Ridiculous Poetry Game -By: Alanna, Krista, and Wei-erh. (A.K.A. Krista's Iowan Therapy Session.)

Synergistic, or What Makes a Thought Worth Thinking?

I'll turn my thoughts
around a wheel
Each frazzled thread
pulled and straightened
wound 'till round
a formed cord
of fragile certainty.
And though the winding
seems so tedious
ever turning back to end
my wound cord
strongly woven
never breaks as it bends.


Vulgarity, or Where Did the Good Go?

That awful taste still lingers in my mouth
I've learned my lesson hence
Suds and bubbles slowly driftign south
I have my recompence.
And all for a small and trifling word
No essence did it taint.
Yet, when slipped from my mouth and t'was heard
My gosh! My mom did faint!
I didn't mean it, I swear, I swear!
But I was out of luck.
Soap in my mouth, alas I must bear
And all for saying ----.


Capitulation, or Can We Learn Enough From Our Parents to Do Better Than They Did?

Out of the fire came ashes
Out of the ashes -man
Out of the man -small thought machines
In their gears, the thought, "I can."
But man-made things wear out and die
Parent's themes pervade their lives.
They think re-used thoughts, and tell re-used lies.
They learn the world through weary eyes.
They're useful things, those damned machines, but in the cubboard lay
The ones who made their tattered seams
Tossed their ideas away.


Osteoporosis, or Would Mona Lisa's Smile Have Worked on Someone Else's Face?

I've always known my wife faired well in other people's shoes.
Almost as though she could rebuild herself as often as she'd choose.
In song, her voice took on new shapes -to give the artist credit.
Her face, it seemed would shine, or gleam -as portraits one might stare at.
She always moved, as water flows -like actors in the Broadway shows.
The clothes she wore, picked carefully -like models in the magazines.
The words she chose, God only knows -were from her favourite books to read.

My wife, to me -a fabrication.
Her life, it seemed -a collaberation.
But lying now, in hospital bed
Her mind near sleep, her bones near dead
Those people inside my wife are gone.
There are no more quiet smiles, no more lively songs.
And only now have I discovered
How much of my wife has been left uncovered.
Less acts.
More facts.
And a wife I hardly knew.


Pickle, or When Does the Beginning Fade Into the End?

Oh, what a pickle.
I don't know where to begin.
My brain is mixed and muddled
My heart without chagrin.
I was once inspired
To write with such great poise,
But as time moves onward
My mind makes no noise.
Oh, what silly things
Are floating in my head.
To formulate a well thought word
Won't happen before I'm dead.
So, I'll big you all goodnight
As I fade away.
This fatigue overwhelms me
We'll speak another day.