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Category Archives: Uncle Pat Stanzas
Love Sestina (3)
But why do we always use the sonnet? I’d rather break from the traditional and do something else instead. I guess that’s all very fitting, for what I really love, besides my beautiful wife, is going, and doing something different … Continue reading
Love Sestina (2)
But why the Sestina instead? It’s not really too fitting, for poetry so flighty to be about love. So what is going, to become of Valentines day, without it’s usual sing song sonnet?
Love Sestina (1)
I suppose it’s only fitting, to write about love, on this week we’ve got going, up to Valentines day, but instead of the usual sonnet, I have tried the Sestina instead. *Note – The sestina is a french form of … Continue reading
Malaise (Final, Together)
Softly…, slowly…, sinking…, down, down, down, into the marsh I go. Enveloping…, engrossing…, encompassing…, down, down, down, it slowly pulls me in. Pulling…, lulling…, rolling…, down, down, down, drifting quietly to slumper. Hoping… joking… floating… down, down, down. Never to … Continue reading
Posted in Uncle Pat's Finished Poems
Tagged malaise, poetry, stanza
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Malaise (Final)
Hoping… joking… floating… down, down, down. Never to wake again.
Malaise (3)
Pulling…, lulling…, rolling…, down, down, down, drifting quietly to slumper.
Malaise (2)
Enveloping…, engrossing…, encompassing…, down, down, down, it slowly pulls me in.
Malaise (1)
Softly…, slowly…, sinking…, down, down, down, into the marsh I go.
Did We Win? (7)
Silence descends like a heavy blanket. Talking, movement, he’s on the stretcher, his thumb is up. The crowd claps. Just the claps. No yells, no jeers, just the claps. The clock restarts, the battle lines reform, they break and clash … Continue reading
Creepy Crawly
Sickly sinking in my stomach, something slimy, itchy, scratching, stroking, strolling, slowly sliding, slowly sinking, sinking, scratching, shivers down my spine. Sticky, scratchy, scrappy, stickly arms scrapping down, across, down, shiny shivering slithering pulsing hairs standing on their ends the … Continue reading
Posted in Uncle Pat's Finished Poems
Tagged Creepy Crawley, poetry, stanza
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