A little elser

Another poem influenced by Cummings' style.

A little elser 11/25/10
The tired almostcorpse
the sterilized sheets into slowly settles
whiter hair unmoved since
yesterday's
yesterday
and
tomorrow's
tomorrow
(like everyday's tomorrow)
will wake to (not) her
captured by a dream (without waking)
siphoned in from braintubes around the bed.

after tedious airdead minutes a
sudden
empty
moment...
the room is one soul lesser

but to the (tearbottled) eyes
beside the bed
just the same is
the white room
the white is
just the same.

But somewhere else
(a little elser)
is a little whiter now.

Snow

Here's a poem (somewhat) in the style of E.E. Cummings.

Snow

snow(

(th)in (as) the (p)ages

of a Bible:

the very Word(s)

(and bread) of

God fall-

ing from heaven)

flakes

Sonnet 1

This is my first attempt at a sonnet (Petrarchan, in case you're curious.) Also, my family is in the process of watching the BBC production of Bleak House (by Dickens), and this sonnet somewhat has in mind Guppy's love of Esther.

Imago Dei 11/20/2010
When I do stoop to look on mountains high,
Or when through thickets ambling do I see
The vernal buds where dwells the honeybee,
Which, floating free as if the king of May
Does gorge himself on nectar at noonday
Like Bacchus in his evening revelry,
Or bend an ear to hear a symphony,
Or view the morn with single, squinted eye,
Then do I fear that thy too-distant face,
That surely out of deeper heaven shines
Its light, must be not of this earthly place
And in these lesser lights my heart repines
To know that I am dooméd to debase
What in my heart I know can ne'er be mine.

Redemption to the Unwilling

Redemption to the Unwilling 11/9/10
The trees outstretch their twiggy hands to stop the flow
and vainly try to keep the snow from touching down,
stretching out their tired limbs to hold the snow
which can't be kept from finally falling to the ground.

The clouds give up and move away to show the sun
which falls like swifter snow to warm the winter breeze.
But underneath the boughs, the snow is not yet done
and keeps on falling from the weary limbs of trees.

They could not stop the heavens' plan to cleanse with white
the crimson windblown death that fall of hope bereaves.
The very snow they tried to stop with all their might
now lands delayed and, with the clouds, creation grieves
until it falls to purge the ground and bring forth Easter leaves.