Coffee brews a burnt woody-nut
that hugs velvety egg-shell walls
like tiles, maze-parquet, abut.
Coffee brews a burnt-woody nut
that boomerangs like hems and tucks,
like framed brown faces cloak a shawl.
Coffee brews a burnt woody-nut
that hugs velvety egg-shell walls.
. . .
The school teacher strops leathered minds,
carves with straight and angled brass bits,
turns Lazy Susan in sketched twine.
The school teacher strops leathered minds,
bunts layer on layer, aligns
patterns for base grooves– lesser grit.
The school teacher strops leathered minds,
carves with straight and angled brass bits.
A poetry assignment for one of my English graduate courses, we had to write a double triolet, 16 lines iambic tetrameter. In the first triolet, we had to describe a room or place in which we spent a great amount of time alone (creating a metaphor that compares something in the room or place to an envelope). In the second, we had to write a complimentary triolet and describe a place that is overcrowded and makes you anxious (creating a metaphor that compares something in the environment to a specific kind of instrument for tooling leather or for tanning hides).
Lesa, you are too kind. My professor pushed us to become poets. I had a great teacher.
Loved reading this! You may not see yourself as a poet, but you are.
Jill, thank you for reading. I don’t see myself as a poet but as a writer. It’s fun to dabble sometimes in uncharted waters. I make splashes for sure; it’s a messy business. Thanks, again, for reading. I appreciate your comments and encouragement.
Thank you, Mark. I appreciate your time to read it. It’s not my favorite, but I learned something about writing. Though we can see constraints as limitations, sometimes those boundaries bring out creativity that might not have come forth otherwise. I appreciate you!
outstanding. there are not mamy that could write that. it may be a style. but poetry comes from within. measures a deep soul. you are a deep diver.
Wow! I have never been good at poetry. Those were very good!