Old School Poem...no, really.

My friend Dianna requested to see some of my creative writing. I've never been one for the creative vein, but I am a sick person who deep down loves poetry and sonnets.

I wrote the following poem for my high school senior English class sonnet competition. It won 2nd place. I think it didn't get first because no one knew what was going on. I used a Victorian flower book to write this poem. All the flowers mean specific things and add to the mood and meaning of the poem. I still wouldn't expect my peers to get that. Laughs. So yeah, embarrassing poem of my youth, take one:




Anemone
"The Language of Flowers"

One stone-walled garden I stumbled upon.
The gate adorned with roses purest white.
Ominous oleanders o'er the lawn,
Exotic green labyrinths lured my sight.

Within, cold, stone faces stared down the path.
Concealed in the maze, a spark'ling fount stood.
Peering in the pool, youth drowned in the bath.
Through the iron-gate, return I ne'er would.

Beyond the gate, a willow held a swing.
On the hills beyond, passion flowers splayed.
And in lush lilies, like bells all twink'ling,
I sought to rest my weary body's pain.

I longed to brush the lilies' fair petals.
But, was embraced by dark, bitter nettles.

*written with the help on my soul-friend Sonia who spent a whole day helping me learn iambic pentameter. Gosh I miss her being around.