11-15-2025, 07:27 PM
A game of precision
A ball so small,
Withstanding an iron hull,
Shot yards away.
Many forms of clubs
Hit with heavy might,
The ball that doesn't
Fear spite.
To roll
In a hole,
Its goal.
Wind resistance
Is fiend nor foe
To end on shore.
The sand hill
Doesn't drown,
It makes the player frown.
When water hits,
It doesn't resurface,
It stays put,
Without feeling the putter.
A ball so small,
Withstanding an iron hull,
Shot yards away.
Many forms of clubs
Hit with heavy might,
The ball that doesn't
Fear spite.
To roll
In a hole,
Its goal.
Wind resistance
Is fiend nor foe
To end on shore.
The sand hill
Doesn't drown,
It makes the player frown.
When water hits,
It doesn't resurface,
It stays put,
Without feeling the putter.
I know that rhyme, rhythm, and meter are not academically standardized.
I am well aware of that, yet I primarily do free verse, and it's based on instinctual writing.
I try to avoid academic language or structure. My poems are not meant to convey a single answer.
I try to convey the unknown through minimalism, mostly dense short stanzas with many line breaks.
If you'd give a critique, please keep this in mind.
I am well aware of that, yet I primarily do free verse, and it's based on instinctual writing.
I try to avoid academic language or structure. My poems are not meant to convey a single answer.
I try to convey the unknown through minimalism, mostly dense short stanzas with many line breaks.
If you'd give a critique, please keep this in mind.