Return of Crappy High School Poetry

Welcome, one and all, to this, the latest entry in our recurring review of rhythmic ridiculousness that is Crappy High School Poetry. The pageantry! The overwrought metaphors! The predictably regular references to my “soul”! I do have some good news: this is the final entry in the romantic and wearisome “She” series.

Now for the bad news: I wrote other non-”She” poems, too, so… this ride ain’t over yet.

Okay, let’s do this thing. This one is a monster, and like all monsters, it is frightening and it haunts the dreams of little children. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the terrifying finale to the terrifying “She” series: “She #5.”

more quantity if not quality

She #5

Pyramids of memory and
Teardrops of desire. waiting –
Dreaming constantly — of
A whisper: a brush of lips.
A touch.
Her.
Windows glisten with the
Soul’s own rain, and outside
Clouds sympathize. With
Warm breath of winds they speak:
     A love unseen is still love.
Her eyes speak in brilliant
Shades of Sky, to an eager
Soul –
To the last faded
Glimpses of Rainbow.
A look launches
A thousand gallant ships of
Fiery passion into the stormy sea of
My Soul. And with
Whitened waves of fury it speaks:
     A love forbidden is still love.
Forgotten pasts dissipate as Storms with
Muted Thunder, and a
Dream continues — hands clasped,
Eyes captive, souls touching,
Loving,
Her.
Soft whispers wind their way
Into my being, and her
Delicate magenta touch somehow speaks:
     A love held captive is still love.

     Webs of emotion covered
     With morning dew stretch between
     Us — and a spirit touch
     Sends us soaring into Sky.
     A Soul whispers:

     I love you.

Where to begin? Thoughts/comments:

  • The “soul” count stands at five. The title of the poem: “She #5.” Coincidence?!
  • Yes.
  • I admit to being impressed by the nonstandard units of measure. Memory, for example, is measured in units called “pyramids,” while desire is doled out in “teardrops.”
  • The line about windows glistening with the soul’s own rain… this was clearly an attempt to sound clever.
  • As such, it was a spectacular failure.
  • Apparently I was beginning to find “she” so restrictive that I had to branch to the much more mellifluous “her.”
  • “With warm breath of winds they speak…” Wait a minute… who speaks? The windows? Am I getting this right? The windows are speaking?
  • Wait, “windows” are clearly a metaphor for my eyes, so… my eyes are speaking. With wind. Somehow?
  • I literally cannot imagine a universe in which that line makes any kind of sense.
  • Oh, she launched a thousand ships, did she? This was clearly an attempt to shoe-horn in a pointless reference from classical mythology.
  • As such, it was a spectacular failure.
  • Read the line about her soft whispers winding their way into my… sigh… soul, and then add in her “magenta touch.” Sound familiar? It should.
  • This poem marked the beginning of a new poetic crutch: “Sky.” Her eyes speak in brilliant shades of “Sky,” we later soar into “Sky.” Keep that sky thing in mind, because you’re going to see it again in a later installment of Crappy High School Poetry. So, you know… stay tuned or whatever.
  • No, I don’t know why I capitalized “Sky.”
  • And “Sky” is not the only Word I subjected to Random Capitalization: I capitalized “Soul” (most of the time). “Rainbow” for some reason. And “Muted Thunder.”
  • By the way, Muted Thunder was my favorite band in high school.
  • The line about webs of emotion covered with morning dew is incredibly suggestive of… forget it, I’m not going there.
  • Remember: a love poorly portrayed in an amateurish adolescent poem is still love.
  • Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

One Response to “Return of Crappy High School Poetry”

  1. Sarah Nord Says:

    Yowzah! High school poetry at its best and worst. I turned bright red with embarrassment as I read! Good thing you’re not nearly this awkward anymore…oh wait… :-)

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