Acrostic Poetry

[TheFifthElement]

I like to experiment with different poetic forms, often as an exercise rather than a serious attempt to create a poem. I had a go at an acrostic poem, which is a poem where the first letter of each line read vertically spells the word that the poem is about. This is my attempt:

Desire

Domination of colour
Enters the mind, sleeps there
Safe beyond contentment
Ingesting shades of purple and
Red, softened by the
Embers of your memory.



Would anyone else like to have a try?

[ampoule]

I did one back on August 19 in the 'and the word is' thread. The word was teach. I called my poem...

Hand In Hand

Time is of the
Essence when telling
About all you know and
Care about, passing with your
Heart to those who hunger and thirst,
Lessons that are steeped in living
Each question as is comes, to
Ask for the seed it holds,
Require the truth and
Never give up.

[Granny5]

Damn, love caught me
And I wasn't ready
No escape

[Granny5]

Sarah, you are beautiful.
Always loving and kind,
Reacting to the needs of others,
And your needs? Never mind.
Have a minute for yourself.

[Granny5]

To my first born
On this Monday morn
Now I want to say
You are special
Always

[Pendragon]

I slipped this one right past everybody a while back. I had all positive feedback on the poem, and no one noticed that the first letters sent a message. Try again:

Without Eyes

Going down a path that isn’t clear,
Over mountain passes, through the rising fog.
Others may have gone this way before, I cannot tell,
Ducking branches that appear out of the mist like arms.
Barely missed walking off a ledge but my sixth sense kicked in just in time,
"You really need to be more careful, boy, you shame your ancestors!
Even in this kind of weather your totem animal would find its way—
Maybe you should learn to listen more, and be less quick to speak.
You have learned to walk this path you walk, but don’t let it make you blind—
Focus on your way ahead, attune your other senses to your way.
Reach out and touch with your hearing, see through your sense of smell,
In the fog are many flavors of the things that it enfolds so taste them all.
Even through your hiking boots you should feel the surface of the earth,
Now are you on the path or on the rocks, your feet know if you do not.
Dare to let everything go and simply trust the things you already have:
Seek out the path—even if you cannot see it with your eyes…"

Pendragon
8/24/07

The eyes are tricky. Best place to hide is right out in the open!

[TheFifthElement]

I slipped this one right past everybody a while back. I had all positive feedback on the poem, and no one noticed that the first letters sent a message. Try again:

Without Eyes

Going down a path that isn’t clear,
Over mountain passes, through the rising fog.
Others may have gone this way before, I cannot tell,
Ducking branches that appear out of the mist like arms.
Barely missed walking off a ledge but my sixth sense kicked in just in time,
"You really need to be more careful, boy, you shame your ancestors!
Even in this kind of weather your totem animal would find its way—
Maybe you should learn to listen more, and be less quick to speak.
You have learned to walk this path you walk, but don’t let it make you blind—
Focus on your way ahead, attune your other senses to your way.
Reach out and touch with your hearing, see through your sense of smell,
In the fog are many flavors of the things that it enfolds so taste them all.
Even through your hiking boots you should feel the surface of the earth,
Now are you on the path or on the rocks, your feet know if you do not.
Dare to let everything go and simply trust the things you already have:
Seek out the path—even if you cannot see it with your eyes…"

Pendragon
8/24/07

The eyes are tricky. Best place to hide is right out in the open!


Very, very cool Pen ;)

[TheFifthElement]

Trouble meets me at the
edge; in darkened rooms I
meet with fallen Angels,
painted like the
temptress I’ve become.
All of nature struggles against
this desire, the fall of
innocence, brief against the
opulence of life, where
night stirs with destructive longing.

[AuntShecky]

Picture an unmapped nerve

Only mystics and maniacs have seen before

Enlivened by chattering monks whose verve

The trees wrap round with a prehensile store

Recoiled with a snap, yet the synapse pulls tight:

You think you've finally nailed it, but not quite.