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“Paraphrasing Poetry.” I think that is a pretty accurate paraphrase.
I had to write an analysis on John Donne’s “The Flea” for my English class. One of the section of the project is to paraphrase the poem into one’s own words.
So, it turns out
That I will not be there.
So, it turns out
So, it turns out
That life is not so fair.
“I’m not liking it,“
Says one sick U.S. marine.
Groaning, he sits down.He swallowed hard, his
Tear-brimmed eyes pleading for help.
“Dramamine!” he begs.Poor fellow named Bob,
Too tall for his tiny rack
Bashed his head again.Ship gently rocking
In the turquoise sea it rolls.
Many marines puke.
This was originally an improv poem written in Voodoo Chat’s Cafe El Nuit. But I decided it was a good concept for a poem so I decided to work on it.
A poem about a certain dracolich necromancer whose egotism is only matched by his penchant for cruelty. He is the Dread Overlord of Zebedee, a very addicting text-based roleplaying game (or MUD).
I was chatting in Voodoo Chat when my friend Andi decided to leave the computer for a bit. But before she left, she warned her fellow chatters to “not molest me while I’m gone.” I assured her that no one will do such a thing, but I might end up reciting a vulgar poem about her breasts. She then proceeded to challenge me to come up with something by the time she returned.
And I did.
Photography by Jayel Aheram.
Spring
With a gasp of breath,
The world awakens in a
Burst of pastel scents.
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Read more ideas at: ideas.aheram.com