a cummings apt free verse personification presented LOWER CASE style as two quatrains... atypical short&to the point
Edward Estlin Cummings so inventive
penned poetry so sensitive
He loved to write in lower case style
interspersed by CAPITALS once in a while
initialled as Edward Eselm
originality known throughout the poetic realm
In the vertical not horizontal
whose lower case was so unusual
e e cummings a poet, i be
this is how i found my u s p
in verse to be so 'original'
lower case & in the vertical
in the scheme of things
I will shiver under AC
while sweating late at night
Dreams are nice
when you never chase things
that turn around
and chase you
I’m too tired
to stretch my letters into
CAPITALS
Boasted my 'new friend,' “A life well-lived is mine
In the capitals of Europe I've sampled vintage wine
Hob-nobbed with the jet-set in Vegas and the Hills
Always a celebrity there to pick up the bills”
“Changed wives a few times, I’m proud to admit
They seem to tire of the night life and my endless wit
As for children, I guess I wasn’t one for diapers or tears
Ha ,ha. Successfully avoided my biggest fear"
I listened to my friend’s account with growing dismay
How can man his (precious) life throw away?
I glare at the dragon; she is not easy to understand
Her keyboard lays dormant; I despise her in many ways
She’s a machine, you are the boss, someone says
He is on probation now, not understanding our battle
My sword is mighty; but hers is mightier
she has the last word, because she can
I can’t even type without her changing my capitals
sometimes she refuses to acknowledge words I think are words
she has programs that I will never use,
because she intimidates me, and her instruction books are ridiculous
I don’t read anything over six pages
I glare at her, wanting my old life back
She is here to stay, resolute and determined
I have to make room for her; everyone else in the house adores her
my children click clack click her keys, and are delighted
my husband throws around terms like “database and delete”.
Words I never used before this dragon arrived.
And I remember the rain before it ever started—
the smell of asphalt humming like old vinyl static under my ribs.
You were talking about birds, maybe,
or death, or the last time your mother called, and
I wasn’t listening,
because I was thinking about a dream
where the walls kept pulsing like lungs
and my teeth floated away on tiny rafts
made of gum wrappers and apologies.
And I thought:
How did we get so tired
without ever running?
There’s a window I keep forgetting to close,
and a silence shaped exactly like your absence
folded into the corners of this room,
like the way a spider folds its legs in when it dies—
which is not a metaphor,
but maybe it is.
Everything becomes a metaphor eventually:
grief,
joy,
you.
And I keep writing you in lowercase,
because capitals feel too loud for something
I only whisper in the dark—
something like: stay,
something like: I was never good at doors,
or goodbyes,
or staying still long enough to hear the echo.
The clock has no hands tonight,
and time tastes like metal in my mouth.
The moon keeps peeking like a guilty lover,
and I say: I know.
And I say: It’s okay.
But I don’t know.
And it’s not.
POETRY IS A RECITED ART
as folk talk
&recite
they naturally
pause
after one breath..
thus gramatical symbols
are superfluous..
tradition calls
for capitals
at beginning of lines ..
but again spoils
the flow
as most will
unthinkingly
hesitate
...thereat
so also ' lines'
as such
are an irrelevance
in this open
context
.,without these things
each person
brings a uniqueness
to the poem..
much as
we all do
when looking at
a work art
or
touching
a tactile sculpture ..
a poem
is
or should be
similar
wordplay was my thing
emphasis in capitals
helped to make it sing-
alliteration my choice
to sound a Christian voice
**Connections
Confront,clash,collide
COMBAT !
Cold shoulder,chill,cool
CUT-OFF !
Cry,crave,collect
CALL-ON !
Constant,compassion,consider
CHARITY !
Confer,commune,converse
COMMUNICATE !
Convene,concert,consensus
CONCORD !
COVENANT ! CHRIST ! CHURCH !
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Edward Estlin Cummings so inventive
penned poetry so sensitive
He loved to write in lower case style
interspersed by CAPITALS once in a while
Have I ever wasted words on lower-cases and capitals?
Laying beneath cool ground spring, waiting in its vestibules
Happiness can be found loving this Earth for its residuals
Toothpicks of this stand; reaching for heaven in tones, sepia
'Til they're filled with what's beneath me; green colors plethora
Flowers soon will be dancing on this bed; just as they have before
One cool soft rain from nature's mother; this landscape will live once more
Against sky-blue tapestry; worthy of a majuscule
A moment infrangible; in my record, no-way minuscule
Toddlers Storm The Capitol
*
Sitting on the beach
I watch and listen
To the ocean waves
Caress the shore
*
The Beauty of Nature
Keeps me steadfast in my
Fervent Prayer for Redemption
*
I beseech You
To touch the
Hearts and Souls
Of the burgeoning leaders
In commerce and government
*
Enlighten them to a world
Where greed will destroy
All we treasure
*
Let the toddlers of our world
Keeping their legs wide apart
Hesitant between each step
Jerking from side to side
Walk to the capitals
And stage a massive sit-down
Where no one moves
Where we all watch
*
As the toddler sit-down
Gloriously demonstrates
Our innate desire and will to keep
The future healthy and viable
*
Not A Classic Poet
I write with meter, like to rhyme;
Start lines with Capitals, make phrases chime.
But quickly clear it is that I’m
Not a classic poet.
Not Wordsworth, Coleridge or Poe
Not Browning, Plath nor Longfellow.
I’ve never read a Shakespeare, so
I’m not a classic poet.
Though aiming to be conscientious
I lack the urge to be pretentious.
And though occasionally tendentious,
I’m not a classic poet.
Sometimes I have been known to wander,
But rarely do I walk and ponder
Mother Earth or what’s beyond her.
I’m not a classic poet.
Some call my writing superficial,
Their view of it quite prejudicial.
I understand their curt dismissal.
I’m not a classic poet.
“Why write at all?” you may enquire.
Well usually it’s just desire
To pen some words, however dire.
I’m not a classic poet.
And so, with little sense of wonder
No fantasies to labour under
Through rhyming minefields still I’ll blunder.
I’m not a classic poet!
God is our answer,
On the Mediterranean,
When the sky darkens
On Palmyra or Cordoba,
When doubt sets in
On the ancient capitals,
God is our answer
When doubt sets in
On the stupid town,
On the country roads,
When the fruits rot
Waiting too long for our lips,
God is our answer,
When the books are burned,
Like straw or paper,
When the rose smells good
In the flower garden,
When the vine is precious,
A really wrong place for who must hide,
All the roads leading to center wide…
Where the sociable prays to be dumped,
As he would never be skipped nor jumped…
The opposite of periphery
Of many things their territory:
The consistent and the slippery
Absolute substance and frippery…
Center is the place to meet a king,
But around one they form a ring;
To do a king harm pretty hard:
The watched from all sides by Good Guard…
Far from the center you are fainter:
To be noticed, then, trust some painter;
That’s why a center one should enter,
What’s more! At the center men gentler…
Still, the place one needs shrewd mentors
Against frivolities and banters:
Fanciful reflections on centaurs
And chains-hating. full freedom chanters…
Where Nations’ Capitals are cited
To foes strain before they are sighted.
Languages, currencies, religions and flags
Capitals, origins and sorts of tags
Seas, rivers, landmarks and sites of history
Symbols, letters, colors of memory
Pictures of every nation as family
Orders and sects of homily
Cultures and traditions of pride and simplicity
Nurtures and inspires longer than mortality
Your world is not round but flat
Sleeping with peace and honor on the mat
Shapes and sizes of countries so fascinating
Your world on a map, your life in a story not stat
-- stirring and oscillating
TEA BREAK POEMS
Last year I wrote a book of poems you see,
so I could believe that it was really me.
I thought that I could edit,
mistaken was I to take such credit!
I sent it through by email, was proofread,
but a press of the button and it was gone,
now nothing could I mend.
Commas, full stops, capitals, and such,
oh how stupid, this is far too much.
Reply from Amazon was as expected,
two out of four stars for what I had neglected.
Well serves me right I said out loud,
I searched my heart, I was not proud.
I decided then and there I would try again.
This year began with with a determined yen,
but this time I would do things right,
I found someone who could edit, sheer hindsight.
In August, caught Covid, health seemed dim,
hospitalised 6 days, I prayed a lot to Him.
I came home, but still not well.
My family and friends so worried, I was not swell.
25th September, Amazon wrote to inform me,
My book had been published on Amazon Kindle.
‘Tea Break Poems’ rated four out of four,
and a glowing review, I needed no more.
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