Lost on Memory Lane

This piece is a response to an assignment to write a poem recognizing a famous person who influences me. I wrote it in two forms, the words are exactly the same, but the forms are different. I like the rhyming and lyrical resemblance of the traditional form, but it feels a little rigid and antiquated... so I added a free form version. (which do you like?)


v1.

It’s the first chord that every time wraps
around my ears and pierces my ribs,
pulsing my blood to the subtle thump
of metal strings succumbed to a plastic pick.

I watch your trembling voice, Mr. Smith,
bob lightly between concrete walls,
lapping at the patina of every life’s filth
to spatter the glut across the citied asphalt.

Mistaken, Mr. Misery, for the forsaken fool;
failure’s ghostly art, run through in shock
from this world. But in another twilight still
your vision, my Elliott, soars among storied rooftops.

Would that your hushed words could pull our hands,
awoken, in a waltz to the message of the sun. But no —
I’ll have to settle for now to stare at Lucy’s diamonds
alone from your basement on the hill. XO

v2.

It’s the first chord that,
every time, wraps around my ears and
pierces my ribs, pulsing my blood to the subtle thump of metal strings succumbed to a plastic pick.

I watch your trembling voice, Mr. Smith,
bob lightly between concrete walls,
lapping at the patina of every life’s filth to spatter the glut across the citied asphalt.

Mistaken, Mr. Misery, for the forsaken fool;
failure’s ghostly art, run through in shock from this world. But in another twilight still your vision, my Elliott, soars among storied rooftops.

Would that your hushed words could pull our hands, awoken,
in a waltz to the message of the sun. But no — I’ll have to settle for now to stare at Lucy’s diamonds
alone from your basement on the hill.
XO