I promised poetry, and so without further ado – it is yours for consumption. My professor was teaching us about rhyming assonants and consonants, and read us some examples for clarification before turning the torch to us (Assonance rhyming is when you rhyme words that contain the same vowel sounds, or rather, contain the same vowel in the word; consonance rhyming is the same, but with the same letters and different vowels – so, in a sense, like alliteration). We had 7 minutes to write whatever came to mind – assonance wise – and this is what I produced. Makes no sense, really. But sometimes that makes it interesting.
orders orange conversation
How about now, young soldier
hold out on opulent sorrow
born from narrow organs
one world over done
cover constant chorus of corduroy
hopes corner colors collect
of corpulent tongue posture.
So our assignment was to write a bunch more assonance/consonance rhymes and take words or phrases that really stood out and said something pretty – and compose a poem with them. The point was to find internal rhyme, rather than external. I took a few from above, but my main inspiration often comes when I walk back from campus or just down any sidewalk. When this happens I usually have nothing to write with, so I just note them down in my phone for good measure. I ended up doing a combination of both assonants and consonants. This is probably my second favorite poem.
“In the Family”
Sister Jane is justly dubious
She ruffles your hair, sings
“Hold tight, brutal brother.”
You curl into the crook of her arm;
comfort comes cautiously.
Your mother’s royal moans
distract father from farming.
He enters the kitchen, sees her
weeping. Narrow organs that own
opulent sorrow. He could comfort
her tomorrow. For now,
father lets her be.
Brother collects conversations
that seep from cracks in wooden walls.
Father isn’t who he appears to be.
Cavernous swears quell quiet pleas,
Mother just wants father to leave.
“Don’t cry, dear sister,”
you whisper. Her brutal baby brother.
Sister Jane smiles with sorry eyes.
Colors collect as pools of wet
on her rose cheeks.
You trace your fingers over
Two able bodies born from botched relations.
Come morning, you still have each other.
Now back to home-working. I hope your day has been swell, reader – whoever you may be.