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.
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.
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.
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
“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.”
̶I̶’̶v̶e̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶
This, on the other hand…
I miss much more than I hit
Crumpled papers into a wastebasket
Five hits in a row
Is’t by chance?
Perhaps a blossom of skill?
Paper toss is quite a sport
You even start mistyping on purpose
For the sake of the game
T!el Fajardo
Jul. 04, 2024
Reveries That I Call Poetry 