Obscure Forms
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TAGS: Medium archive
ORIGINAL: https://medium.com/@brennanbrown/obscure-forms-fb651ecdd3b9
Obscure Forms
The abandoned cafe sits at the end of a desolate street, a forgotten relic of a bygone era. The windows are boarded up, the doors locked tight, and the only sound that echoes through its empty halls is the soft patter of rain on the roof. But inside, in the dimly lit corners, something beautiful is happening. I am writing obscure forms of poetry.
I make my way through the broken glass and peeling wallpaper to the back of the cafe, where a small table sits in the center of the room. It is covered in a layer of dust and debris, but I clear a space for myself and begin to write. The first form I attempt is a villanelle, with its intricate rhyme scheme and repeating lines. The words flow from my pen like water, filling the empty space with their melody.
As I write, I become lost in the rhythm of the verse. The rain outside grows louder, and the wind howls through the broken windows, but I am oblivious to the chaos. The words take on a life of their own, weaving together in intricate patterns that only I can see.
Next, I try my hand at a sestina, a form that demands repetition and structure. The words are like puzzle pieces, fitting together in unexpected ways to create something beautiful. The rain outside has turned into a downpour, and I can hear it drumming against the roof like a thousand tiny fingers.
I pause for a moment, looking around the empty cafe. The walls are peeling, the furniture is broken and battered, but there is a strange beauty in the decay. It is a reminder that even the most forgotten places can hold secrets and wonders.
The last form I attempt is a pantoum, with its looping structure and haunting refrains. The words spill out of me like a flood, filling the room with their magic. The rain outside has slowed to a gentle patter, and the world outside feels distant and far away.
As I finish my last line, I feel a sense of satisfaction wash over me. It is a reminder that even in the darkest of places, there is still beauty to be found. The abandoned cafe may be forgotten by the world, but in this moment, it is alive with the sound of poetry.