I wrote a poem in my literature class for extra credit, meant to emulate Wallace Stevens’ style in his poem “The Plain Sense of Things” My version is far less subtle, however.
The Refocusing of Priorities
After the week passes, we awaken
To our real lives. They are in the
Background of the raging rat race,
Static in a futile cage.
Few are able to even conceive the process
That drives this, this sorrow by distraction.
The fertile planet has become a gridded metropolis.
Nothing extraordinary dares venture its neat roads.
The soul never so badly wanted adventure.
The pen is overused and runs low on ink.
An adventure has been cut short, a fact of life
In a life of facts.
Yet the loss of the true pursuits
First has to be seen. The bright forest,
The opportunity of it, layers upon layers,
Dens, trunks, tips chasing the sun on a journey
In a way, journey of a chick jumped out to try
The bright forest and its waste of leaves, all this
Had to be seen through the fence of entrapment,
Seen, seeing a barrier when really there is none.
Winningnotwhining 