No clue but a balance between a conventional and a. more unconventional format , some rhyme with periods of appearent structural break up to reveal some semblance, I suppose , put loosely.
Specific forms could interplay within such as couplets, and the use of older firmed such as ballades, sonnets, to dignify different contextual frames of reference.
I agree MagsJ judging it, and I am afraid to say, for lack of other enthusiastic participants, she may turn out to be the only one availing this opportunity.
Ok no reserve just begin the begun
Art is but a reflection
The unassumed passage
Twisting it but ever so gently little love
my little dove
Should I keep her
Or leave her in the dark oh no
Let her watch the flicker,
The lights are amusing cast in shaded in the wall,
Breezes shake the monsters that limbs of trees c
The monsters all gone by the tears of the morning dew.
I wish I could
Then would see , as you were hence,
Then
What.
Yes it’s not about you how absurd a thought is that.
I’m no wild Oskar that’s for sure, pushed the wring key, as if seeking reply, be assured my little one is someone else to have become this comedy of errors.
So let’s not hastily come
to a missed opportune cleaver of truth.
But may be there is more to this than the eye can behold
The poet and the poem are like a river, where the shallows and the depths intermingle,
The flow at times, so brave to venture for torrential rains hazardous a journey theu fathom, yet the undertow, that fauna and the gleaming silver that their eyes in schools swarm and are carried,
Against upward the stream the lost little one
Tries it’s mother to recognize before the swarm races
The largesse of the emerald
bay but alas, it’s sooner
then then thought: and later than,
that the forever little one the
kingfishers has to brave alone
Dusk has dettled, she is mowhere, and the bluest mist firmed betweext sky and flow of the church in water snaking almost as the fauns whisper.
The lazy river snakes down from the towering
columns whitened from the long foamed journey from up above,
Where the snowed under schools reveal a frantic tiny salmon desperate to find his mother, in a forgotten school, somewhere lost along the way, in braving the long Alaskan way.
She’ll never reach her mow that the vast expanse reveals it’s forging green depth to the shallow languid ford that gently helped her along the coastline,
But now her mother gone somewhere behind the vast past stretches of forgotten land, she has become just another gleaming steel like the ones
to bait her long ago.
That was yesterday in her reel time and now here, suddenly is the drop,
where the schools into higher ground
but deeper still
Only the fauna and the jumgle’s moaning to remind.
Then morning breaks with a burst, and nothing remains as before. He is still.
Well ok evidently we have to accept ongoing submissions now.
Submission and attrition
Attribution is once dedicated, twice relayed
And thrice forgotten
On the froth of the silver lightning
Comes a sky filled with eyes
White, brown, yellow
It screetches
And the pantomime ends
Few schools where the preacher
Can make his ends
Even fewer still
Where the crooked path bends
It sends a chill up the spine
All the way down into the cosmos
Where the insects are chattering
And the mist makes its bed
Between the clamor of cheers and booz, the Author bows at the podium
Upon opening of the envelope, the MC hammers out who the winner is.
Or tries, as a disheveled poetess grabs the the paper savagely out of his hands and physically shreds it into Timmy pieces that fall to the stage floor.
Then stomps on it and sets it on fire.
“Ha,” she mumbles , “Another one bites the dust” as a gjanitor sweeps it up and throws it into the trash.
The pretender. a desperate soul intent on destroying competition, haughtily , Brunhilda likemarches out of the stage, left everyone in amazement and shock - to the tune of fading strings , harmonically vibrating orchestral hall to the tune of Gotterdamerung
Stormy days, stormy weather
The cataracts descend upon the fellows
As they scope out the land with lint and golden letters
The main man took the stand and made a case between humbleness and better
So scattered the debris of the highlands having been decided that numbness was a trend setter
Belying the fact was the enormity of neverending popsicles and cans set upon strangely ornamented fetters
Inclusive of maniacs and tramps who had flocked from every corner in search of scathing promises and inculcators
The Earth could not bear it
The math not there
Calcination
Oh well,
Stan