I Try Poetry (because why not?)

In case you were wondering (you probably weren't, but oh well), this is what it looks like when I try to write poetry. I submitted these four poems for publication in a literary magazine, and they accepted THREE of them! I was super happy, and sort of pleasantly surprised since I've always found poetry to be really difficult to wrap my head around. If you've never taken a stab at poetry before, I would totally recommend it! To make this more fun (and not just about me), I'm proposing a little challenge. If you can guess which poem the magazine DIDN'T take, drop it in the comments and I'll let you pick the topic for my next blog post. Or, if you think you know which poem is MY personal favorite, toss that in the comments for another shot at being topic picker. Thanks everybody 😜

Not Quite an Elephant

In my experience,

many would consider the poor rhinoceros

to be the elephant’s shadow,

merely a lesser reflection.

When in actuality,

the rhino possesses his own parts, pieces,

shapes, and personalities,

unique solely to him.

A single horn, or two.

His ears are only a pinch smaller, really.

Legs more noticeably so.

The trunk is missing.

Middle Child Syndrome

The middle child seems to feel a lingering need

To prove their worth compared to siblings both older and younger.

They hold the precarious position of neither top nor bottom,

Resulting in a power struggle

With all parties involved.

Who should command who?

Surely the older.

But the middle child is sometimes older.

So who decides when sometimes is now?

Hopefully not the youngest.

The better qualities of those in the middle,

Sadly, are often overlooked.

Tins of brownies, shoes you never gave back,

The expert sweep of eyeliner, and the sounds of Billy Joel,

Shadowed by the unfortunate timing of their birth.

Some bear it gracefully. Others fight against their bookends.

But in the end, what are bookends without books-

Books without pages-

Without glue-

She is the glue.

Untitled

Words on a knife’s edge.

The pen tip waits.

Frozen, sits the story.

A sliver of iceberg

Inviting exploration.

Discovered now,

And the melting begins.

Words slip away.

A school of fleeing silver fish.

Take hold before they join the sea.

The Myths of Love

Theseus left poor Ariadne stranded on a beach.

Narcissus found his fair reflection always out of reach.

Gentle Hyacinthus struck by Apollo in the head.

Ares and Aphrodite humiliated in bed.

Orpheus lost Eurydice because he could not wait.

Semele saw the truth and joined the ashes in the grate.

Leander met his Hero at the bottom of the sea.

Zeus swallowed pregnant Metis to avoid a prophecy.

Hercules, in madness, killed both his children and his wife.

Paris and Helen answer for the greatest loss of life.

So every hopeful heart that longs for love to never cease,

Must hastily be warned to stay away from ancient Greece.

And since a mournful lover marks the ending of each tale,

I think I’d rather be alone, like Jonah in the whale.