Micro SF/F Posts

“You took my man,” the widow said.
“I did,” the Sea replied.
“He was my man, and now he’s dead.”
“He loved me, ere he died.”

“He loved us both,” the widow said.
“He did,” the Sea replied.
“I loved my man, by hearth, in bed,
I loved him by my side.”

“He kissed your lips,” the widow said,
“as if you were his bride.
So kiss me now, as if we’re wed.”
They kissed, and then Sea cried.

The woman left, with lonely pride.
The Sea, in love, then pled:
“I’ll come again, with every tide!
With all the tears you’ve shed!”

The woman moved inland instead.

My naym is pome / and lo my form is fix’d
Tho peepel say / that structure is a jail
I am my best / when formats are not mix’d
Wen poits play / subversions often fail

Stik out their toung / to rebel with no cause
At ruls and norms / In ignorance they call:
My words are free / Defying lit’rate laws
To lik the forms / brings ruin on us all

A sonnet I / the noblest lit’rate verse
And ruls me bind / to paths that Shakespeare paved
Iambic fot / allusions well dispersed
On my behind / I stately sit and wave

You think me tame /
  Fenced-in and penned / bespelled
I bide my time /
  I twist the end / like hell

* “lik” should be read as “lick”, not “like”. In general, the initial section on each line should be read sort of phonetically.

Written for World Poetry Day, March 21, 2018. When I had this idea earlier today, I thought it was the worst, most faux hip pretentious idea for a shallow demonstration of empty wordsmithing skill in poetry ever. So I had to try to write it. I mean, how often do you get to fuse the iambic dimeter of bredlik – one of the newest and most exciting verse forms – with the stately iambic pentameter of the classic sonnet?

Since I have been asked what I mean by “a shallow demonstration of empty wordsmithing skill” I guess I should clarify. What’s made this poem take off on Tumblr is not, I’m guessing, the sentiment expressed (a meta-discussion on poetry is supposed to be fun and free vs sonnets must follow strict rules but can still surprise) but the wordsmithing skill on display.

I personally find it much easier to be technically clever and fulfill artificial constrictions, than to express interesting and worthwhile ideas in a way that brings them alive. This kind of wordsmithing is a lot of fun to perform, and can be fun to read, but you remember the showmanship, not the story, or whether there was a story there at all.

So in this instance, I blew the budget on special effects, and had nothing left for a decent script, good actors, and tight direction. Which is fine, sometimes that’s what you want to make, or see. But I’m not pretending it’s anything but popcorn.

In truth, this world is only home
To beings three of magic touch:
The cats, who all the realms may roam,
Yet know that little is too much.

The goats, whose eyes can see through time,
Who laugh at life and know they’re dead. 
And readers, tracing rhythm and rhyme,
Who build whole worlds inside their head.