Requiem to Kamakura

Eating soba noodles,

                      I sat

             On the couch where I could see the ocean

          I could see the          waves

          I remembered,             and then

          I got lost somewhere between

here

                                                            here

                        here

                                                                                                here

                                    here

here

                                                                                                            And somewhere over

there>                                                                                      .

-Andrea Romansky

you’ll call this a sonnet
 
writing no longer means anything
now that you’ve forced me to abandon my ideals;
to follow your patterns; to no longer write how it feels.
who let you think that you’re the king?!
your putrid performance poetry is simply not my thing.
stop browbeating your totalitarian opinions at me.
whatever happened to ‘majority-rules’ democracy?
the popular vote is clear, but you’re not making deals.
i can hear color, and rhyme of symphonies
and you’ll stand there trying to rewrite my poem.
your opinion is yours — i will title my own piece.
this one is mine, and i hope it hits close to home.
i don’t care about your preference if this means something to me.
i don’t care about your preference — this means something to me.