also, a poem

[some_stars]

which i wrote during english class, while considering the poem that was better than the other one we were assigned, which the latter was the one under discussion at the time. i don't think it's very good, but it interests me. well, the beginning is interesting, it falls apart rather towards the end. at any rate:




This poem is terza rima, which we call
The knitting of strands, and braiding
A thousand discrete ropes until we hold them all

So one sound, one bell, one pitch is fading
Still when the next tolls; we hear every tone.
Call it a drawing with more attention paid to shading

Than outline, or color, or underlying bone.
Although I do it wrong; the skeleton should stand
Magnificently anatomical, iambic, and alone.

But I am seduced by the braid in my hand
To insensibility, inability to count, in-
Tentional disregard for the metric demand

That I should count each bell, and measure thin
My sweet lines, my darlings, my fine-dressed dolls,
My kittens, with the sticky sick patch on their chins,

My endearments! Everything I make falls
Unheard, everything I love is rudely laid
On beaten dirt floors by planked-wood walls

That make a house nobody made
And nobody lives there but me and my braid.