Have you noticed that some "poets" put themselves in a fake upper level?
In my house
I look like a scanty pack
In my hood
I look like van of fortunes
These are what I sees as lay down pride
Throughout the dusk before the dawn I springle the whole cuts of my tiny echelon
Wondering what’s not going to take me out of moves
Then someone as one say look up
Up at that upper level you’d think it’s not yours to attain
You have all it takes and what it contains to be one great successful fountain
Then smile take through my heart,my face and my mouth speaks Abundantly.
My days as a married woman with children,
My husband Walter and i had a cottage at North Bay.
This was an A-frame cottage,
Beautiful near the lake.
Our sons Kirk and Erik liked playing on the shore,
We would go swimming in the water.
Then father Walter would take us in a row boat,
A cruise on the lake would guest.
I would cook the delicious food,
Father would gather firewood for the wood burning stove.
We would play games with the children in the living-room,
Like gin rummy and monopoly.
The cottage had an upper level and a lower level,
Decorated with care and love, very simple.
Very scenic and beautiful with tall birch trees.
The cottage had a picnic table on the deck where you could have lunch.
There was a fair portion of property with the cottage,
Seldom scenic and beautiful, what an awesome place.
Would take us about two hours to get there,
Walter would drive us to the North Bay cottage.
What good memories we have of this,
I am thankful to God for all these blessings.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
A fresh college graduate looking for a job
To undergo trials one of which is the typing test
Handed over a text passage to pound on the keypad
Typing 40 to 50 words per minute, I needed to press
Facing a manual typewriter, rested fingers to home keys
Try to feel the small bumps on the F and J keys
Now confident, curled fingers to position strategically
Hoping to type the text reflexively
Altering the upper and lower case, pinky fingers strike shift keys
Reaching the number keys on upper level makes it fiddly
Pressing the keys very hard to swing the type-bar up
The carriage travels to the far right sluggishly
Leaving an imprint of the characters
I was whisked away by my disappointment
Never repeat same fate in front of a manual typewriter
The rhythm goes with each keystroke adapting to its component
The next day I saw a Remington typewriter
So old that typebars entangled so often
Curious to type words, always an attempter
At its clickety-clack sound, a relic of a bygone age
15 May 2013
The ware house was hot and humid
rob located the crate on the upper level
right next to his own; he asked our boss to lease
for an employee discount.
Before we left work earlier he charged the batterie
for the old fork lift, we pulled down the crate filled
with our own little dreams inside
We knew axactly how to open it because we sealed
it tight, like no one would ever reveal the contents but
the owner.
A rush of air poured out of the crate like a wave from
the cool ocean, bubbled wrapped and given "extra"
special attention for the long wait
The owners are in Florida enjoying the sun
We are in the ware house enjoying their goods
I heard they weren't to kind to some
Ones who had not trusted their maids until their return
Filled with old greats of art, including a few rear vases
molded by the beautiful hands of Tiffany :) To Be Continued
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.