Journals of Despair

[francopazv]

One

Your gift sat under the pine tree for days,
I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
I finally did:
a pen.
Love the irony.
Sorry I didn’t get you anything.

Two

Got your letter this morning.
Read all twenty-seven words,
seventeen times.

Three

Saw you at the mall today,
you didn’t tell me you were back.
You looked beautiful in your summer dress
as you walked down the crowded floor.
But you didn’t see me.
It’s probably better that way.

Four

Got home tonight,
drowned myself in chocolate.
Watched that movie,
the one we saw on our third date.
Afterwards I went out
and drove under every
overpass I could find.

Five

I had a feeling I’d find
a letter on my mailbox.
Yet you know better than I do:
It was empty.






Six

First date since you left:
She’s a friend of a friend.
I took her to that Italian restaurant,
the one you said you didn’t like.
I just couldn’t take her
anywhere I’d gone with you.

Seven

Got the invitation
for Isabella’s wedding:
Myself and a guest.
There’s no one to take.
I assumed I’d go with you,
I’ll probably send my regrets.

Eight

I went to the wedding.
I thought you’d be there.
But you weren’t.
Just like the mail, you didn’t come.
Instead I danced with a girl,
and drank half the punch.
She told me to call her anytime,
but I probably won’t.

Nine

My friends invited me to dinner
at this nice Indian place.
They tried to make me laugh.
Introduced me to relatives,
played my favorite songs in the jukebox;
but I couldn’t enjoy myself,
busy as I was,
wishing myself happy birthday
on your behalf.


Ten

Of course
I would get your postcard
the day after I called her.
It was inconsequential,
a little three-line nothing,
and now I can’t stop thinking
about you.

Eleven

Ripped sweatpants on my kitchen floor and
a faint smell of nicotine drenched in my pillow,
every time I open a drawer I find something
that reminds me of you.

Twelve

Every day I write less,
words don’t come to me like they used to.
The publishers said I need to get my **** together.
I’m falling behind in the book.
Just can’t write anymore.

Thirteen

The editor called;
she said I needed time off,
I wasn’t okay.
She told me to seek counseling,
the company will pay.

Fourteen

I’m walking on clouds.

Fifteen

Lithium no longer does it,
I am submerged in a wave of blackness.

Sixteen

I found God, he lives in my head.
He moved there when my heart was broken.
I hate him, just like I hate you.



Seventeen

I see monsters,
they live in mirrors.

Eighteen

I’m flying.
Flying above seas of fire.
Bury me,
I’ll be your Annabel Lee.

[Haunted]

One or two rough spots, still, I like how it starts and how it ends, and everything in between.

[hillwalker]

There's a lot of good material in this - love the way you have structured it and the understated way you reveal what you are going through. But I'm not sure I would classify it as a poem..?

H

[francopazv]

There's a lot of good material in this - love the way you have structured it and the understated way you reveal what you are going through. But I'm not sure I would classify it as a poem..?

H

It's structured as a poem. What exactly would you call it?

[hillwalker]

A fictional journal entry structured in the shape of a poem?

Breaking prose up into verse-shapes doesn't transform it into poetry surely.

H

[francopazv]

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16054

would you consider this poetry?

[hillwalker]

Yes - because the way it is presented is immaterial. It's the specific use of language, the clarity of expression and juxtaposition of images that differentiates poetry from prose.

Your piece could easily be rearranged into paragraphs and would read as excellent prose. Breaking it up into individual lines does not raise it to the level of poetry since there's not a great deal of lyricism or mind-catching expressions.

But if it makes you happier to call it a poem don't let me dissuade you...

H

[francopazv]

whether or not it is poetry is completely irrelevant as long as the writing produces its intended effect on the audience. you might be right, it might not be poetry in the traditional sense of the word, but in its current form it is closer to being a poem than it is to being prose.

[francopazv]

Just edited the post because i rewrote some of the stuff