The Brevette, created by Emily Romano consists of a subject (noun), verb, and object (noun), in this exact order. The verb should show an ongoing action. This is done by spacing out the letters in the verb. There are only three words in the poem, giving it the title Brevette.
Old poem, just editing and reposting. Still needs to be improved. Will do so eventually. Probably one of my favorites of my own. Partially inspired by Dark Soul, the videogame, where there is a blacksmith who ends every sentence with Flame, dear Flame. And also inspired by my first flame and how it was snuffed out by life's rains.
The words i can't feel, before their touch, Splatters on the eyes of disbelief, Twisted and shadowed, In comfort, disowned of unison owes to the thoughtless consensus.
The words i feel, escapes from the cracked fists, Panorama of possibilities, Arrayed in logic, shatters, the mirage of having felt enough The words that touches my touch , and give their sense to my senses. The realm, Publicly personal Commonly unusual.
The words , i neither touch, nor feel, seeps into the stoned me, misunderstood as me, Gathered up flesh wearing information, named myself, hurts the healed, Heals the bruised, enlivens the sleeping, kills the dead living. Mends my soul, in orphaned love, obliterates the volatile boundaries, Worldly universal. Where every word, Feels and touch .
I sent my poetries to the sky By packing them with the peel Of my scarlet skin and pleaded her to rain my metaphors by reading it on his blue heart instead,she rained it on the dead daffodils Which were growing in his backyard they came to life and started to spread the fragrance of my ripened Heart.
I sent my poetries to the spring By packing them with the cold flower And the warm butterflies of purple And gold which i was growing on my finger tips and asked the spring to bloom my poetries on your each branch and let them smile and sing With my poetry simile.
I sent my poetries to the stars Under which we had our first date Those celestials served us with The cup of my frozen poetries and we took the sip of romantic metaphors, Did your lips taste my Saccharine sonnets?