Wednesday, March 13, 2013


A question I quite often contemplate:
Could I create a perfect poem form?
Regardless, I have too much on my plate
Old-timey styles are the established norm.

So what if I cannot carve my own niche?
To be original is not so great.
If coming up with something new's a bitch
Could I be blamed if I procrastinate?

Sometimes our dreams just lie beyond our reach
Our pride outpaces talents we possess
Nevertheless, our dreams can often teach
No person without dreams has been the best.

Ev'ry line's first letter should be read
Too meta, it just might explode your head

It spells "Acrostic Sonnet", for those who have difficulty reading such things. I almost cried when I realized it had 14 letters.

I Wonder Why

I wonder why it is that artists choose
to pour their heart and soul into their art.
I wonder why it is that they refuse
to realize that their work has no part

In bettering the state of humankind.
Their dedication almost breaks my heart.
I wonder why it is that they've declined
abandoning their work so they could start

Productive work in scientific fields.
For that is where we humans shine most bright.
I wonder why the artist never yields
It's evident that scientists are right.

If you have read this poem and agree
Then you've lost touch with your humanity.


It has been long since I've sat down to write
I fear that I've forgotten how to rhyme
So I apologize if this seems trite
This merely is a way to pass the time

But why not read a book or play a game?
What motivates me to make words instead?
When time is passed, it passes all the same.
Why should I really choose to strain my head?

I shall elucidate the answers to
these questions, so that my intent is clear.
As I make yet another trip to SLU
I'd rather not waste time, for it is dear.

The joy of reading what I've wrote will last
long after all these other joys have passed.

Man, I am just a sucker for including personal information in my rhymes. 


This poem is a continuation of Identity

So I am not a single entity.
I'm a conglomerate of diff'rent states.
Like Patrick Bateman, I'm illusory.
I merely am the sum of all my traits.

But people always change as they grow old
What once they loved may cease to be so dear.
The things they cherished thoughtlessly are sold,
Without the shedding of a single tear.

If we have many personalities
which, over time, can ebb and fade away,
then are these persons not fatalities?
And is their passing from this world okay?

I die as time goes by, but do not cry.
Sometimes I think that I might be the sky.

References galore. Patrick Bateman is the titular character of "American Psycho". The bit about the sky, and in some sense the poem as a whole, was inspired by Rin, of Katawa Shoujo. Again


When is it that I'm at my “Thomasest”?
When is it that I feel that I'm most “me”?
This question: in my mind it does persist.
Inspired by a certain amputee.

But I believe this question does mislead.
No person is defined by just one act.
There is no single trait that supersedes.
One can't reduce a person to a fact.

No person acts the same way all the time.
We all adapt our personality.
The “me” that maths is not the me that rhymes.
All people share this commonality.

Sometimes I do not think myself to be
A single, undivided entity.

The "amputee" mentioned is Emi, from Katawa Shoujo, which I've mentioned in my other blog, if you care to know more. It should be the post about video games of 2012. Also, congratulations on learning my name, internet stalkers.

State of Mind

I feel as if my mind has just struck gold.
(If you'll excuse that tired metaphor)
My mind is tired, and my fingers cold,
It seems that these conditions let me soar.

You see, I wrote a poem with great haste,
The words, they came to me with little thought.
To not write more would surely be a waste,
This state of clarity is what I've sought.

I'm clearly on a roll, and that is why
This sonnet must be finished rather soon.
Before my well of inspiration dries
And I am left a chattering buffoon.

I can't sustain this poem-writing trend.
It seems my knack for words is at its end.


This poem is a continuation of "Muse"

But sometimes just a rhythm's not enough;
A proper poem needs to have a theme.
One cannot simply throw together “stuff”.
For even if the words flow like a stream,

The reader will not care unless you give
your poem meaning deep and quite profound.
For only poems with such depth outlive
The mortal coil of poets far renowned.

But I do not expect my work to last.
(Although few authors did while they still wrote)
My skill is rather easily surpassed,
But let's not end this on a bitter note.

If ever I gain praise or lasting fame,
I hope my other exploits are to blame.


They say that all great artists have a muse
A person or ideal that they admire.
Therefore at great art I must always lose
By nothing in my life am I inspired.

But I do not write poetry for tears;
I do not want your pity or your grief.
My interest is in the sounds one hears;
The words themselves are my fav'rite motif

I write my poems just to hear the sound
That words make when they're perfectly arranged.
For I believe there's power to be found
In words: an influence unique and strange.

While other poets try to use their hearts,
I use my mind when I create my arts.


Haiku are an affront to poetry
I find them far too short to be enjoyed.
But free verse is what really sickens me
All poems in this style should be destroyed.

My thoughts on blank verse are not half as bad.
Although I think that rhyming is a boon.
And writing lim'ricks always leaves me mad,
Because they make me sound like a buffoon.

A mono-rhyming poem's quite a feat,
But I don't think that I could pull it off.
I think acrostic poems are quite neat,
Although such thoughts might cause my peers to scoff.

We all agree these poems are quite droll
As sonnets are the greatest of them all.