I would like to alliterate on that which could obliterate, the sound my conscience does assonance. There is no mind, quite like mine, when it comes to explication of explanation, in frustration and infuriation, but assonance is not dissonance, and therefore, unlike a U-Boat hiding, let’s stay law abiding, and not let our consternation, become damnation, through some simple alliteration which with diligence and consonance, can ring with recognizance, if in cyphers we can decode, that secret sprawl that Git’s hub around so frequently in public commits, or is it committees? Whither here or whither there, tilting at windmills accomplishes nothing in the end except to make the wind feel superior and the tilter more inferior but alas, the time has passed and now the clock strikes into someone else’s slot because the tilter could not step down from the podium until well past the allotted hour – much like this poem has run it’s course numerous lines ago but continues to blather on like a blatherskite, but at least no owls (or was it vowels?), were butchered in consideration of this not quite alliteration and so at last, since the time has past, ado is bid, and the poet hid.
NaPoWriMo Day 26 Challenge: “write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Alliteration is the repetition of a particular consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words. Consonance is the repetition of consonant sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds.”
So I didn’t exactly follow the prompt but I did take inspiration from it.
Sitting in the castle window, breezes flowing like a melody, Book, half open on my lap, notebook open under my pen, letting the stories escape at last, out of my mind and onto page. Places I can only dream come alive in swirls of ink, dancing beneath my fingers. Giving life where before was barren, sharing my imaginary friends with the world, relaxed in my stone fortress, safe from life’s stormy harbors and jagged rock and hard place pains. A knight in shining armor standing guard at the door, disturb me not, he will ensure. A sword with blue bejeweled hilt hangs at the ready for me to wield, wicked as any pen, though perhaps, not as mighty. Content to bask, at least for a moment, in the peace and quiet stillness, silence like a melody playing in the wind – a song of the high tower. Jealous perhaps, if only for a moment, of Rapunzel in her peaceful respite. A perfect day, writing away, all the mysterious adventures tilting at windmills in the deep recesses of my mind. The ideal life of a writer, at least, for a day. Or two.
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— It came from out the dark and dreary night beyond my door. It came, it came from out of nowhere, from whence I know not, it flew out of shadow into my castle shallow, and scared me to my core. Staring at it’s beady eyes, black as tempest and beguiling, I was caught,
frozen, frozen, and unmoving I could not break away from the sight I bore. Captured by it’s gaze so startling, there was no sign of parting, no way to ignore. Color drained from my parlor, from my face, my neck to collar, as though shot. I knew not what had happened, when that Raven came a rapping, with a soar. Out of the night so dreary, through the mist, a bit leery, know not what’s in store. The Raven, he spoke, yes, he spoke, sounded like a hollow croak, yes, it ought,
it ought to be so easy, bird language, light and breezy, but what it said I am not sure. The language of Ravens, it is fickle, sounds written like a sickle, sounds like nevermore. Oh, what could it mean, is this bird a thing or fiend, how will I know if or not? Why would he fly so far and high to seek me out upon the river’s shore? What good am I? I wish to cry! And ask my questions, let him not ignore. But staring at his beak, I hardly speak, in uncertainty I am frozen, caught.
The bird, he stares, almost unawares of the silence descended upon the floor, Or perhaps that is the game, maybe even why he came and flounced from the shore. If it be death he’s selling, the grim reaper will hear me yelling, his elixir unbought. I will not be beguiled from like some bird-fearing child, no matter what may lay in store. Ghastly grim and ancient creature, in my night, shall not feature, out comes the birdshot.
I will not stand to be frightened, oh my senses, oh so heightened, I cannot ignore. That which is or maybe isn’t, why couldn’t it be a pheasant? That come through my door. As from it’s gaze I pull away and stumble back into my castle, oh it’s such a terrible hassle, but I cannot be made to such behavior allow uncaged, and so the Raven shall not linger, as I rest the trigger, my finger, and the barrel of the gun, aimed to make that Raven run, but in a flash of midnight feathers, I am pulled from the levers, as a shadow hovers where there was none before …
In this moment of demise, is when I realize that the Raven was to come before, he was but the messenger, not the harbinger, for what was to come from the shore, No, the Raven is not the fiend, something worse than I could’ve dreamed, is what came in shadow through my door. The Raven, he was the warning, if only he’d come in morning, but I did ignore. Now the shadow slowly creeps, into the castle deep, and I am the new Nevermore.
There is such power at their disposal, superhuman strength and speed, Lasers and webs shooting out, a lasso of truth when there is need.
Jewelry that deflects bullets, skin like steel, near impenetrable, Super speed, super stealth, beings, near perfect, invulnerable.
Intelligence, crafty cleverness, abilities scientifically explained – Science and magic, not so different, to the eye more properly trained.
Choices made, good and bad, some used for benefit of humanity, Others choose a less noble path, use their gifts to create chaos for vanity.
Heroes too can be vain, even unkind, it is said we should never meet them, Real life is hard pressed to live up to fiction, ideals are hard to follow in the end.
We curse them, in our daily lives, why do they not rescue us? Have not time for our problems, too busy out making a fuss.
But if there are heroes, why do they not solve more issues of the day, Why are super villains the only bad, that they try to capture and put away?
Where are the superheroes when we need them most? They don’t come, Not for us, not for our mundane problems, for us, superheroes, we have none.
Except, maybe that’s the point, saving us is not the job of a superhero, Instead they inspire us on what can be, if we but believe and try to grow.
They show us an ideal to aspire to, they show us their flaws and pain, They show us the sad fall out, when a super villain is out for gain.
Super abilities make not the person, they only amplify what’s already there, It can make you super mean and greedy, or make you super kind and fair.
Superheroes provide the lessons, sort of like Santa’s little elves, They teach not to rely on rescue, but rather how to save ourselves.
An epic battle does ensue, it happens now and ‘gin, A terrible friction does exist, since time did begin. No one knows what started off, this feud since time’s beginning, Nor is it clear if ground is gained, or if either is winning. It is a war that has been waged, and watched by hundreds, millions, The whole world takes notice, it is sought to see by billions. The battles great, carry on, and blacken the whole Earth, Darkness covers all the land, when amid its dearth. Yet, people come from afar, to view this battle rage, A war between two massive beings, who’ll fight to the next age. The sky, it turns inky black, and a ring of fire glows, More than one has been blinded, by witnessing the throws, of this battle, as it beckons, so hard to look away, Never knowing who will be the victor, at the end of day. It is a hard conception, perhaps to understand, Why two things would fight, but not for wealth or land. Not for goods or services, no extra power gained, They are the two most powerful, creatures, the sky to reign. This mystery is a riddle, rewritten though never done, When the Earth is eclipsed, in the battle of Earth and Sun. Some might think Sol the winner, because he has such might, There’s still that ring of fire, but Luna brings the night. She will not be outwitted, our blue, grey, midnight friend, And that’s why this battle rages, from beginning of time to end. There is no hope for victory, both parties evenly matched, What could have been a friendship, is a feud that can’t be patched. In the meantime, people clamor, tis a sight few want to miss, As the world is cast in shadow, by a solar eclipse.
Silver and blue, entwined, never ending, stars sparkle, aligned, a union of two, under the eyes of one, a rope of three strands, not easily broken. Silver and blue, entwined, never ending, a symbol, a token. The shimmer of love everlasting, worn forever, it’s radiance, casting. Silver and blue, twisting and turning, living and breathing, a new life discerning. Silver and blue, so much meaning, more than two simple colors. A symbol to the union and to others. Silver and blue, adorned on the hand, few things hold more power than a wedding band.
One horse charged and then another, Lance’s clashed, a sound like thunder, There was a clang of swords clashing, Bodies slammed together bashing. Twas hard to tell friend from foe, Fields covered in bodies and snow. The grim reaper had a busy day, Two by two carrying the knights away. Few thought it would come to this, Except perhaps the lady of the mist. Who long ago possessed a sword, That now was fighting among the horde. No one knew this battle would be the last, The final string cut, fates die was cast. A mortal wound leveled upon the field, A king and kingdom’s fate both sealed. A king lay dying, in death’s grasp caught, His loss spelling the end of Camelot.
NaPoWriMo Day 20 Challenge: Write a poem that depicts a historical event.
Okay, so I may have cheated a bit, but I couldn’t help but go a little Arthurian here. Though this is a great prompt that I look forward to going back to when I have more time. I’ve written many historical pieces before and look forward to doing so again.
It hunts me, my wasted, delayed life, It hunts me, all that I’ve given up, sacrificed, to be nice. Kind. Devoted. Loyalty really isn’t worth much in the end. What is? The answers hunt me. Life hunts me. Stress follows me like a wretched shadow with claws waiting to devour its prey – Me. Hope, a dim withered husk growing ever more distant, impossible to reach, a taunting, hunting wisp in the wind. Where could I be, had I not remained tied to the choices of someone else? The answers hunt me. The pain of wasted years and wasted dreams dog my steps like a seething wraith out for blood – Mine. My soul aches with burning sadness trapped within the dark confines and cavernous cracks of my ever more calloused heart. Time, wasted on someone else’s dreams, cannot be bought again. Yet, I still waste it believing that one day, things will be different. Better. Good. Happiness is a false notion promoting delusions that it can be attained. A fleeting friend that comes so briefly as to wonder if it had ever been there at all, like a ghost, hunting the very soul. What is the point? The answer hunts me. Rhyme and reason defenestrated out of the window, indeed, if ever they existed at all – Ours is not to reason why, perhaps our fate is but to wither and die, hunted until the end by endless possibilities never realized despite the very best of intentions. It hurts to have dreams. It hunts me, the road not traveled. All the different paths just waiting to be availed, all of the many ships, waiting to be sailed. R.U.Me2? It hunts me. The life I could have led, the life I still could lead. The pain of unrealized dreams, is intense. Letting go of sunk costs is pricey and not for the faint of heart. Hope is not for the faint of heart. Dreams are costly creatures that cost us our lives, often with little to show in the end. Thoughts such as these hunt my hypothalamus in the dim light of evening on days when life intensely demands more than we bargained for. They hunt me. What hunts you?
NaPoWriMo Day 19 Challenge: “What are you haunted by, or what haunts you? Write a poem responding to this question. Then change the word haunt to hunt.”
Skin like iron, a steely hide, broad, thick neck, eyes set wide, talons sharp, upon my fingers, deepest voice, carries, lingers. Untold wisdom, in my mind, inner peace that few can find. Sturdy shoulders to handle weight, Strength to conquer any fate. Arching wings, a mighty spread, To soar the world overhead. Eyes sharp, day or night, Can get the best of any fight. Kind to those who mean no harm, a quiet protector of country and farm. Masterful strategist, calculating, Heart full of passion, radiating. Tougher than any word can pierce, Heart and soul, mightily fierce. Wise beyond years, yet older than ages, Unbroken will, no matter the cages. Take to the skies, never stop flying, An example to others, always keep trying. Hope to survive all the strife, Oh, to be a dragon in another life.
Nothing is so loud as absence – Nothing echoes like a void – There is nothing so illuminating as darkness, no better friend, remains. Narrow is the path so wide, darkness is no place to hide, slowly creeping like a friend, can’t tell beginning from end, silences beats on, in the loudest of refrains. Hearts grow fonder, they say, when the coveted is away, but restless dreams disturb, the void, so keenly heard, absence aches beyond the drum, recompense, gone, but for the sound, beating loudly, can’t be found, narrow path upon the ground, of cobblestone. Alone beneath the lamp, no wishes left, just cold, just damp, no sign of life, philately visions enduring. White noise gone, the tone of nothing, still scoring. No pain so deeply felt, as notes disintegrate from view, names disappear, ears, no longer hear. Words formed, but never said, sound, all but dead. Except the sound of the absent void, the echoes deafening, as darkness consumes, everything in silence. Resiliency can be born, in the silent pain, the thorn, a crown woven, tarnished with time, the strength is conceived, not from joy, but in the deepest silent reservoirs of long suffering hearts. No absence felt so keenly, no void so cavernous, nothing is so loud, as the deep, disturbing sound of silence.
Rhyme N Review 