Here, There be a Writer

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Poetry Catch up: Clerihew and Persona Poetry

Not feeling that great, sinus headache and returning from outta town. More on that later...

I need to get caught up on my poetry prompts. I miss two (I free wrote instead) days. For this I feel guilty, so, Dear Readers, I give you a Clerihew. Not really my forte. I have a hard time writing rhyming funny/witty things. Rhyming, yes, I have gotten quite good at it. But, the funny or witty lines often comes across as silly. Still I attempt it, with that I present my Clerihew about The Doctor.

A Clerihew is a comic verse consisting of two couplets and a specific rhyming scheme, aabb invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley (1875-1956) at the age of 16. The poem is about/deals with a person/character within the first rhyme. In most cases, the first line names a person, and the second line ends with something that rhymes with the name of the person.

The Doctor's a Timelord
within his own mind warred.
A troubled man who, often flustered
he still love fish fingers and custard.

For today's prompt, a persona poem I am sharing an older poem, but a personal favourite.

Today, I challenge you to write a persona poem – a poem in the voice of someone else. Your persona could be a mythological or fictional character, a historical figure, or even an inanimate object. Need some examples?

This one is dedicated to Rod. It's a most romanticize version of the history, but it's one of the few poems from the year 1998 that I am really proud of. I was in college and it was probably written for a class. Hope you enjoy my retro flashback (I know that's a redundant statement). It's not quite in the main characters voice, I realize this now...


Once a family,
So proud it stood, amidst the
Snowy undertow.
Where one would freeze, their
Hearts pure gold: dusty heavens
On  Father’s knee, she loved
Him best, the Czar, Nikolai
She was his pride and joy.

But not forever, for Rasputin, he came too.
Eyes cold, bitter heart,
He made the people bellow
War on the house, Romanov.

Her golden joy kept Nikolai warm
When rebellion
Kicked full in.

But in the end, dreams do
Fall through.
Cold memories buried in that

None knew how she did not
But no small golden child
Lies there among fig-like trees.

Some day soon there will be
A golden day.  That melts
The ice he, Rasputin did create and
Rightfully proclaim
Romanov, her name.

And two that are...Can you guess to whom the voices belong to, Dear Readers? (Note: all these poem are from the year 1998).


It was in a dream--

I was once beautiful,
Some say I still am,
But I no longer think so.

I live in a world of darkness
That cuddles my bones
And holds my pathetic body together.

Before this torment,
I was young,
A silly girl with foolish dreams.

The darkness is my home now,
Despite all my "loving" husband does for me.
I expect nothing from him
His heart has long been in the
Eaten away by bugs.

Darkness wraps around my body,
Holding onto my lips that are moist
With his sweat.
The babbling idiot.

Such a silly girl who sits and eats Pomegranate seeds
That condemns her
To her lord and master,

His teeth smell like rotten fruit
His overall appeal leaves something
To be desired.
His hands touch my Virgin skin,
And makes my blood boil like Apollo's ball of fire.

So here I am
In the darkness to conceal what mother doesn't know.

You hold no place for me. You
Have banned me, your own flesh and blood, condemned me.
No help from dear sweet mother.

Leave me to my darkness
That is the one love of my life.

A Fair Light

Only I have wished for this, 
My dream is now the reality.

In wedded bliss
She did come
And here, yes here, she will stay.
A promise that she would be true
Through the compromise springtime
Did make.

She lights the endless hallways,
The dark ways that incessantly drip
Sulfuric tendencies into my brain.
She is the lavender that dispels the molding dankness of this 
hollowed abyss
It wafts through my nostrils, my muscles pulsate for her touch.

These Plutonian Shores,
So desolate that I droop like a dried up olive tree,
No sunlight comes here.
Her presence lightens the branches
And harvests my soul.
Death tolls every hour,
Second of my life.

It is her, the fair light in eternal darkness.


  1. Those last two are mind-blowing :D

  2. Ah Cindy...all 4 pieces are simply wonderful. I love them all, for they each offer something different. (Oh, and thanks for the dedication!)


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