March 2022

Poetry Game!

Poetry Drafts / / By

smittenbypoetry:

March 2022 Edition:

The rules are as follows: Write an eleven line poem. Each respective line includes, but is not limited to, the following in order:

1. Something you wear
2. A flower
3. A positive characteristic
4. Free line, use however you like
5. Any non-English word / phrase
6. A reference to magic
7. Must start with: “If only”
8. An aquatic reference
9. Contains the word: “Sunday”
10. Free line, use however you like
11. An onomatopoeia

Have fun!

Tag your poem #smittenbypoetrygame, and I will reblog it here. Be sure to use one of the first five tags to do this, else there’s a chance it won’t show up when I search for it. If I haven’t reblogged your poem within 24 hours, please send me a message and I’ll add it to the queue.

Oh, I might join this one (missed Feb’s cuz … ?)

So Many

Poetry Drafts / / By 
So many faces I do follow, so many
Fading pens, so many writing truths
I read not – anything, anymore. 

So many faces lost, silent voices
Under grey skies, perhaps lost
In the infinite stream, or just muted
By pressures, silenced by envy, or
Killed by Death. 

So many times regrets take over
A susceptible mind, we shake
And we shiver, we stop and we stare
Into an abyss so dark and so dreary
We end up calling it home.

Lost Footing

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Death became our chorus,
A backdrop with faded lights,
The wind that drove the leaf insane
In search for our safer havens;

Death became our comfort blanket,
A backstory in times of dark daze,
The whirlpool to drown our hope 
In exchange for everlasting peace;

Death became our causality,
A back door ajar,
The spilled ink on our pale skin 
In wait for a truer purpose;

Death became our hymn,
A few mumbled words,
The fake truth
Inevitable;

Death became our life,
A few steps at a time,
The lost footing
Incongruous.

Shooting Star

Poetry Drafts / / By 
We played a game doomed to fail
On a checkered board 
With only black pieces.

We danced round a Christmas tree:
Abandoned angels and fading star
With needles caught 
On cotton socks.

We left the blueberry pie to dry; to
Crack and crumble
In the moonlit night. 

We gave it a shot:
I shut down 
As you shot up
Becoming the star 
Of you darkening Universe.

Grass in two-tone Extravaganza

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Who are these disintegrating cells
Disowning their purpose 
In vain belief that there is grass
On the other side 
Of a once white picket fence,
Just beyond the amber rays
Of a monitor that knows no better
Than to speak only Hercules
Providing a baseline metrics 
For Lotus - one - two - three
To excel in unquantifiable glory,
Who are these disintegrating cells
Carrying memories of only 640kB
Yet still maintaining a joy 
Long since lost
In the world of gigabytes 
And rendered other-lands
Conjured up by two-dimensional 
Self-proclaimed gods.
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