A Words’ World

I’ve updated the anthology to include this new poem.

There lived an okay poet, a man of his word.

No one lived happily ever after.
Before them, an okay life — stretched out.
Like poet, like audience.

The okay poet said, “it’s okay to be sad.”

I wouldn’t go that far as to go gentle into the night.
Far be it from me to run away from the set of conditions.
Yet I wouldn’t be caught between a rock and a hard place.

Isn’t it okay to be great?
The Words’ Word shapeshifts before these words.

Open Letter to an Introvert Poet

Hey, wanna talk?
You’re not all about the prose, all smiles, I get it.
You may tell me your p – o – – e m s.

Let me fix you a coffee.
Hmm, I should’ve offered it sooner.
Like, this strophe’s opening verse
belongs in the second line, first strophe, right?
You do this poetry thing so well,
I didn’t even know where to start.
Coffee is your cup of tea; mine too.
Remember that poem you wrote about it?
By the way, you’ve written a lot.

Tell me your p – o – – e m s.
State your dilemmas.
I don’t wanna force a friendship,
I just wanna reach you out.
This may be the only way.

Those latest verses… Are you in pain?
Was that your lyrical or physical self?
Were they a cry for help?

Talking’s tough, I get it.
You can write to me instead.
Sure, I’ll pay more attention to your next verses.

You’ve decided to talk. That’s great.
Could we talk in private?

Anthology Reveries that I call Poetry | by T!el Fajardo

Buy me a Coffee~


Since I have some time now, I’ve put together this anthology for you all. If you think my effort is worth it and the quality is good, feel free to buy me a coffee,  there’s a button at the end too. Feel free to share this post and comment too.

I’ve also added a few extra poems that you might not have seen before.

How This Works

I’m testing an intricate idea here. This post is a single post with a collection of poems separated by pages (you might see page breaks depending on where you are reading this), with chapters and titles organized by the appropriate headings (no hyperlinks). Call it my postfolio; it’s a post analogous to a book.


Introduction

Welcome to a journey through language, writing, and the metatextual world of poetry. We’ll explore how language can be both a creative tool and a barrier. From the playful frustration of crumpled drafts to the powerful imagery of ink and blood, these verses challenge traditional forms, blending free verse with deliberate constraints.

The author

Exploring the Challenges of a Nonet to Summarize the Challenges of Poetry in General

As poets or creative writers in general, we often embrace constrained writing, with its self-imposed limits. While writing freedom is cherished (even considered paramount), constraints can spark creativity, whereas absolute freedom, without a critical intuition for what makes good writing—especially in poetry—can have the opposite effect.

To explore constrained writing, poets have developed various forms, like the nonet. Some forms are more justified than others (well-accepted by poets and readers of poetry), as certain structures may become too rigid, potentially suffocating emotion and meaning.

While constrained poetry often focuses on syllable count, word count can be an equally intriguing challenge. My poem ‘Ink Over Blood,’ the first I wrote seriously in English, plays with this concept. Here I transcribe it, but please follow the link and read it in its original post:

Ink Over Blood

Rain down the reign
Wash away royal blood
The old king’s dead
Long live, new king
Provided the kingdom remains

Gold rule, dark days,
Poet lies, folk sway.
Word wars, fake lore,
King dead, none lead.

See, these four-word verses
Like the four-letter words
Picture a wicked world;
Curse all the kings
For the poet’s takeover.
[The poet takes over.]

This poem remains a personal favorite of mine, as it represents a significant moment in my writing journey. But let’s return to the main point: demonstrating the challenges of constrained poetry, specifically the nonet—a form that, while deceptively simple, presents significant challenges.
This form highlights the tension between freedom and restraint, and I take avantage of the opportunity to raise a question about what truly makes good poetry. Is poetry, and creativity at large, ever truly free from constraints?

Hear me out, ‘mnot saying it out loud
I’d rather whisper it to you
It’s not a word for this crowd
Pack it up everyone
Go and have some fun
Oh, you’re still here
Expecting
Something
Big?

Some might see this arrangement as clever—I would not call it a solid poem—, but it’s important to acknowledge the difficulties presented by the form and this piece’s deficiencies. The nonet’s rigid structure often forces compromises, like breaking sentences unnaturally, especially if you’re unfamiliar with words (as concepts) that are succint and yet have multiple layers of meaning.

One thing I avoid is overly relying on enjambment and slicing up sentences just to fit a form, especially if it dilutes the message or meaning. I’ve seen the extreme of taking a particular common saying or any line of thought not inventive enough, slicing it into three or four verses and calling it a poem. More power to anyone who wants to venture into poetry, and make it more accessible as everyone starts somewhere—but let’s not level down what is [good] poetry.

The final four lines—’Oh, you’re still here / Expecting / Something / Big?’—only work in some way because the earlier lines establish a complete thought in a single verse, but it’s only natural to accomplish that more easily with more syllables or words (becoming significantly difficult as we limit the syllable count). Capitalizing the first letter of each verse also helps them stand alone, masking the form’s constraints and the challenges they present.

While poetry can at times thrive on the principle of ‘less is more,’ it’s crucial to find a balance. Overly constrained forms can limit expression just as much as excessive freedom can dilute meaning. The challenge is to navigate these extremes to create poetry that resonates.

cup of coffee gif

Let me hear your thoughts.

Two Feet Per Centisecond

Continuing the series of posts of translated poems. You can see the first of the series below:

First of the Series: Translating my Portuguese Poems

Unlike before, I wrote this poem moments earlier today in Portuguese (inspiration can strike in any language, even as I focus on English) and immediately wanted to adapt it to English. Older portuguese poems will soon follow. I’m focusing now on new works.


Two Feet Per Centisecond

In one second, it all falls down
Only then does it start to rise
Falling happens much faster
Inertia is only natural
Rising up requires intention
A freefall is something else
You wanted to board that plane
To skydive
To get your feet back on the ground


The original:

Dois Pés Por Centissegundo

Um segundo e tudo cai
Só começa a se reerguer
Cair é bem mais rápido
Inércia é natural
Levantar requer intenção
Queda livre é diferente
Você quis pegar aquele avião
Saltar de paraquedas
Voltar os pés ao chão


Stay Tuned for the Next posts.

Done Right?

“Did I read that right?
Is it what you had written,
or echoes of my mind?”

It’s that what I did write.
For writers don’t just inscribe on paper;
they engrave words into minds,
only if (if only?) they are strong-willed.

“But, writer (lucky bastard!),
your persona warrants your safety
while your words break people’s heart.”

Daydreaming Lullaby

Have you ever dreamed of the biggest dream you have dreamed about?
I have never. Let alone dreamed of it becoming true.

I even questioned the extent of my ambition. Once and nevermore.
“Why would I not dream of it even once?”

Have you ever considered not daydreaming too much about it? I have.
It is not like I would forget what my biggest dream is.
Perhaps I would start dreaming of it…

It comes the night.
Silently waving goodbye to the day.

Good night.
I wish you a lucid dream
(I have never had one).

But I sing to you this lullaby.
A daily reminder for the big dream eventual fulfilment.

No better

You know better than to know better
lies: you’re worse at what you do best
Or are you better at what you do worst?
Well, anyway, that doesn’t matter
Don’t you play the fool for me

I know better than to know paradoxes
Or thinking outside of those boxes
I know better than to write all this lingo
I’d be better off to live real life