365 Poems in 365 Days: Stone
There are white veins throughout this slate grey stone
In my hand, heavier than any brick
This description is not a zen koan
Though I may have lifted hints to be slick
In my hand, heavier than any brick
It feels like some highly polished bone
Though I may have lifted hints to be slick
The rock itself can't be taken on loan
It feels like highly polished bone
Words slide over it, all refusing to stick
The rock itself can't be taken on loan
Unlike a poem, which might just be the trick
Words slide over it all refusing to stick
This description is not a zen koan
Unlike a poem, which might be the trick
There are white veins throughout this slate grey stone.
17 of 365. I'm not greatly enamoured of this pantun; it was supposed to be pretty clever, juxtaposing the solidity of the stone and the flightiness of words. The last verse is fair, but the rest needs reworking, and frankly the likely results from another draft or two don't seem worth it. This is as close to a failiure as I've posted so far, in my opinion.
In my hand, heavier than any brick
This description is not a zen koan
Though I may have lifted hints to be slick
In my hand, heavier than any brick
It feels like some highly polished bone
Though I may have lifted hints to be slick
The rock itself can't be taken on loan
It feels like highly polished bone
Words slide over it, all refusing to stick
The rock itself can't be taken on loan
Unlike a poem, which might just be the trick
Words slide over it all refusing to stick
This description is not a zen koan
Unlike a poem, which might be the trick
There are white veins throughout this slate grey stone.
17 of 365. I'm not greatly enamoured of this pantun; it was supposed to be pretty clever, juxtaposing the solidity of the stone and the flightiness of words. The last verse is fair, but the rest needs reworking, and frankly the likely results from another draft or two don't seem worth it. This is as close to a failiure as I've posted so far, in my opinion.
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