7-2 Final Project I Submission: Final Poetry Collection
Conjuring of Light: A Sonnet
I sculpt silence with ink-stained, steady hands,
Weaving hints of hope in twilight’s tender air;
Each metaphor, a spark that softly lands
On parchment dreams spun with a poet’s care.
In whispered waves, my words awaken night,
Carving cadence with crisp consonant calls;
Assonant echoes glow in fading light,
As soulful sounds surge where darkness falls.
These vibrant visions bloom in veiled confines,
Illuminating depths where secrets sleep;
In rhythmic pulse the soul’s true form defines—
Art’s alchemy unchains what shadows keep.
So from each stanza’s spark my verses take their flight,
Finding their freedom in each line of light.
What I did:
- Kept “parchment dreams” in quatrain 1 intact.
- Preserved my killer alliteration in line 6.
- Revamped quatrain 3 for fresh images and tighter meter.
- I wrote a closed couplet that rhymes flight/light, ending on “line of light.”
Illuminated Echoes: A Pantoum
1. I sculpt silence with ink-stained hands at night,
2. Weaving whispers into a wind of longing dreams;
3. Each verse a secret spark in the starless light,
4. Where echoes unfurl in shimmering silver streams.
5. Weaving whispers into a wind of longing dreams,
6. The timbre of truth trembles through hollow air;
7. Where echoes unfurl in shimmering silver streams,
8. Carving quiet cadence with tender, thoughtful care.
9. The timbre of truth trembles through hollow air,
10. Silent symphonies swell beneath the moon’s soft gleam;
11. Carving quiet cadence with tender, thoughtful care,
12. Invoking visions vivid as a wandering dream.
13. Silent symphonies swell beneath the moon’s soft gleam,
14. Each verse a secret spark in the starless light;
15. Invoking visions vivid as a wandering dream,
16. I sculpt silence with ink-stained hands at night.
What I Changed
- “waiting wind” → “wind of longing” shifts the feeling from passive to yearning.
- “latent delight” → “secret spark” tightens the image and ties back to “starless light.”
- “darkness” → “quiet” and “delicate flair” → “thoughtful care” softens the repetition while keeping the alliteration.
- “a poet’s dream” → “a wandering dream” opens the vision to possibilities beyond the poet’s mind.
Pulse of the Urban Night
under lamplit veins
the asphalt exhales low,
a mechanical lullaby.
leather soles stutter,
skidding sparks off fractured slabs
where soaked receipts cling like ghosts.
neon halos pulse
in oily puddle mirrors—
they murmur back our secrets.
each heartbeat echoes
lost in the urban night,
a trace of identity.
What I changed:
- added a title
- created with a fresher street-image
- layered in more tactile detail
- swapped the last two lines to see how it shifts the echo.
Waiting to Be Heard
in quiet hours of urban sprawl,
the city breathes a deep lullaby
that spins tales of dreams
and neon memories—
inviting wanderers
to taste the night’s magic.
beneath a sky of blue and indigo,
murmur of engines,
echo of conversations
converge in a wordless symphony—
avenues hum with stories
waiting to be heard.
as midnight rain persists,
heartbeat and street pulse
sync in the hush,
the rush recedes,
hope glimmers
in our shared silence.
What I changed:
- Added a title
- Weaved long and short lines together.
- Trimmed Excess articles and adjectives.
- Loosened the syntax for clarity.
Guardian of Midnight Dreams
I wake to a breath of honeysuckle drifting through cracked screen-doors—
a tender pulse of hope stirring beneath my ribs,
as soft and insistent as a moth’s wing brushing rose petals.
Longing coils its slender tail around my ankles,
its texture like scuffed leather warmed by the sun’s first fingers.
Outside, a church bell—too fragile for this hour—trembles in the half-light,
each ring barely audible,
like a secret shared between shadows.
My guardian shifts at the threshold: ebony fur billows into smoke-threads,
then solidifies into a towering silhouette cradling
a magnolia blossom brimming with dew.
Its eyes—once twin moons—now flare with sunbeams,
fracturing prisms across the peeling wallpaper.
In our silent choreography,
I feel the rough wool of my blanket trail over cold floorboards,
and the distant hum of unseen engines
resonates in my chest like a lullaby turned inside out.
Here, at the edge of night and day,
logic loosens its grip:
coffee drips upward into an upside-down porcelain mug,
shadows unlace their arms,
and the air tastes faintly of winter grapes.
All is whispered promise—hope painted in scent and sound,
longing sketched in touch—while my guardian,
steadfast and strange,
melts into dawn’s soft glow,
a living vow that protection and transformation can live in the same breath.
What I Changed:
- Anchored abstract hope and longing in the scent of honeysuckle and tactile scrape of “scuffed leather warmed by the sun’s first fingers.”
- Sequenced the scene into dawn’s arrival-showing the guardian dog morphing from “smoke-threads” into a dew-heavy magnolia silhouette.
- Wove everyday dream logic similar to that of Charles Simic: coffee dripping upward, shadows “unlace their arms,” air tasting of winter grapes.
- Layered ambient sounds (a fragile church bell, distant engines, dripping faucets) to root surrealism in the quotidian.
- Wrote entirely as if whispered-invoking intimacy and that edge-of-dream hush.
-shifted the “camera angle” to linger on texture, scent, and half-heard noises, heightening immersion.
Bearer of Forgotten Light
Stanza 1
At dusk I walk a trail edged with copper leaves,
my palms pressed soft against my ribs—
cupping the soggy scatter of autumn grief.
Each breath holds the hush of absence,
a slow drizzle settling into my bones.
Stanza 2
I press a frayed plaid bear to my chest;
its button eyes gleam with a pale, secret pulse.
Within a hollowed seam rests a small urn,
cradled on golden moss—a tiny cosmos
where my brother’s first heartbeat still turns
among star-dust fragments of memory.
Stanza 3
Grief coils around me like damp wool,
its fibers crawling beneath my skin.
Each pulse a stone sinking deeper,
yet somewhere beneath the weight
I sense the tremor of dew on unfurling buds—
hope’s insistence stirring at the root of morning.
Stanza 4
Along twilight’s margin I whisper his name,
each footstep an imprint of undying promise.
I carry him here, an ember breathing
against the sweep of shadow—
a faint glow guiding me toward the dawn.
What I Changed:
Switched to first-person voice. “At dusk I walk…” instead of “She wanders,” so the speaker owns every feeling.
Broke free of strict rhyme/end-rhyme. Lines run naturally, varying in length and candence, with no forced rhymes.
Made grief more concrete and tactile. “cupping the soggy scatter of autumn grief” (holding grief as a wet, weighty thing). “Grief coils around me like damp wool” (a tangible, crawling texture).
Clarified the teddy bear’s secret light. Described button eyes gleaming with “a pale, secret pulse”. Specified the urn sits “withing a hollowed seam...cradled on golden moss” to anchor the image.
Kept and deepened the “tiny cosmos” metaphor. Emphasized the urn as its own miniature, star-strewn world where his first heartbeat “still turns.”
Varied line lengths and pacing for free-verse impact. Shorter and longer lines mix urgency with lingering reflection.
Enriched atmosphere and sensory detail. “trail edged with copper leaves,” “slow drizzle settling into my bones,” “tremor of dew on unfurling buds.”
Structured into four clear stanzas. Each stanza now focuses on one movement of emotion: walking, holding, enduring, remembering-so the flow feels intentional.
Moonlit Journey: A Wolf’s Confession
In the hush of an ancient grove—
gnarled oak limbs clasped in lichen,
silver birches leaning like watchful ghosts—
I thread the fern-bedecked floor,
each blade dripping cold dew,
the air rich with pine resin and damp loam.
My pelt is charcoal flecked with moonlight,
muscles coiling beneath coarse fur—
I slip between brambles,
bone-white shards of old skulls
glinting beneath moss.
She sings a lullaby—a fragment of song:
“Hush now, little heart, let wild winds hold your sorrow…”
Her melody winds through spruce boughs,
and in its folds I taste longing sharper
than any hunt.
Nostrils flare:
the crisp tang of her breath,
the honeyed drift of blackberries crushed underfoot,
and dread that tastes of iron—
a primal ache, jaws slackening with want.
Within my ribs, a broken art pulses—
a half-heard ballad on fractured strings,
scarred by old grief and begging for a chorus.
She carries a woven basket—
inside, a warm loaf scored with runes of care,
a jar of honeysuckle honey glinting gold,
a spool of scarlet thread wound tight around promise,
and a single daisy, petals wilted but steadfast—
tokens of hope balanced against the taste of tears.
Her footsteps are muted prayers on the mossy path,
and at a clearing rimmed by shadow and moonbeam—
a crossroads of instinct and mercy—
our eyes collide: amber fire to gentle green.
She falters in mid-verse, voice quivering—
an unspoken plea hovering between us.
The moon’s pale eye drifts overhead,
but here, in that trembling hush,
I lower my head, warm breath brushing her fingers,
and learn that even beasts can cradle kindness.
This confession ends not in crimson,
but in compassion born anew
beneath these sentinel pines.
What I Changed:
Form & Tone: Shifted from strict A-B rhymes to looser slant echoes and free-verse flow, giving more room for concrete imagery and emotional nuance.
Woods & Atmosphere: Named specific trees (oak, birch, spruce) and undergrowth (ferns, moss, brambles). Brought in scents: pine resin, damp loam, crushed blackberries. Noted visual detail: lichen-draped limbs, skull fragments under moss.
Wolf’s Physicality: Described the wolf’s charcoal pelt, muscle ripples, bone-white skull shards, and keen nostrils.
Lullaby lyrics: Quoted a snippet (“Hush now, little heart, let wild winds hold your sorrow…”) to make that moment tangible.
Primal Desire in Action: Showed the wolf’s jaws slackening, nostrils flaring, and the taste of iron dread-linking hunger to sensory reaction.
“Broken Art” Explained: Framed as “a half-heard ballad on fractured strings,” a wounded melody longing for completion-so the metaphor registers as an emotional song seeking its chorus.
Concrete Hope & Despair: Listed basket contents of rune-scored loaf, honeysuckle honey, scarlet thread (promise), and a stubborn daisy-symbols of care balanced against tears.
Internal Conflict & Resolution: Emphasized the crossroads of instinct vs. mercy in a moonlit clearing, culminating in the wolf’s gesture of compassion
Epiphany at Dusk
I sit beneath a twilight sky, where fading light and shadow vie—
A violet tide folding into embered rose,
Horizon bowed in burnished pearl.
Once, I clung to ways well-known,
A world of echoes, my heart forged in frost.
But as dusk unfurled its mystic bloom—
Curls of saffron, ripples of indigo—
I felt a stirring deep within:
A spark unseen until met by dark.
I drift through memories like lanterns adrift on calm water,
Where laughter surfaces, then sinks beneath silent tides.
The mirror of my soul reveals
All that went unspoken, all I concealed.
In solitude I find the sound of truths unknown, profound, unbound.
In that shifting realm from dusk to dawn,
Awareness blooms and shadows wane.
I rise to greet a truth refined:
That love, like light, is redefined.
In each heartbeat I welcome the new:
A fleeting past transfigured into sight—
Soft brilliance born within the gray,
A promise that night, in gentle grace, bows to day.
What I Changed:
Capitalization: Lowercased “where fading light and show vie” and “sound of truths” for consistency and flow.
Sky made concrete: Turned “twilight sky” into a “violet tide folding into embered rose” with “horizon bowed in burnished pearl.” Introduced saffron curls and indigo ripples to mirror the speaker’s inner shift.
Freshened up the simile: Swapped “memories like scattered leaves” for “lanterns adrift on calm water,” adding unexpected buoyancy and reflection.
Tightened abstractions: Kept the reflective tone but sharpened images (“heart forged in frost,” “spark unseen until met by dark”). Smoothed meter and line-breaks for a more musical cadence.
Strengthened the close: Kept my gray/dawn duality but refined phrases (“transfigured into sight,” “soft brilliance born within the gray,” “night… bows to day”) for clearer emotional payoff.