Violet Sonnet

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I am bad at rhyming! I know it’s in me because when I was a kid I loved writing rhyming poems (really corny stuff, if I can dig them up I’ll show you guys some time).

So I’ve been practicing my rhyming. This is kind of clunky but good enough to post, at least.

 

 

 

Sweet violet, known for shrinking mein,

Please do not fear, for I am plain

A traveler who on passing through

Was stricken by your vibrant hue.

 

Dear violet, turning with the wind,

I beg you not my pleas rescind

I only wish you would bestow

Upon my eyes your purest glow.

 

You blush! Sweet, I will not attack

Your modest beauty sacrosanct.

I find it charming you should be

The height of quiet propriety.

 

A little favor now, for me

Although I act familiarly

Allow me kneel and your stem bent

The better to partake your scent.

 

O violet dear, I wish to see

You closer, you wouldst not fight me

My fingers pull your waist lightly

Alack! My touch has plucked you free.

 

She was too delicate! Oh well.

Another one for my lapel.

 

 

 

You know how the old poets always had beautiful, introspective conversations with flowers and things like that. So I tried it myself. Turns out, after all my best and noblest efforts, I’m just a rapist, lol.

 

Love poem

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You are my comfort.

You wrap me in your warm embrace.

Softly console me when I cry.

You know me inside and out.

The only one I can rely on.

Any time, day or night

You are there

Always willing to spark a little joy

Into my waning mindset.

You are so tender

But sometimes you have a little bite.

Rough around the edges

You are bitter enough to match me

You are sweet enough to sweeten me

I can feel my brain chemistry change in your presence

When you are gone your memory lingers.

Why is it that nothing good can last?

My greatest love

My finest friend

My hopeless addiction

O chocolate brownie

 

 

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Me, ranting opinions on my opinions

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Ehhh, I don’t even think this counts as a poem. It’s just me venting again. It hurts to post! I should have a “hurts to post” category.

 

 

 

 

My own personality exhausts me.

I’ve had it up to here with myself.

I know all my tricks.

How can anyone give a shit what I’m saying?

Maybe I’m trying too hard.

No, that’s not right

Maybe I’m retrospecting too hard.

Blah blah blah all I have to offer are opinions

Ten day sale only! SO CHEAP SO FREE

If that doesn’t make you want them then try this on for size

Free baseball cap with my face stamped on it

Free t shirts also with my face

This one is of my cats, got a lot of merch related to that.

Merchandise. Mercenary. Merch. Merc.

Buy my shit

Take my shit free

What I’m selling

Is charisma

Long lasting brand

It’s guaranteed to smell up your living room

For a full six hours.

 

Haha… I have a Boring Complex

Is this why I write?

No… when I don’t write, this is the reason why

Because of my Boring Complex

This is why I write when I’m alone

This is why it’s hard to share my stuff

And the funny thing is I know I’m not boring

I’m super weird

But I still have this fear

Just like I know that the harness will catch my fall

But I’m still afraid to rock climb too high.

Phobias

Phobias are stupid.

There are so many things in life

Which are stupid.

 

I think I wore myself out yesterday trying to impress

I had my good poem posted and reposted and complimented and discussed

I was on my best behavior

I can be really good when I need to

But OH MY GOD I’m exhausted

New people, compliments, this and that

Let me put on my big fake face and say how I love their compliments

But I don’t love compliments

I am too crazy for that

I love them as people for making the compliments

I love their sweet intentions

I love that the poem touched them

But noooo compliments make me crazy

See? Look at me right now. Crazy.

 

I decided when I started this blog to be brutally honest

To practice who I am

My writer side which I always hid

My emotional side which frightens and confuses me

My opinionated side which risks being wrong

All the gooey parts.

 

So I got a few new followers

They’ve seen my magnum opus to date

I WILL disappoint

But if I’m not allowed to be a hack

The writing won’t be fun anymore.

 

Oh god I’m gonna make myself post this aren’t I.

Well, new followers. Consider yourself warned. Hopefully you enjoy the smell

 

 

 

Playing Bogart

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I’m very tired and I’m not making any sense and this is the best thing I wrote tonight so… that means it’s the best thing you’re going to get from me tonight.

 

A jazz club

A woman with smoky eyes

Husky voice

Charcoal dress.

You’re playing Bogart in your trenchcoat

Well, she sees right through you.

She approaches

Cigarette in her perfect lips

Gives you a smoldering look

And says, help a gal. My cigarette burnt out.

You and me, doll

You say

Don’t amount to a hill of beans in this world.

That’s not right, she says.

Play it again Sam, you say.

Also not right. Stop talking she says.

You fumble with your lighter

She snaps it out of your hand.

Gives you a demonic look

Flicks the lighter

Jazz music stops.

Let’s blow on the embers, baby

She says

Let’s burn the building down.

 

 

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