As promised, I am now going to explain in detail the style which I have been trying to create this month.

First, the form I was used changed over this month as I tried different things.  The first few poems were single or four-verse rhyming Quatrains.  Following that I experimented with free-styles.  I ended the month writing something which was a cross between a multi-verse Quatrain and a Sonnet.  The one thing that persisted through the month is the number four:  four lines to most stanzas or four stanzas to many poems.

Next, the rhyme scheme, which also changed over the month.  The earliest poems rhymed every other line, the free-styles rarely rhymed, and the the last form rhymed on the second and fourth lines of the Quatrain stanzas.

Finally, the meter.  I didn’t adhere to a typical meter of stressed syllable units but instead focused on keeping the same number of syllables for each line or repeating different line syllables in patterns.  Near the beginning of the month, I wrote 6 syllables per line with some lines having one more or fewer syllables and by the end of the month I tired to adhere to 8 syllables per line.

And so, my personal style prefers 4 lines and/or stanzas, doesn’t focus on a rhyming pattern (though it can rhyme), and has 8 syllables per line with deviations done for effect (and are expected to be repeated through the stanzas).  I shall call it “Chimera” because it’s a monster made of monsters.


I see a sea of light.

A rolling wave of luminaries
gathering as tributaries
together in one place
as a well-spring of grace.

Rising up, ever higher –
a golden, glowing, holy spire,
climbing up the sky
beyond the limits of my eye.

And burning at the very core
was one who could be nothing more
than some noble deity
who gestured and called out to me,

“You are welcome here.”


When I met you
on that night.

I couldn’t stop thinking about
how you’d touch my arm or face.
How softly would you do it?
What patterns would you trace?

I kept looking down
at the gap between each finger
wondering if I took your hand
how long the warmth would linger.

What did I do?  It was easy to choose
when I had more to win than to lose.

I forgive you, I thank you.

To all the people
who’ve left me scars,

Thank you for the shyness
that makes me stand apart.
I never needed to fit in
by ripping out my heart.

Thank you for the sadness
that lingers all the while.
It makes all the more precious
those moments when I smile.

Thank you for the fear
that often gives me pause
and makes me reexamine
my actions for just cause.

Without these I would not be
the man I am today.


I wanted more for us than sex
from that relationship.
And so I waited…

I didn’t want us just to be
another one night stand.
And hesitated…

I didn’t want to scare her off
so I held myself back
and tried not to push…

She surprised me when she left
because apparently
she’d wanted to rush…


I am afraid
of people.

Not of their violence or their vice,
nor their grime or their lice.

I couldn’t care about their looks
or weapons or dirty books.

It’s not their booming, brazen pride
that makes me want to run and hide.

Or their religiosity
that raises the bar for crazy.

I’m afraid I’ll lose myself
and forget the way out.

My lady Luna

Thank you, my dear,
for so many things.

For brightening the night
and lighting our way
even if you sometimes
like to wander away.

For your fickle tug
upon the salty deep
that rouses all the rolling waves
that oft sing me to sleep.

For all the inspiration
to all those songs and art
which eased my weary mind
and soothed my wounded heart.

For the silver shimmer
that lights our lover’s skin
adding a touch of grace
to quite the night of sin.

For all these things and more
you, dear Luna, I adore.