Poetry Corner pt. 2

Assignment: write your "swan song." (Swan Song? Whaat? Explanation: The phrase "swan song" is a reference to an ancient belief that the Mute Swan (Cygnus olor) is completely mute during its lifetime until the moment just before it dies, when it sings one beautiful song.)
Here we are. My last song. I'm a creeper. And yes, I took the idea from the metric imitation poem I just posted and copied the rhythm of 2 separate jump roping ditties. If you can figure out which ones, then you're a wonder. Or just a girl who jump roped a lot as a child.

One for the Children

Beatrix Potter,
Strawberry wine,
Fourteen girls named Madeline.
Hair pulled up and tied in a bun
Tilt their heads and drink their rum.

Grimm, Grimm, patronym
Killing off all your ladies
Shove them in a burning oven
Have them bludgeoned in a dungeon
Chamomile tea.

Snow. Sleep. Red. Rabbit.
Snow. Sleep. Red.

Poetry Corner

I've been lax with my posting lately, including posting my lame-o poems. So here comes a few in a row.
Assignment: Copy the meter of another poem and create your own piece.

Poem I imitated:

Question
by May Swenson

Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen

Where will I sleep
How will I ride
What will I hunt

Where can I go
without my mount
all eager and quick
How will I know
in thicket ahead
is danger or treasure
when Body my good
bright dog is dead

How will it be
to lie in the sky

without roof or door
and wind for an eye

With cloud for shift
how will I hide?


Mine:

Sirens

Building of sand
of only air
stones grind to ash
beneath a whisper

How do you stand
Why don't you cave
When will you fall

How many lives
will you take claim
collecting their souls
Your fateful collapse
is drawing us near
is pulling us further
You building of sand
are not my home

Poetry Corner

I'm resurrecting the Masterpiece Theater theme for this one.
Welcome to Poetry Corner!
This week's assignment:
Write a metaphor poem

Not Quite Remembering

It’s like

Completing a puzzle without the box cover

or

Squinting at a piece of art work

or, no,

Looking down in the water

Down past the choppy surface and

into the deep

water.

You can see it

there

vaguely, vision cloudy,

your anchor weighted

down on the bottom

of the sea.

Time to bring it back up

to the

surface.

Grab the chain.

Hand

Over hand over hand over

hand.

Too heavy.

Brace your feet

against the edge.

Heave

Ho

Heave

Nothing.

The anchor stays down

at the bottom

of the sea.

Hmm.

That’s not quite it.

It’s like

It’s like

something. . .

Wait.

I know this. . .