Larry Shitsverse: We

I had a dream there
was a boom in the street,
a shower of stones,
and we were the bones.

I had a dream there
were ashes in the air,
dancing light, and
we were the fire.

I had a dream there
were bottles of gin,
fountains of mud,
and we were the flood.

I had a dream there
was a howl in the trees,
darkening eyes, and
we were the night.

And we were the deep.
-----------------------------------------------------------

Alright, apparently Larry had a dream. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be all one dream or four separate dreams. Five if you count the last line as a separate dream, but it could be just part of the last dream (or all of the dreams). And in what way could you dream about "we" being the night or the deep (whatever the hell "deep" means)?

I wonder if Larry started writing this poem in a certain format, like a villanelle or something. The scheme of a full-on villanelle goes like this:

A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.

Six stanzas (separated by the forward slashes) and three lines per stanza, except for the last stanza which has four lines. Lower case letters symbolize a certain ryhme. So the "a" lines all ryhme with each other, and the "b" lines have their own ryhme. But the capital letters symbolize a "refrain" which means it's a line that's actually repeated word for word. A1 doesn't just rhyme with the next A1. It is A1.

The example that people always give for the villanelle is Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle into that good night". But I will not use that as my example. No. I will use a nonsense poem about an epileptic duck that I will now write extemporaneously, meaning that I will not get up and get a refill of coffee at this here coffee shop until I've written an entire villanelle. Here goes:

....

Ok, I can't write poetry on the spot like that. Here's the standard modern example:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Like I said, I think that maybe Larry started writing his poem in a format like this, where he's repeating certain lines, and just dropped the format when it didn't suit the poem.

And as far as the last line of the poem goes, I think he might have wanted that to be a fifth dream but just couldn't come up with a good one to end with "and we were the deep." He could have done something like

I had a dream there
was a dome of stars,
the moon over the sea,
and we were the deep.

I also feel like there could be a better way to write this so it flows better. Or actually what I mean is, it could read better if the stanzas didn't even try to flow together. Because they don't. We could try to do something like this:

I had a dream.

A boom in the street,
a shower of stones,
and we were the bones.

I had a dream.

Etc.

or

I had a dream--
a boom in the street,
a shower of stones,
and we were the bones.

I had a dream--
etc.

But now it's sounding a bit MLK-ish. Doesn't really work for me. Ok, if I wanted to actually make it flow, this is how I would rewrite it:

I dreamed
there was a
boom in the street
a shower of stones
and we were the bones

there were
ashes in the air
and dancing light
and we were the fire

there were
bottles of gin
fountains of mud
and we were the flood

there was
a howl in the trees
with darkening eyes
and we were the night

there was
a dome of stars
moon over a black sea
and we were the deep

Larry Shitsverse: Tea

Chicory root
Lemongrass
Peppermint
Papaya
Chamomile
Dandelion root
Orange peel
________________________

Larry, that's just an ingredients list. You jackass.

Larry Shitsverse: Trees

I cannot identify a tree 

in the winter. The bark 

doesn't catch in the folds

of my brain the way 

an oak leaf does, or the 

blooms on a magnolia,

purple petals cupped tightly

in the April wind.

 

For all I know, on the first

winter night in the glow of

street lamp and chalk moon,

the dogwood trades places

with the Japanese maple,

roots creeping over the

pavement, dirt clods and

gravel trailing.

 

Yes, of course someone

might notice that a

crab apple is now a 

cherry tree, a myrtle 

is now a tulip. 

But maybe not.

 

Maybe they are transformed

by the soil.

 

Maybe all it takes for

a dogwood to try on

new skin is for it to sink

its feet into the loosened

earth and wiggle its toes

in the sandy mud where

a birch tree once stood.

_____________________ 

I like the way this poem reads. This is free verse, meaning it has no rhymes or meter. It isn't taking on any kind of traditional or pre-determined poetic form. Which isn't to say that free verse has no rhythm. Good free verse presents itself to be read at a certain pace with a certain emphasis on words that creates a rhythmic feeling. Like the way the stanzas are organized. I'm not sure how a poet goes about determining how long a line should be or how many lines should be in a stanza. They probably just try out different formats and see how it looks and reads. But my guess is that Larry just wrote these lines out and gave hardly any thought to rhythm or how it looks on the page. Probably...