Spooky

A haunted house that’s fraught with haunted groans
A soft, suspicious sound when you’re alone
A minor chord, discordant, mingled tones
The moment all your hopes drop like a stone

The infinite abyss which sits unknown
The withered, once-loved doll that you still own
The flames which ate the saint of France called Joan
The shadow you ensure is never shown

The words your newly former friend intones
A text, “we need to talk,” still on your phone
A smell of bitter almonds from your scones
A sanguine sin for which you can’t atone

The snipping scissors of Fate’s final crone
The deathly breath of final, quiet moans
The one who comes to reap what you have sown
A spooky skeleton with spooky bones

The goblins prophesized by Alex Jones
All pale in spookiness to student loans

Pride

The lion lying in the plain had lied
The lyin’ lion’s family had tried
To find the prey that he had said he’d spied
Afar from fields where lions ought reside

The lion claimed he could not be their guide
His brother, baring fearsome fangs, defied
Suspecting secrets he had hid inside
By worry was his brother’s love belied

He knew that if she knew, that she would chide
(The lioness he meant to make his bride)
But he could not confess, could not confide
If she had known, she would not have complied

The human hunters he had seen arrived
The ones from which he helped his fam’ly hide
The secret into which his fam’ly pried
A shot rang out; the lyin’ lion died

The tears of all his kin have not yet dried.
He lost his life; he never lost his Pride.

(NOTE: This poem was commissioned by Twitter user @VapingSonic, who suggested that I write about a lion's pride. It was written as a prize in @SirEviscerate's Night of Too Many Tweeters 2, a charity fundraiser for the Autism Self-Advocacy Network. Originally, the prize was intended to be a sonnet, but I went a little overboard.)

Night of Too Many Tweeters Free Sample

Do you like poetry? Then you’re in luck!

I’ll pen a poem if you pay the price

With rhymes so good, you’ll be like “What the… frick”

Alliteration always sounds so nice

But wherefore do I ask from you this fee?

The money does not make its way to me

I’m doing it for charity, you see

To help out my good Twitter pal, Sir E

I’ll write on any topic that you choose

On math, or maids, or any sin of Man

My flow is killer, not unlike Ted Cruz

Or anyone enraged by Comic Sans

My poetry is comparable to pros’

(Check out the wordplay that I just did, bros)

A Sorcerer's Sonnet

A word of wisdom's any that we say
A lord of wizards' orders, we obey
Accord with powers, astral, fell, or fey.
Affording us the might to light the way.

A horde of warriors, we aptly slay
A sword of water washes fools away
We will the winter winds to whip and flay
To freeze our foes who know they'll die today

Transmuting gold from lead, and life from clay
Transporting from afar without delay
To us, "impossible" is children's play
We overshadow gods to whom men pray

With warlords, kings, and sultans we parlay
Ally with us or life's the price you'll pay

Happy National Poetry Day!

Sometimes sublime's the word that I would use
To try to capture feelings of this sort
And yet, it matters not which word I choose
The whole of human language comes up short

Perhaps where prose performs a job that's poor
The art of rhyme and meter might suffice
And so, to all the muses, I implore
that I be granted words which will entice.

So that this beauty can be known to all
I give to old, to young, to short, to tall
In seasons winter, summer, spring, and fall
A brilliant beauty, barely besting Brawl

Despite the many months for which I've griped
For Super Smash Bros. I am super hyped.

The Shadow

A deathly shadow stalks me in my sleep
A spectre siphoning my spirit's life
Its visage, only known to those who weep
to wonder why they've caused themselves such strife.

It is the source of nearly all the ills
that plague me in this too short life of mine
I can't describe the fear that it instills
The quakes of dread that it sends down my spine

Around me I see darkness, ebon black
At times I feel like I'm already dead.
My own concerns conspire to hold me back
And so, to push ahead, I'll burn my dread

And even though it may seem harsh and cruel
I am afraid I must go back to school.

What I Did Instead of Math

I am afraid I have gone quite insane
Since summer's started, something's gone amiss
My motivation's missing: down the drain
I am unsure of how it came to this.

On school's last day I'd plans to ply my trade
To do those useful things I used to do
I think that hopeful me would be dismayed
Perhaps the present me is saddened too.

Was poetry my passion in the past?
I feel like once I was a number man
A rhyme reveals the sorcery I've cast:
This pun is what's become of summer plans

That's it. I'm done. The mic has just been dropped.
At three quatrains this poem should have stopped.

Rap Kerfuffle

My brother recently instigated a "rap battle" of sorts between me and my friend Dr. Lou Tennant over Facebook. He stopped being my friend after about halfway through the sonnet at the end, so I guess I lost. Annotations will be explained at the bottom, because there's a lot that needs explaining. B: indicates my brother's messages, L: indicates Lou's messages, and H: indicates my messages.

B:

High rolla

Pussy Patrolla'

Bells so mad [1]

it'd make you sad

That's it

time to quit

can't rhyme for shit

Lines that I spit

ain't a fit

Like a man tit

In mah mit

H:

Bro steps into the fray

But his rhymes be gay

If he wants to see the light of day

He best pick a God and pray.

Bitch, I'm classically trained

I make it rain

Like kisses on my dick[2]

Hard as a brick

Every time I think of Sonic The Hedgehog[3]

L:

(This part was stolen from Pokemon Cypher)

Y'all tryin' to rhyme?

Get up out, whatchu doin?

Y'all some unown lames

Gen 2, alph ruins

(This part was original?)

You're an old rod,

I'm a super rod,

But I hit yo' girl with this good rod

H:

I am like unown

'Cuz I've got Hidden Powers

Have this water stone

Since you clearly need Showers[4]

Yo' rhymes be weak

Like Love ball: defective

While the words that I speak

are super effective.

B: Gold

H:

Silver, and crystal, too

No need to be Blue

L:

Wanna talk Pokemon? Don't step to me.

You can't win, there's no chance, see?

Wanna act big? Wanna play rough?

You putting me to me to sleep, like a Jigglypuff.

I'm tired of you. Better give it a rest.

Release those rhymes, if that's your best.

You got no flow, your shit's a bore.

Now that I'm asleep, lemme use snore.

H:

But now my final form Hast been revealed

The power of The Bard is now my own.

For centuries these skills were safely sealed

The power of my poems knocks men prone.

A fearful phantom of five feet arrives

Each step it takes, the beating of a heart

Its endless march has trampled many lives

A pain parade in which you now take part.

My verse is smooth like sinusoidal curves

I'll school your English, physics, and your math

To step to me, you must have quite the nerves

I am afraid I've frayed them with my wrath

I spit a flood in which a man could drown

An uncontested king, I wear the Crown

[1] Bells are the currency in Animal Crossing, which is what started this whole thing.

[2] Suffice it to say, this is a reference to a thing in which some person rained kisses upon another's dick. I'm not naming names.

[3] This is a reference to a Game Grumps thing. You can hear it in this song.

[4] Showers is the Japanese name for Vaporeon. This is a thing that my friends and I know.

Requiem for a Remnant

A vacant vessel, void of hope or faith
A sundered soul, despairing, dying, lost
So it remains, a restless, roving wraith
Until it can collect for Charon's cost.

His life force flowing, going to the grave
It dries, he dies, though does not dread the dead
He fights his fear, but not because he's brave
He must escape the Hell that haunts his head

Descend through darkened doors and dire straits
Towards the destination of the damned.
He can't escape the human heart he hates
The devil's deal he's made has left him scammed.

If you write emo poems, check it, son
You best be taking notes; that's how it's done.




NOTE: "Charon" is the name of the ferryman at the River Styx. His name is pronounced with a hard "k" sound, to preserve alliteration.

Motive

This poem was written as an entry for a scholarship, where the prompt was essentially "Write a poem about why you write poetry". Since writing poetry about poetry is my specialty, I gave it a go. Unfortunately, the winner is to be selected randomly, so my superior skill and willingness to rhyme will not be a factor.

Wherefore do I write poetry, you ask?

I am afraid my answer won't be clear.

But nonetheless I must attempt this task.

I guess I write my poems out of fear.

I fear I'm doing nothing with my time.

I fear that all my life will be for naught.

To waste a life is surely quite a crime

And so I make the best of what I've got.

My poetry stands testament to time

That I have spent creating something great.

With each alliteration, foot, and rhyme,

My art emerges, beautiful, ornate

Of my own reasons, I am not quite sure

Perhaps that's part of poetry's allure.

Red (Not the Taylor Swift Album)

This one actually has a funny story to it. You see, one of my friends (The secondary content manager for my other blog, actually) posted a picture where some person asked for someone to describe the color red without using the word "red". Someone responded with some rather charming purple prose, as follows:

"When you dip her in the middle of the dance floor, it is the color of her dress. When she whispers in your ear, it is the color of her lips. When you make love, it is the trace you want her to leave all over your body. When she places her palm over your heart, it is the color that comes to the surface as her fingertips trail like a sentence that can never be finished. When you see her in your bedroom with another, it is the color of your breath. When you smash the vase in the hall, it is the color that threatens you to abandon the shattered pieces. When you scream at the top of your lungs, it is the color that pierces the atmosphere. When she hears you, it is the color of her pulse. When you look in her eyes for the last time, it is the fading color of your heart falling to your knees. It is not the color you see when she leaves."

It was posted by a chap by going by the screen name of "book-halfunread", and I admit that it's quite a beautiful piece of prose. Naturally, I responded to my friend's share of the picture with "625-750 nm electromagnetic radiation. Owned". Afterwards, she had the audacity to say that I, a genuine poet, was not as amazing with words! Needless to say, I was seeing red. In my anger, I whipped up a poem of my own about the color red. I cannot say for sure that it outshines book-halfunread, but I believe it to be perhaps some of my finer work.

Anyway, without further ado:

The color of a fiercely beating heart

The hue you grew when you first heard “I do”

The fire that rages, deep within my art.

It can combat its calmer brother, blue.

It is the color that provides us life

and yet it's that which signifies our death.

A cross that seeks to stop sickness and strife

A wounded warrior's gasped final breath

The budding tenderness of Valentines

The crimson radiance of setting suns

The flaming hope which in the darkness shines

The color of one's nipples when one runs.

And yet, all of the many things I've said

can be conveyed with just the color red.

If you're confused about that bit about nipples, here's an explanation.

Solipsism

I wonder if the world is just a dream

Elaborate illusions in my head

And all reality is as I deem

The weaver of the universe's thread

Then why is my world filled with all this pain?

Could I not simply wish the world was well?

I do not know what I could have to gain

In making people's lives a living hell.

Perhaps a deity can be as flawed

as any mortal, making my mistakes

A solipsist is just a Lonely God

who hit the gas but cannot reach the brakes.

Just like that boss from Star Fox Sixty Four

I'm sorry, I will show myself the door.

Crown of Chaos - Explanatory Prose

I'd highly recommend that you read this post before you start reading all the posts that come after it. Specifically, the ones that begin with "Crown of Chaos". You see, a crown of sonnets is a special kind of sonnet cycle. (A cycle is more or less just the collective noun for sonnets. A pack of dogs, a murder of crows, a fondle of unicorns, ect.) A crown of sonnets is defined as a cycle of sonnets such that the last line of each sonnet is the first line of the next one. This chains them all together, until the final sonnet, which ends with the first line of the first sonnet. This brings them all together in a sort of circle. A "crown", if you will. A special case of the crown of sonnets is a heroic crown of sonnets. This is a special kind of crown, consisting of 14 sonnets. A 15th sonnet is then formed from the first line of each sonnet. Actually, I should probably just let Wikipedia explain it.

This requires incredible skill with words, as the first line of each poem not only has to follow the correct rhyme scheme, but it should hopefully make some kind of sense. Despite this, I wrote one, and it follows this explanation. Each sonnet in the crown is posted in order, starting with the "crown jewel", the one constructed from the first lines of the previous 14. The title "Crown of Chaos", was chosen because it sounds cool. Also, "chaos" and "havoc" are basically the same thing, right? Right.

(The first sonnet can be found here)

Crown of Chaos - Crown Jewel

A crown of sonnets: quite a daunting feat

Perhaps I should give something else a try

But I can't let this crown go incomplete

I do not want to be that kind of guy

Unless that guy is Batman; that'd be sweet

From my own pit I shall attempt to rise.

I shall become a scholarly elite.

And if you disagree, then damn your eyes.

I'm really, really, very super tired.

These sonnets must continue, nonetheless.

Until I make the effort that's required

At my potential I can only guess

I hope to end these sonnets with a smile

If I must leave, I'd like to leave in style.

(The first sonnet can be found here) 

Crown of Chaos 1 - Introduction

A crown of sonnets: quite a daunting feat

To even try would label me a fool.

And while success would make me seem elite,

A topic won't be given, like in school

So far, I've always written on one thing.

My poems always had a “meta” feel.

I fear that if I step outside my ring,

I'll fail to find the words to “keep it real”.

Perhaps for this I'll take a lighter heart.

Apply the wit I often use in prose

Although it may be true that all true art

is angsty, just as the old saying goes

Perhaps “true art's” not where my talents lie

Perhaps I should give something else a try.

(The next sonnet can be found here)

Crown of Chaos 2 - Why I Fight

Perhaps I should give something else a try.

If I gave up, no one would ever know.

Alas! I cannot trust this easy lie.

The reason for these sonnets is to show

That I can change, that I can choose to work.

I do not mean to prove myself to peers,

It is in my own mind that judgments lurk.

I write this so that I might face my fears.

But you, the reader, do not care about

the reason that I wrote this sonnet crown.

And I did say that I would write without

me saying things that might cause you to frown.

I know this project may not end up neat

But I can't let this crown go incomplete.

(The next sonnet can be found here)

Crown of Chaos 3 - Picking a Topic

But I can't let this crown go incomplete

So I must choose its contents rather quick

Each sonnet's topic cannot be discrete

Uniting all the poems is the trick.

So what shall be my unifying theme?

It must be something that I know quite well.

It would not do if I ran out of steam

Before I finished all I had to tell.

Perhaps I'll write these poems about me

(reflexive pronouns are a bitch to rhyme)

If that is what my topic is to be

I feel that I should stop wasting your time.

I said I'll do this, and that is no lie

I do not want to be that kind of guy

Notes: Reflexive pronouns are pronouns used when the subject and object are the same thing, e.g. He pooped himself (interestingly enough, this seems to be the only context in which the verb "to poop" is transitive). They are indeed a bitch to rhyme.

There are a couple discrepancies when it comes to syllable stress. Deal with it.

(The next sonnet can be found here)

Crown of Chaos 4 - Actual Introduction

I do not want to be that kind of guy

Who never makes the point he wants to make

From this point on I shall sincerely try

to write about myself, for space's sake.

If I were asked what word describes me best

Then “Gentleman”'s the answer I would say.

Although I feel that it must be confessed

That I can be a boor on my best day.

In all pursuits I strive to be a dude

who's pretty cool and doesn't do bad things

I do refrain from being loud or rude.

Avoiding awkwardness such actions bring.

I am myself, there's none I'd rather be.

Unless that guy is Batman; that'd be sweet.
(The next sonnet can be found here)

Crown of Chaos 5 - References

Unless that guy is Batman; that'd be sweet.

That did not start this sonnet very well.

The lack of flow is quite far from discreet,

But legibility can go to hell.

I've never even read a comic book,

except a half-read manga teaching math.

Perhaps some day I'll go and have a look,

But I don't think I'll take that risky path.

Pop culture references are my life

Especially ones I don't understand.

For ev'ry joke I say or write is rife

with cleverest allusions, just as planned

And just as surely as The Doctor lies,

From my own pit I shall attempt to rise

(The next sonnet can be found here).

Crown of Chaos 6 - Self Doubt

From my own pit I shall attempt to rise

And make myself a wholly greater bloke

For being excellent is its own prize.

My wish to serve the greater good's no joke.

Sometimes I want to be the very best

like no one else can say they ever were.

I wish that I could say that I'll not rest

until my full potential has been stirred.

But all too often I am filled with doubt.

My psyche feeling fragile as a glass

To these ill thoughts, I say just this: “get out”

I came to write these sonnets and kick ass

These inner demons shall taste their defeat

I shall become a scholarly elite.

(The next sonnet can be found here).