Did he just say what I just heard?
Those unkind words—
malicious pokes
disguised as jokes.
Should I carp back? Or balk? Or scoff?
Just laugh it off?
Stare blank as sky?
Collapse and cry?
Or keep on making oolong tea,
for him, for me.
A silent room.
The dark leaves bloom.
just in case anyone else wants to play … this is a form called a minute, 60 syllables, one for each second, with the aabbccddeeff rhyme scheme. The three 4-line stanzas are written in iambs with a syllable count of 8,4,4,4 8,4,4,4 8,4,4,4 it is supposed to be about a brief event
play?! let’s dance!! funny, though. before reading your comment, i was planning on noting my suspicion that you were delighting, playing, with your poetry once again. sometimes the muse takes one on a ride; other times, it’s straight to the dance floor.
but let’s be clear: playful, to be sure; but this isn’t only the work of placing a template on the page and filling in blanks—this is a crafted poem, with all the layers and corridors.
with just a single workshop and one evening”s reading of poetry, i scarcely know you at all. nonetheless, i’m imagining the inundation of chortling joy that enveloped you as your brought this poem to the page. lest we become as children do we enter heaven.
Thanks, Ed … It is a dance. I used to write in forms much more than I do these days. Partly a time issue, I suppose … But I feel a sonnet coming on …
The Half a Minute Loser
The trouble is
it’s his,
I lied.
She tried
to say she thought
a lot
about
the lout
but just looked stunned.
I’d won.
She left
bereft.
You rock. This is awesome. Great 30 seconds.