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  • LFLA Poetry Club

March Freestyle Poems

Expressing ourselves without being subject to rules and structures, the Poetry Club presents our collection of anonymous freestyle poems:


I cannot fathom change 

And yet the world is ever-changing 

I won’t ever be as uninviting,

Or unwilling to agree

Though I would like to embrace it in time,

I fear it will not yet be seen 

At most I desire to be amenable to it

Then, I could live freely

“In October”

Standing on an empty field, no memories left

Only the taste of an unripe pear, of your leather car, of spilled varnish  

Of a hazy flare, an unnamed star, of bygone tarnish,

And the unkempt apocalypse

Of a dejected someone in a house ablaze, and I think of the girl 

Who marked lines on her bedroom wall 

As though in a prison cell waiting

For her Autumnal release

“I yearn”

I do not yearn for a partner

I yearn for the promise of loving and being loved in return

I yearn for the river to bring me to my lover and for my lover to bring me to the river

I yearn for laughter like a hundred doves in a tree

I yearn for the certainty of truth and the reality of heartbreak

I yearn for experience and trial

I yearn for the deepest root’s connection to the highest leaf on the tree

But mostly I yearn for our souls to be free


Run to feel the electricity of rain,

When the shivering cold

Warms your body in azureous blue.

“Winter’s Dawn”

Winter’s dawn, I hear the rainstorm approaching 

The tabby cat pushes me awake 

I am no longer; I suffer of heartache 

On this nebulous morning, awe awaiting

Gray sky and hot tea

Misty trees and classical mythology

So tranquil secluded, I can only think of yesterday 

Camera shots of those loved so very dearly

Trapped in a room that is only time-wasting laughter

Comporting ourselves so very rambunctiously 

A wild hysteria of a long day, singing until we could no longer

Our voices hoarse, lighting the night on fire 

Yesterday, washed away, far from today

As the rain pours and memories engrave

And your smile sweet like agave 

And the air prickling like hail

I think of yesterday, on a stormy lendemain


Thoughts become muffled 

As time passes by 

Life becomes mundane 

trapped in an empty light bulb

Suddenly, a switch is flipped

And the room bursts with light

The light bulb breaks

The conflagration is liberated

And the fire reaches my heart.

Lux αφικνεοται*

*Lux is arriving — pronounced “Lux afikneotai”

“Pale moonlight”

Legs up to my chin as I read,

The pale moonlight seeping through

The inlets of limestone wall,

Flowers lay still on the kidney desk,

I feel the cool wind grasp my face:

The lucidity of a window left ajar.


This lack of satisfaction is everlasting

From dreams of another reality, of your lack of congeniality 

I pray for Terpischore, for Calliope, to sing 

Theft of my mind to storm my insomnia

Where I’d dance in gardens of wisteria 

So love is the panacea that whisks you to life 

The storm that eats away your thoughts in strife

Where you once roamed on the hills of Arcadia 

Until you plummet into some kind of mania 

How the Muses will be quick to disregard me 

As my satisfaction is unknown and my dissatisfaction of renown


Past dawn’s rose, bathed in the sun’s honey aurora, I woke,

To measure: outstretched limber limbs aloft,

Screened in from a paled hue of fog, yet exposed,

Stirring among the willowy weeds of wool sheets,

The weight of a lissom motion draws a sore breath,

Spots trickle down a bare back; skin damp with dew,

Welling through a windless sky; a billow, faded blue,

A yearning to rise, the balminess of yellowed leaves overhanging,

Mellowed wind carries in a ribbed tune, reeling around the room,

A ripple in an absence of a memory, lucid when it heaves,

A probing, stifling rush seeps in through my eyes; flicker from the past,

Plagued by the thoughts of stirring erst, I hold my body faintly,

A tenderness turned raw, felt irrevocably,

Marmalade mornings in solitude, melancholically savored,

Basking in a hollowed room, a glance aloft yet pining,

The whittled willow tree, forlorn against this morrow, 

Succumbs to waver to a mellifluous song, a rosy rhythm.

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