BREAD AND CIRCUS. by Shane Hubbard A spotlight illumed the center ring Of the big top where the showman stood, The undisputed circus king, A puppeteer with lengths of string That brought the crowds off the bleacher wood. 165 more words
Tags » Traditional Poetry
I’ve been told that rhyme is dead. The mark of a beginner. No good poet uses it.
I’ve been told that rhyme is beautiful, but only when the natural pause in reading falls anywhere BUT the end of the line, because that’s the mark of poor style, used by teenagers and children’s lit wannabes. 372 more words
I began reading Robert Frost when I was about 10 years old, after my fifth grade teacher showed my class of pre-pubescent preteens some poem about some snowy road and some man who stops to watch the snow fall. 421 more words
SNOWFLAKES. by Shane Hubbard A million downy crystal balls Formed in the seamless clouds, Float gently to the earth below, A million velvet shrouds. Each woolly flake that softly falls Seems commonplace and stock, Routine within the moon’s faint glow, Unsung among the flock. 22 more words
My Life in Blue Chains
Nothing will ever be the same
Oh lord my life has changed!