Tag Archives: poetry

Reblog: Of Subdued Angels

Reblog: Of Subdued Angels

Reblog number two for today is a beautiful and romantic poem from Dhanya Nair, over at Quaintrelle Vibes…

Quaintrelle Vibes

My lips are colored
Sharp, red and glowing
And I sever anyone I kiss
With words that rip apart
I deepen wounds
With every lethal slash
And actions that change
Like dawn to day
So blindingly bright
I hope that you don’t fall
In form of shreds
For I cannot stop myself
From lashing out
Every time you get closer
And I know you shall be
Nothing more than nothing
By the time I’m done with you
And so I let you walk away
Let you to grow out of this feeling
You’ve grown in your heart  for me
One that only deserves light
So let it enter you
Every time you smile
For you’ve forgotten
What it’s like to do so
And you call it love
I am not what it’s supposed to feel like, my love
My angels might be dying
To come out and see you
But even…

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March of the Internet Nobody, day twelve: Poetry corner redux…

I didn’t have much spare time today, after writing this week’s SoCS post, but I did just find a few minutes to complete my Concrete poem, which I initially posted as a simple homage to Twin Peaks during last week’s Poetry corner feature.

I have now got around to the artistic thematic sculpting of my poetic tribute and here is is in all its nerdy glory.


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March of the Internet Nobody, day ten: Poetry corner…

I may well get around to turning this, my final foray into poetry, into the concrete poem I intended to make for you at some point, but I ran out of time today.

So imagine, if you can, the following homage to my all time favourite TV show, shaped to fit into this template…

…because, yes, you guessed it, I’ve written a freeform poem about David Lynch’s tele-noir masterpiece, so brace yourselves and come with me to a place both wonderful and strange.

Where the Owls, we’re told, are not what they seem
And psychopaths murder homecoming queens
Where the ancient woods are deep and dark
And abductees bear peculiar marks

Where mysterious red rooms have curtains for walls
And a great wooden lodge stands on top of the falls
Where a lawman’s doomed lover will perish from fright
And the pine weasel riot will ruin the night

Where the coffee and pie are both mighty fine
And the north wind blows through the tall Ghostwood pines
Where Jack is a devil with only one eye
And a schoolgirl crush goes badly awry

So what is all this sweet work worth
For the tears that stain your cheeks?
Cooper Cooper Cooper
Welcome to Twin Peaks


So there you have it, the end of my week of poetic injustice, I hope it didn’t offend your literary sensibilities too much. I for one rather enjoyed it.

Up next week; ummm, no, sorry, no idea whatsoever.


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March of the Internet Nobody, day nine: Poetry corner…

My attempt for today to master a new poetic format is half poem, half art project and is in itself a fairly new form. First introduced by Iris Tiedt in 1969, it isn’t something I’d ever heard of until I was seeking inspiration for this week’s self-imposed poetry challenge, but I’m always game for a new adventure in words so I thought I’d give it a go.

Here’s the simplest description of its structure;

DiamanteA 7 line poem that looks like a diamond.

It does not have to rhyme.
It can be used to describe 1 topic or 2 opposite topics.

Line 1: 1 word (subject/noun)

Line 2: 2 adjectives that describe line 1

Line 3: 3 _ing words that relate to line 1

Line 4: 4 nouns (first 2 relate to line 1, last 2 relate to line 7)

Line 5: 3 _ing words that relate to line 7

Line 6: 2 adjectives that describe line 7

Line 7: 1 word (subject/noun)

Constructing such an aesthetic piece of prose on the WordPress editing app, however, proved to be a total pain in the arse, so I made a graphic of it instead.



Tune in tomorrow for the final day in my search for the perfect poetic form.


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March of the Internet Nobody, day eight: Poetry corner…

The idea to explore a different poetic form each day this week had not so far proved to be much of a problem, until I decided to attempt today’s excursion into verse, that is.

This style of poetry was introduced to England in the early 16th century (initially translated from French and Italian) and quickly became a popular form with English writers, the most famous of whom was a certain Mr William Shakespeare, who loved it so much he wrote 154 of them.

There are a number of sub-genres within the overall definition, but I have chosen to go with what we shall call the Shakespearean version for my experiment, which is defined thusly;

SonnetTraditionally, a fourteen-line poem written in iambic pentameter, following the rhyme scheme ABAB CDCD EFEF GG which now characterizes the English sonnet and adheres to a tightly structured thematic organization. The fourteen lines are structured as three quatrains and a couplet. The third quatrain generally introduces an unexpected sharp thematic or imagistic “turn”, the volta.

Well I can tell you that this took some considerable thought and, despite not quite scaling the linguistic heights of old Bill Waggledagger, I’m rather pleased with the result.

After realising the challenge I’d set myself. I picked what I thought was the most apposite theme for my sonnet; writing a sonnet.
A meta-sonnet, if you will.

Calculating how to write a sonnet
Turns out to be inordinately hard,
I may as well try to catch a comet
As trying to impersonate The Bard.
This bloody iambic pentameter
Means everything is much harder to rhyme,
I’m including the word “diameter”
Or it will take until the end of time.
I’ve no experience in poetry
But then you don’t need me to tell you that,
It’s more like “what you get is what you see”
And look, you see, I still inverted that.
Finding rhymes is harder than knitting fog,
I think I’ll go back to writing my blog.


And that, I think you’ll agree, is quite enough of that.


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March of the Internet Nobody, day seven: Poetry corner…

Today on my literary odyssey, I’m tackling a type of poem that was made popular by author, artist and champion of all things nonsensical, Edward Lear, back in the 1800’s.

The pure form is said to be inherently obscene, or at least risqué, but the structure is generally described as follows;

Limerick“A humorous poem consisting of five lines. The first, second, and fifth lines must have seven to ten syllables while rhyming and having the same verbal rhythm. The third and fourth lines only have to have five to seven syllables, and have to rhyme with each other and have the same rhythm.”

This is, I have to admit, more my level. A great many fine examples spring to mind, but I’m committed to original material so here’s my newest composition:

This month I’ll be posting each day
Because I always have something to say
So by hook or by crook

I will sell you my book*
I am determined to make blogging pay.


Tomorrow I shall return to vandalize another classic poetic meter; be afraid, be very afraid.

*Just in case you missed the subtle hint, THIS IS THE AMAZON LINK FOR THE WRONG STUFF or, if you’re in the UK, IT’S THIS ONE.


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March of the Internet Nobody, day six: Poetry corner…

I’ve never really been a huge poetry fan and I have as little experience in composing as I do reading it, so I thought I’d remedy that situation in this, my second week of daily posts, by exploring a different poetic form each day (or at least until i get bored).

Haiku“The essence of haiku is “cutting” (kiru). This is often represented by the juxtaposition of two images or ideas and a kireji (“cutting word”) between them, a kind of verbal punctuation mark which signals the moment of separation and colours the manner in which the juxtaposed elements are related.”

The basic structure of a haiku, as I understand it, is; 17 syllables split into three lines of 5,7 and 5 syllables respectively.

For an ancient and traditional Japanese literary form, first westernized as far back as 1764, haikus seem to be all the rage recently, although I’m clearly no expert. In fact, the only other time I have attempted any of these septendecimally-syllabic compositions is when I leave them as a (usually tongue in cheek) comment on the lovely John Howell‘s blog, when he writes his Friday Johnku posts.

So today I’ve tried my best to reflect the feeling of Monday mornings, because that’s one thing I’m sure we all have in common, to one extent or another. See what you think.

An all too brief rest
Then we have to return to
Corporate bullshit.


See you tomorrow for another dose of poetic licence.


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Stream of consciousness Sunday…

I am cheating at SoCS (more than usual) this week, because I have the day off work tomorrow and today is the first full day I’ve spent with Rhonda in what feels like ages, due to our overlapping work schedules.

So I’ll delay my proper post by an extra day and offer a haiku as a bonus, (inspired by John Howell and his weekly Johnku posts) prompted by Linda G Hill and;

” “accumulate.” Use it any way you’d like. ” 

I accumulate

Things to do at the weekend

Fiction tomorrow.



Pingback to Linda G Hill.


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One liner Wednesday: In memorandum…

“At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.”

– For The Fallen, Laurence Binyon, 1914.



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Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Four letter tragedy…

image Another Saturday, another Stream of Consciousness, this one inspired by Linda G Hill’s prompt for the week;

” “four-letter word.”  Use any four-letter word as your theme.”


Four letter tragedy.

Adam, when Mark came upon that poor chap, wore huge grin over face, then bark, clap like seal.
Jane, lady from York, just sent Adam mail, said she’d drop over here soon, make love, cook meal.

Lady came over here, grin also wide, Mark open door, look back, Adam gone.
Sees note; “Gone down food shop, need milk, back soon”

Mark gave Lady wink, Lady grin wide once more, Mark pull lady hand, then shut open door.
When Adam came home, with milk, rice, oats, eggs,
Lady plus Mark were hard, damp, open legs.

Adam made fist, then with cold rage hits Mark,
Mark puts hand over nose then runs away into dark.

Lady know very well, from Adam, what must come next.
Adam grab Jane slim neck with both hand, then just flex.

Lady body goes limp then Jane sees  only dark grey,
When life slip down plug hole, true love runs away.


Pingback to Linda G Hill.


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