, subdued

Colors stand out in shades of beige and grey

And their sound hits my ears in a haze of smog

Where all my feeling arrive on freight trains

Delayed and slowed by their own weight I piled on too hurriedly

That I let them pass without unloading

  My head pounds a dull ache I can ignore

When something is bright to distract me

  Instead the day rides quietly past my window

While I contemplate the benefits of going back to sleep

[poetrycan]

The Ingénue

You catch my eye when the sky turns dark

And it seems inevitable

So we look away, faking embarrassment

While outside, someone tries to set the world on fire.

Your shoulder brushes against mine

And I swallow butterflies that never materialized in my stomach

I’m playing the lead in a romantic subplot I had no choice in joining.

I laugh at something you say

Because I should find it funny

But its more deserving of a quiet chuckle than the laughter I give it

Too big, too loud, to rehearsed.

Our knees bump against one another

As we pour over blueprints to a plan to save the world

And it feels scripted

And outside the gun of a more important storyline goes off

So I decide fear is a stronger emotion that resignation.

Our hands brush against each other as you and I reach for our seatbelts

On our way to save the world from a man with fire for eyes

And it feels inevitable

So I don’t bother with feeling surprised when you look at me

And when we look away I don’t pretend it’s bashful

No blush touches my cheeks, no spark flies from your fingertips to mine

And I know, later

When the man’s fire eyes have consumed his body in what we will call a victory

And you look me in the eye like it’s your right and kiss me

I will feel only the physical sensation of your lips on mine

Both chapped and dry from heat and fear and saving the world

I will smile when we part and it won’t reach my eyes

I will say something that will make you grin and it won’t sound genuine

And I will feel nothing for you.

Let me wake up

Before we save the world. 

[poetrycan]

I Need A Place

I need someplace quiet

Someplace of silent calm isolation

Someplace of serenity, free of noises and sounds

I need a place I can destroy with screaming

With yelling and singing too loud it strains my voice

I need a place where I can scream at the world without the world hearing.

I need a place of white pristine walls

Spotless paint job of nothingness as far as the eye can see

A dull sort of eggshell from floor to ceiling

I need a place I can tear apart the perfectness of

Where I can dig my nails into the whitewash

And scratch out my frustrations and pent up anythings

I need a place of calm and quiet

Far away and perfect

I need a place to break

Rip down the walls and stomp out the dust

I need a place I can crumple up and throw away

When I feel myself crumbling

I need a place I can shatter

Before I do

[poetrycan]

My Crush Is A Demon

I dreamed I met a demon in a different disguise

Not evil, not malice, but a trickster

Forever laughing and playing his jokes on us

And I was laughing right there with him.

We were spotting along a mountain crest

Above some fairly unancient city sprawled below

And our teacher charged us to find his portal

That place from where he comes and goes from this world.

A ways away from the group I texted a short message to my demon

He appeared noiselessly beside me, grinning and giggling

I told him our charge and urged him to show himself to the group

“Some big, frightening display,” I said, “show off and scare them”

And, smiling, he agreed

And disappeared from my side to reappear in front of the group

As a headless salesman, over six feet tall

His suit a crisp pastel blue, a clean cut below his phantom chin

Slightly hidden by an oversized red bowtie

He jumped and danced and laughed a voiceless laugh

That resonated from his chest and broke out from his severed neck

They screamed while we laughed

They ran while we danced

And once the mountain was cleared I thanked my demon for the display

And he disappeared from my side once again

[poetrycan]

If I Had To Describe You

If I had to describe you in the way that my mind turns pictures to words

It might sound something like this:

  If I close my eyes I can see your form

Rather thin and tall, which is no critique, but fact

I’d say lanky to get the somewhat boney awkwardness of your limbs

But lanky suggests sharp edges where yours have been sanded down to curves

So I think of your shoulders more as hill than mountains.

Despite the fact that your glass should magnify this fact every time I see you

I am unable to remember the color of your eyes

For I never held much meaning in remembering the color of anyone’s eyes

Though if I remember to look for it today I’ll learn they’re brown

The darker shade that blends iris with pupil

To the point that, if I’m standing far enough away

I can’t tell where color ends and light begins.

Your hair is a similar brown, though perhaps a few shades lighter

For I’d never confuse it with black

It’s about as soft as fur but lighter than that

More the consistency of down feathers

With the look of tail feathers

The kind that holds together well and look softer than they feel.

I won’t pretend to be able to describe your voice

For the simple fact that it changes in too irregular a way to be understood without hearing

In singer terminology I’d say your most common speaking voice is baritone

Edging on the side of tenor when excited

And turning to a squeaky falsetto when silly

Yet you can pull off a dull bass when required

Leading me to believe you could make as a voice actor if the mood struck.

  If I had to describe you in the way that my mind turns pictures to word

It would sound something like that.

[poetrycan]

The Words I Use

I use the word “soul” is poetry

The way a young child uses the new word a guardian has taught him

Repetitively, testing the sound and feel against his tongue

Knowing that the exact meaning of said word is still illusive

Or partially formed in part of the brain yet to develop

So he mimics the sound over and over and over again

As if repetition will lead to understanding

It becomes annoying vocal resonances that mean nothing

I’ve written “souls” without knowing what they are or what they stand for

But if I use the word enough times in enough poems

I might come up with something that at least holds meaning to me.

  I use the word “love” in poetry

The way teens in love use the same to each other

Mistaking a crush for something “real” or “deep”

Who don’t understand if you say hate is a strong word, so is love

But they throw the word around like a tennis ball

With little care about who catches it, and who gets knocked in the head

I worry about the consequence of saying this word so freely, but I write it generously

Throwing the word around like a boomerang, intending it for no one

It comes back as empty as I threw it.

  I use the word “beauty” in poetry

The way a drowning man will use a floatie thrown to him from the railing of a ship

Clinging to the rim as his life depends on it

Not caring where it came from or who in particular is trying save him

Only that he, at present, is alive

I can find beauty not only in words but also in their form

But I rarely make that connection in my head

I see the shape of letter first, then the figure that is the word

I see how beautiful it looks long before I understand what it says

Can I explain how I find the figure “wrath” beautiful?

That careful diagonal dashes wrapped around half crescents

Mixing between strict lines and soft curves is beautiful

But the hodgepodge cuts of “affection” is disjointed and ugly?

I use the singular word “beauty” to encompass the intricacies of what I see but cannot say

For, despite being a poet, I cannot yet paint with words

So when I say this is beautiful I mean all of it

From the image I am describing

The lines of the letters of the words I’m using

I use these words

Because I find them beautiful

[poetrycan]

Under the Water

When I was a kid I used to have the same recurring dream

I dreamt I was drowning.

  I dreamed of wide expanses of blue oceans

Or aqua green lakes that had no endings beyond the horizon

And I’d fly or float above or atop

And feel calm

At some point my body would slip beneath the surface

The sunlight made geometric shapes I could not name under the waves

And I would be sinking

But I would never feel scared or worried or anything other than calm,

While falling asleep in my dream

I’d wake up in reality

relaxed.

  I still have dreams that I’m drowning

I’ll dive deep under the water looking for the bottom

Never feeling the need to emerge for breath

Just going deeper and deeper into darker blue

And I’d fall asleep beneath my dream

And wake up in reality

scared.

  My dreams were nothing but peaceful

But upon awaking I’d be shivering

Feeling like I’d narrowly escaped drowning

And a dream that never caused me anxiety before

Now worries me.

  It’s an odd kind of nightmare

One that I’ll never fear in my slumber

But terrifies when awake.

[poetrycan]

The Rain Was Silver

The rain was silver last night

Their droplets fell heavy,

Denting the earth

  The water flowed, metallic,

Into the storm drains already flooded over

Staining the grass chrome

  Against the sun they are not diamonds,

Crystals, sapphires or any other precious glittering stone

The rain falls like metal on my skin

  The shine of silver is distinct

But all metal tastes like iron in the end

So I dare not drink their tears

  The rain was silver last night

It fell heavy on my skin

And tasted like dust

[poetrycan]

Sunset

I think sunrises are incredibly beautiful

But since I’ll never be awake enough to fully enjoy them

I’ll stick to sunsets

Which are almost as good

There is something poetic about darkness chasing light

And vice versa.

In New England we’re used to that maritime rhyme,

“Red skies at night, sailor’s delight”

But I don’t think we give much heed to it.

At night the skies are often dyed red

But are more usually an orange tinted pink

That glow halos around clouds caught between the dying light

And oncoming dark.

And there’s a sort of purple violet color that occurs

Where the two battalions meet

Like legions lined up for battle

Words fail me as I try to picture it and tell it

It’s the kind of color that makes you reach for a camera

Always eternally wishing you had a better one

To capture the color that the word “purple” does little justice to.

And chasing that picture is the night sky

That can only be described as midnight

Despite the fact that winters turns the sky black by six

It’s a gentle cold that eats warmer tones of the day,

Then showers you with dewdrops of light. 

[poetrycan]

Why

Because I’m shy

Because it is far easier to wait and yearn from the shadows than it is to stand in the light and risk getting burnt

Because I’m protecting my heart from anything by making it expect nothing

Because I don’t expect you to be a mind reader

But, in hoping that you are, I disguise my real desires in deceits that even I can’t explain and pray that you’ll understand anyway

Because I don’t know how to

Not because I didn’t think it wasn’t my responsibility to know

But because I never thought I’d have a reason to before

Because I’ve never been hurt like that and I don’t want to know what that feels like

Because you clearly don’t, so how would telling you help?

Because I can’t tell you

Because nothing will change and I’ve gotten used to nothing that I hardly feel it anymore

Because I don’t know you

Because I’m afraid

Because you asked my why

And I couldn’t tell you why

Because that would mean telling

And I can’t

Because I can't

[poetrycan]

Dead Duck

There is a pond on the campus where I go to school

In the spring it is always filled with a variety of waterfowl

My favorites are the ducks

They’re mallards

Iridescent green heads and grey-black down feathers

A bit noisy at night when I trek back from some class

But docile

Eagerly fed and otherwise calm

  One incredibly rainy day in April

I walked past the pond and happened to look down

While the others were splashing themselves silly in the middle

I spotted one duck in the corner where the cement walkway meets the water

His head constantly bobbing above and below the surface but holding nothing

It takes me a bit too long to realize what he’s reaching for

There is a dead duck sunk under him

He keeps trying to pulls its head above the water

But the dead slips from his beak and falls back down

The soggy green feathers have been ripped from around its eyes

As the other one continues to lift up, lose it, and lift up again

  I’d like to pretend that he’s trying to save it

I’d like to pretend that the dead one is his brother

Who got too little food or too much cold and passed away

And the live one doesn’t know how to save him

Or doesn’t know how to let go

So he just tries to keep his brother head above the water

Knowing it doesn’t help but at a lose of what else to do

I’d like to pretend he’s in mourning

That he’s gripping to those last physical remains

Before all that’s left are memories that fade themselves

I’d like to pretend it’s tragic

Because the reality is, he is probably looking for a meal

  One hour and fifteen minutes later I walk back across the pond

The others have left for dryer ground

To sleep or nest, I can’t tell

The drowned duck is still in is corner

Slowly drifting under the cement ledge

Where the walkway meets the water’s edge

Like a memory in the process of bring forgotten

And pushed away

And I wonder if it’s right to mourn the passing of a duck

Who might have been some others brother

But is now something’s meal

[poetrycan]

Grey Sky

The sky is grey

The just off-white color it gets before it rains

The kind of sky that’s perfect for photography

  Little known fact, overcast days are best for taking pictures

Sunny days are simply too bright

The sun makes the photos dull and flat

Cloudy days give the best contrast

The pictures come out sharper then

  I like the way the leaves look against the grey

The yellow-green of late spring, not-quite-summer

From this angle, staring straight up

They look unreal

Like someone painted them directly onto a canvas called the sky

[poetrycan]

Another Unrequited Love Poem

Hope is an annoyingly persistent thing

Eternally everlasting, even when it shouldn’t be

It’s not that I don’t think anyone will ever love me

It’s that I don’t fall in love with the right people.

I’ve read a thousand poems about unrequited love

And this will make it a thousand and one

And that doesn’t make it any less cliché

But that doesn’t make it any less true

  I got used to pining from afar

I don’t know if it’s the curse of being shy

Or if I’m protecting my heart from a pain I’ve never actually felt

  It’s a different kind of pain

I’ve stitched up my heart before,

After giving the other half to no one

I did that myself

I’d imagine heartbreak is sharp, stabbing, hot

Lacking is dull, heavy, cold

  But I can’t whine about loneliness; that would be a lie

People have crushed on me before

And I’ve turned them down

I haven’t figured out how to learn to love someone

Because I know one sided isn’t good enough

  I don’t fall for the right people

The ones who don’t give me a second look

Or who are pining themselves, after someone else

  And despite the fact that I know this

I can’t stop hoping that they’ll notice me

That, perchance, they’ll find out how I feel about them

And suddenly feel the same

I know that’s NOT how attraction works

I don’t know how to turn off hope

  I’ve read a thousand poems about unrequited love

And this will make it a thousand and one

And that doesn’t make it any less cliché

But that doesn’t make it any less true