An Inky Raindrop

Poem No. 808

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Keats collected Autumn's fruit
of bees and swallows in their place
wrapped softly in the golden lace
of gleanings girded 'round her suit.

Tennyson with his lofty pen
told of eagles' claws on crooked crag
and plumbed the darkest depths to drag
the Kraken from his frigid den.

Shelley braved the trackless waste
and there found Ozymandias
through his inky looking-glass,
long since by savage sands defaced.

Yet I would far outstrip their skill
if I could but capture a single drop
of summer rain, and make it stop,
quiv'ring on a pen-stroke of my quill.

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I had fun with this one, perusing my memories of various famous poets’ works. Yeah, they’re all romantic-era poets¹, but that’s my favorite era. That was the Golden Age of poetry, if you ask me.

My mom told me she liked this one in particular, and that with a little polish of the rhythm, it could be extra-special. I tend to agree with her— I also think I did well with this one, and I also think it needs a little more rhythm. Unfortunately, rhythm is something I was never really trained in/learned. I play it by ear, and I fear that that precludes my being able to easily go over a poem I’ve written and edit it for proper cadence. Someday, I hope to learn how to do that. But that day is not today.

I wish to add one more note, before tottering off to bed: the thumbnail drawing below will be the last one in color for the next four weeks. That is how long my internship (and my curtailed time for Substack) will last. After that, we’ll see. I may go back to colored thumbnail drawings— I have enjoyed making them, and enjoyed the fact that I’m establishing a backlog of artworks as well as poems as I go (not to mention improving my drawing skillz). Unfortunately, though, the art takes a long time. Often longer than the poem itself. So I don’t know whether I can keep it up. I want to focus on gettin’ my poetry written and sent out. The art is not the main event. For now.²

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1. Ok, Tennyson was technically Victorian era, but he’s a Romantic-era poet in my book.

2. I also omitted the information that this is an ars poetica poem. A poetic form that imposes no restrictions beyond the fact that the poem be written about writing poetry. Cheating, perhaps, but technically counts as “specific form”. :)