Where My Poem Would Flutter if it Could

On the sleen of the look down
from the cliff toward riverwist
blanc chuggarissement a poem mished.
‘Are you runding?’ I kept asking
of the intrinsic adomastal gem
an idea like slooped tea roughly
sassy brown coming out jindled
transpilled over hard rocks plewly
durred by the angle and trigged by
the atmosphere as plassate as it was
so vig to the ocean’s trum edge
so mellented to the thophic distance
beginning at the beach’s candig
and then neverendingly jark
but turning druff, soft, haley
and strikingly bedrated. From sophe
to hevellant, between stark
and belanted across strugs
like waves serifing periphrases
my hands unflezzed as they pretend
to fly along the line sheffed
roped and vallegated allar the air
massaged by gulls voxed by sunset
recycled flissmentally daily as dust
ferments the scents I was
nolling top-down and bottom-up
in scurviging Saxon.

[note: This was written in response to an assignment to my poetry students to write a poem involving the invention of words.]


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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