Speaking in the Brechtian sense, I believe that the indoctrination of a structural construct based solely on monosyllabic words, or "des mots" as the French would say, is a misappropriation of the desire to produce sagittiform compositions.
It seems elementary that the maladjustment which you seek to correct is in fact a demonstratable preposition deducible from basic postulates which you seek to annihilate; ei. the disenfranchising of the variable of least negotiable cadastration.
To effectively avoid the omission of orthogonal deliberation, let us suppose for the sake of contention that a composition which avoids all hyperbolous quantification can be judged objectively by a jury of its peers; and supposing said jury were in turn to solicit that all the superfluous galvanizing miscorrelations were to be reintegrated into one indivisible mammothrept, I ask you this:

Would such a request be tactiform to the specifications of a indefutable phrontistery? Or would its gallinaceous nature immediately refute any saburration by the very fact that its desired response was laniferous in nature?

I think the answer is quite clear.

Blue, babe, blue, I
want it blue blue like the
sea
His smirk so wide the sun shines on
and on in the wide whims of her
wide hips, and she

says Paul I don't
up and down I don't
live in these walls for now
so what,
damn it, why
would I care.

Make it blue.

blue, Babe, blue I need it
blue with you in it and me
on top and a win on the air
Hear me? Hear me?
Got it loud and oh so clear I said
blue blue like your tits
and your throb

Tell me once more, she said
It's clear I'm deaf
Drill it in my head
That's how we talk
Yeah
do it again.

---
Fuck that last word being two-syllables. I appreciate the challenge of this, I suppose but I don't see it affecting much improvement. Mainly because I find multi-syllabic words to be effective because of their precision in connotation. Their strength goddammit. Besides which, especially with poetry, you can often achieve better rhythms using the variety.

And I don't think writing should necessarily be immediately accessable to everyone. "Inaccessable" does not signify not worth accessing. Nor do large words shut people out forever. Poems including more technical or obscure language generally simply require more reflection---which I don't consider bad.

And for the record, I hated not being able to use the word "over."

All that said, I like challenges, and even though I had to get that abrasive bit out, this was enjoyable.

The sea had been jailed too long. All those years that the sea had watched its old homes fenced off, all those years it had been forced from the land it loved most, gave birth to rage and a wish to kill all that it saw. It made its strength grow, made the wind its friend, and watched for a chance to break free and kill those who had wronged it.
The sea now thinks it is strong enough to fight back. It tears at the stone walls that pen it in and sucks at the dirt that holds them in place. It leaps up, to send its spray to cross the wall and to laugh at the fear those in the town must feel. They hear the sea scream and curse at them, take all they can hold, and leave the town for the hills.
The town can't move. All it can do is sit there, wait for its death and hope the walls are strong. It tries to talk with the sea, and change the sea's mind, but it will not hear the town's pleas. It does not want to hear that no one is left in the town.
The wall breaks at last, too tired to fight any more. The sea bursts over the rocks of the dead wall and tears through the town. It melts the straw and mud huts, tears the wood walls away from each house and sweeps the farms into mud. When each trace of the town is gone, it lies down to sleep in this land it has gained.

-----------
That was harder than I thought.

He did not hear her say that she was off, and so he told her that he had left her for a new girl. When he saw she was not with him, he sat but did not cry.


God that sucks. hmm, i cant kick the habit. YAY i did!

Here we go.
(And don't you dare try to argue that hyphenated compounds count as one word for the sake of the monosyllabic restriction - I will so stab you with a pen. )

Benedictions!


*The day's noose*

Read blood swells, in fear-wrought fonts
page-bound by ink; wells up in thoughts
caught in small words and minds for war
all fought in scripts of 'done before'.

Red blood wells, and fear-sought peace
is drenched in oil; swells up like gas
in days-old dead and brand new cars
both fuelled by 'black gold' greed.

It's all old news, in brand new print
and bound with lies; sold back 'at cost'
for the read, and the dead, and the red text -
all that makes that first cup of 'wake up' so good.

I have a heart
that beats like a drum
my bones they

shake

when you walk past
the world shrinks
(lengths)

from far to near

your face, a moon
dragged close to earth,
my hills, my pits, my caves, my seas

I have a heart
that flees my throat
a gut that squirms
in knots and ties

your face, a moon

I am the earth, brown and

large

Hearts of fire
Hearts of gold
Hearts that break
And hearts that sold

Of each heart
which one is mine
my heart is the
one you can not find

----

I actually wrote that about twelve years ago, but for something recent, um, here.

....

The air is thick and full of dust
It hurts my eyes with all its gust
My body is thrown this way and that
I feel like a bug about to go Splat.

I cough and I gag and I choke
My pain is a fire the wind likes to stoke
One small thought plays in my head
If I had not left home I could still be in bed

Away from the wind that will cause my death
Will rip down homes and tear away flesh
Spin through the land and leave all in awe
Of the way it leaves some, but never leaves all