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Simply Chilling

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I. A Boring Villanelle

My humdrum life has been a constant bore—
An unembellished scene of somber tone.
Monotony is coursing through its core.

My listless weekends whisper, never roar.
They lack in luster to the sober bone.
My humdrum life has been a constant bore.

I’ve never been a tarty party-whore—
I read a bit and knit at home alone.
Monotony is coursing through my core.

Pistachio lies dashed upon my floor.
Vanilla never fails to fill my cone.
My humdrum life has been a constant bore.

Each night by half past nine I yawn then snore
My way to dawn through torpor’s dreamless zone.
Monotony is coursing through my core.

I’m swathed in beige—an aura I adore.
No flapping ear will hear me grouse or groan.
My humdrum life has been a constant bore—
Monotony is coursing through its core.

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II. Sparkle

—a triolet

It’s never lost—it glows within
The mellow marrow of the meek.
It shimmers just below the skin.
It’s never lost—it grows within,
Beginning with an inner grin
That blooms then beams from cheek to cheek.
It’s never lost—it glows within
The mellow marrow of the meek.

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III. A Rankled Rondel

I’m spurning all drama—the ruckus and fuss
From strutters and nutters and naggers and pricks.
I’m snubbing the snoots, the galoots, and the dicks,
The pillocks on planes and buffoons on the bus.

I’m dodging all codgers who holler and cuss.
I’m shunning the cunning—I’m sick of their tricks.
I’m spurning the drama—the ruckus and fuss
From strutters and nutters and naggers and pricks.

I’m ready for rock-steady days of just us
With nothing and no one to sully the mix—
A fun day of wonder and nitwitless kicks
Away from the fray—an empyrean plus.
I’m spurning all drama—the ruckus and fuss.

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IV. An Unruffled Rispetto

A floral waft ignites the air
Delighting nostrils with its lift
Beneath the golden-noontide glare
Where dragonflies and daydreams drift.

As nations blaze in ire’s haze
Where chaos is the latest craze—
I doze upon a daisy lawn…
I yawn and snooze and snooze and yawn.

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Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.


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4 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    What a dazzling display of your presumed humdrum life that excites the rest of us with brilliant flashes of imagery with your creative poetry. There is a wealth of wonder and scintillating scenes pouring from your cup that runneth over.

    Reply
  2. Yael

    It’s great to chill out to your verbal musings on a hot July afternoon Susan. Thank you for this fine moody bunch.

    Reply
  3. Joseph S. Salemi

    Roy is absolutely right about this. Two of the poems (I and III) are actually complaints about boredom, ennui, and the annoyances that come from troublesome persons. If someone in real life came to us with such complaints, we’d just express some pro forma sympathy and excuse ourselves to seek more interesting company, and write off the complainer as a depressing grouch.

    But this isn’t the real world — this is the hyper-reality called poetry, created by fictive imitation. Susan uses her linguistic skills to create poems that are verbally DELIGHTFUL and ENTERTAINING for the reader, regardless of the speaker’s professed unhappiness. This is what effective poetry is supposed to do — not preach, not edify, not teach lessons, not convince or convert, not tell our personal problems. Just be a delightful and entertaining confection of words!

    Poems II and IV are descriptive meditations, the first using the strange metaphor of “marrow” as a kind of conceit to represent the character of meek persons. Number IV presents the delight of relaxing in a pleasant garden while ignoring the noisy absurdities of current events. This second poem is clearly related to I and III, since the speaker in all three of them seems to be saying “Screw it all, I don’t want to hear from anybody about anything — just leave me in peace in my garden.”

    Every sane person feels this way at times. If you don’t, there’s something wrong with you.

    Reply
  4. Russel Winick

    Thank you Susan, for the delightful education in poetic forms, on top of your singular alliteration and entertaining messages. I wonder whose humdrum life you’re writing about — not yours, I trust.

    Reply

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