Empty tables stand
under glowing orange globes.
Wine glasses glisten.
Doors open, letting
cold air blow in, shivering
people order, then
leave when food is done.
Kitchen returns to quiet,
prepping for the rush
that may never come.
Waiters waiting wistfully,
seats remain empty,
the whole building waiting to
be filled with diners to fill.
Empty tables stand
This is a Rimas Dissolutas — a poem where the rhymes are not in the stanzas, but across the stanza (i.e. line 1 of the first stanza rhymes with line 1 of the second, and so on). This one kind of got away from me. I started with the image of flying and did not expect to be writing about regrets. But that was the way the words fit together. I guess that’s the fun of poetry. Anyway, here goes:
This is something I wrote in the quest to become more of a morning person. I’m not one, at all, but I’ve found that if I’m not at least a little productive in the morning the day tends to be less productive overall. Apparently snoozing is bad, but my bed is too comfortable for not snoozing to be easy. So this is something I’ve stuck next to my bed. The idea is that when my alarm rings, I recite this poem and then get out of bed immediately after the last line:
This poem is an attempt to use the same structure/rhyming scheme as Robert Frost’s Fire and Ice.
Can we place trust in distant stars
When it is night?
When past regrets deal out their scars
When times of darkness come to pass
Will blackness truly blind our sight?
Or will hope, fearless, pierce the dark
And shine through tiny points of light?
Could just one spark
Light up the night?
This poem is a product of the fact that I couldn’t get past the similarity of the words ‘sonnet’ and ‘sonata’ out of my head (and they do have similar roots). I’m not sure what to take from this, other than that puns may not always be the best basis for poetry.
Begin as always with a tonic theme
Expositing a stately melody
Then answer dominant enters the scene
A contrast in the mood and harmony
Develop, then, the themes that went before
In exploration of some modulations
Where fragmentary tunes repeat once more
In sequences that lead to revelation
Present again theme one and then theme two
Now recapitulating, coming home
But both now in the tonic key ensue
No more in modulations will they roam
And thus by following the forms of art
We, on a journey, take the human heart
All is still
Beneath the pink-rimmed world
The shadows grow long
Then suddenly a cacophony of white shapes shrieking squawking clamouring cackling burst into the air in a cloud of movement a shout against the growing dark like beacons shining they fight and flap and fly through the sunset-streaked sky
And then they settle
Into heavy branches
In the long shadows
And all is still.