I’ve got a voice where you’ve got a song. I’ve got a note, you, a chord. I’ve got a paper, where you’ve got a pen. I’ve got a cry, you, a sword. I’ve got a thread, where you’ve got a loom. I’ve got a key, you, a kite. I’ve got a sail, where you’ve got…
Category: rhyming
An Ode to Unbeautiful Things
This is an ode to unbeautiful things, like monarchs once bottled in flight, as we called what we did preservation while its spiracles struggled to fight. This is an ode to unbeautiful things, like hermits once kicked from their land as we called what they ran from outdated and constructed our cities on sand. This…
Questions
What does man say of his eminent death, when he follows his fate with a quavering breath? Does he mutter a truth to his comrade beside? Or swallow his fate as he grapples with pride? -Amy Struthers Image by: James Kovin
No One Asks About Blue
It’s assumed that of all of the colours, Blue’s the most misunderstood, for where Yellow is mellow and Green is serene, Blue is the absence of ‘good’. To some, Blue’s a feeling of sadness, hence why they say, ‘playing the blues’, but imagine what colours I’d sing of, if you spent one day in my…
Untitled
When the blind burn the world with the language of sight, how can they be sure that such torches are light? – Amy Struthers
Good Grief
Some say I’ve the demeanor of that Peanut they call ‘Chuck’, who seldom smiles, and travels miles, to test his lousy luck at getting with a red-haired girl, who barely bats an eye, at a boy who’d rope the moon for love to gift her bottled sky. This is the tale of the grief that’s…
Ray (Based on a True Story)
Your name was as it sounded-a candle in the dark,to guide me through the tunnelslifting melodies of larks.Rejected from fine Julliard,you swayed as you played Bach,when they offered you bravadoshould you flourish with the flock.“Alas” they said, “you’re talented,but must step into place”,when they noted that such movementswere preventing you from grace.But you, just like…
God or Man?
(Inspired by a Joe Tessitore photograph) “God or Man?” he asks of me, “That truth of which I’m told. Tell me if you can,” says he, “Which path does lead to gold?” “Of riches internal or outwards?” I ask. “Of wealth overflowing or small?” “Of that which will flower this desert” says he, “Of that…
The Tail of a Tale
Some say that golden stories stem from treasures long forgot, or grow from tales as big as whales that scarcely hold a plot. But like all stories, bland and bold, each poet has their root- a source from which they pulled their page to turn their cherished loot. As it so happens, many creatures stirred…
Right Handed Rhymer 
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