Old 06-16-2015, 12:43 PM   #1
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Default Neon's Summer of Poems

I told myself I would write at least 20 poems for the start of the MFA program that I am beginning this Fall. I will be posting them here because, frankly, I don't have any other community to use as an outlet. I know there are a lot of literature fans here, so I hope that you guys can put in some input and suggestions for improvement. I've made two poem threads already, and for the most part, I've gotten some great comments. Let's start.

New Year's Eve

Late yestreen I saw her here,
A waning time to start the year-
The mellowed minute mildly passed,
and ne'er within a lime-like Jade
did the smoky sounds of a lyre play.
A pleasing Jacinth scent had spoke
of hallowed haunts of long ago-
And a slumber in which she was placidly placed
prompted me to come, in haste,
to open her all-seeing eye:
to feel our aspect from inside--
A vision of prospective thought:
an image of perfection caught!
That curious iris, oft shut closed,
that deep set eye of antiquity told
of happy-havings never to fold;
a transmutation of the soul!
Chalk the marks near sevenfold,
here the future was foretold!

-beauty and solemnity

The musings of a middling day:
a Circadian chaunt that never strays-
Pleasing to the half-shut eye
are the routine ways of meandering time!
I was glazed in meditative thought
when deep in the parting day I caught
a vexing vision that vanished near-
A tribute to She that then appeared
in the fragment of a fading frame,
which frequented Fuchsian tones untamed.
Against the translucency of the sky
was heard the crashing cross-directional tides,
that like an omen, ceased to sound, at a
moment which circulated round
her gaze upon this wide, wide world-
As wide as ever was so told
by the prophets in their gaze!
The Orchids dragged in a droopy daze,
and a brazen fusion ne'er was seen
of beauty and solemnity.


Fine, fine, flora on the vase,
I touched the bloomy base.
Obsequiously she came to me
lined with a lucid face.
An amphoral type it was, this vase,
affected by the mind-
A plethora of trickling tones had teased
her untamed, wild eyes!
She wrought her gaze upon
the words thus written in the air.
Luminescent were the signing curves
so all should see them there.
Phantasmagorical were these signs,
ever-changing with quick time;
She, with all conceptions lost,
dropped freely with a chime.
An eyesome beauty never was seen-
A scene so mystery-marked!
Her sinuous curves were lit against
the signing in the dark.
Suddenly, she stood again,
a presageful look she held,
as she came up close to me
to say what had her felled.
Slight from the drop, her clothes
had been, exposing most of all,
her skin upon a rising chest
that bore some symbols scrawled.
She spoke of the great God,
and the piquancy of life!
She brought to me sweet knowledge:
the harmonious end of strife.

The wailings of a thaumaturgic dirge,
the Spellman's song of yore,
was heard midway the soft lea
where an effulgent ray was born.
Across the fields, and down the tract,
She walked as the sun does,
moving westward toward the spot
leaving daylight as it was.
Her eyes told of the cosmos high,
wide, and ever-bound-
I wondered what I witnessed
as the shining light she found
entrapped her body in its beams,
She started then to shake,
as the Spellman's song grew louder
and vibrated on the lake-
And then to hear her sing along!
Her murmurs' mangled measure
turned my surprise into fear,
and then, into great pleasure.
She lays down on the grass
and makes an angel on the spot,
her soul was lifted then,
leaving darkness on the lot.

An Exaggeration on Wind Chimes

Perchance to dream unearthly ties:
to open a subconscious eye!
I dreamt of pining things that called
from out of fields of emerald.
And from this straight bucolic spot,
I saw her in surveying the lot.
She ran like a woman that knew
of strange bounds, and there she was
cupping the wind that she found.
So 50 varying winds she had caught,
chiming and thriving, deep, high, and aloft.
And then she unleashed them,
their songs had mocked the singular
silence that circumvented the spot!
So she went dancing and whirling about,
50 different melodies singing aloud!
Then I heard her whisper some ethnic phrase--
everything ceased and just stillness remained.
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Old 06-16-2015, 04:54 PM   #2
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Default Re: Neon's Summer of Poems

Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of the Thesaurus too, but sometimes it seems a little overdone. To me, that gives me the impression of being more about constructed than meaningful. It seems(,) well(,) constructed. (I mean that in both connotations, with and without the commas). I'm not much a poet, nor do I read much poetry, though, so I'm probably not the one to ask.

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Old 06-16-2015, 08:40 PM   #3
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Default Re: Neon's Summer of Poems

That is a fair statement. I have often thought about whether or not I am focusing on the meaning in my poetry or creating something that is appealing to the eye and ear. I have to admit though, most of the words I use are from things that I have either read or are common to me because I study English. I will work on focusing on meaning rather than construction in the future. I will also focus on making my poetry more digestible for the general public. Thanks for the input : )
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