A Poet’s Homage

I am not an essayist, nor would I ever care to be one.  That being acknowledged, I do, at the same time, recognize the purpose critical writing plays in terms of its kinship to literature, as well as the role it assumes in this very AP class. But there is something you need to know about me: I am a free spirit. As a result, I have never been one to abide by structure when it comes to the way I choose to live and, more importantly, in the way I choose to write. My thoughts–my reasonings, introspections, and ideations–are not things that can be easily compartmentalized, nor do they naturally form any sort of logical order. I am a chaotic being, and it takes a great deal of energy to organize the discordance of my mind (the blog post you are currently reading has been no exception). This is why I have been conditioned to believe that the essay is my nemesis. And, with essays, of course, we are given a prompt to explore in relation to a specific text, which is how an essay works, after all.

Now, I feel the need to reiterate that I am a passionate lover of literature–of stories and the ways in which they seem to bring such remarkable animation to the written word. And, even when I don’t particularly like a text, I can find ways to appreciate it. What I don’t particularly appreciate is taking a story–something creative, something dynamic–and analyzing it in what I believe to be a very monotonous way. A way, that unlike a story, seems to follow the same structure every time it is approached. And there really isn’t anything creative or dynamic about structure. Literature is liberating–it is a form of escapism in which we are able to elude the misfortunes of our own reality– but structure is not.

I think that is why I am so fond of poetry. Because with poetry, you are allowed to break the rules as you see fit without being penalized. I believe it is possible to explore the significance of a text through poetry opposed to an essay, whether it be through the emulation of a writer’s diction choices, the symbols he or she employs throughout a work, or the ideas he or she establishes within a piece in correlation to the human condition. I know that, for me, I often pay homage to my favourite works of literature through my poetry. As I have mentioned in my previous blog posts, I consider my specialty to be flash poetry. That being said, I have, in the past, dedicated entire flash poetry series to literature that has particularly resonated with me. Writing poetry is how I become better acquainted with a given text; it is my own personal way of connecting with a piece and uncovering is deeper dimensions and meanings. I also find that I am able to better articulate what I wish to say through poetry — and informal and creative institution–opposed to the monotony that I find to be often associated with essays. That is why, for this free choice blog, I would like to share the flash poetry series I have written in honour of my favourite works of literature in order to prove myself– to prove that, sometimes, poetry can be just as effective as analytical writing when it comes to communicating our understandings of literature.


The first flash poetry series I would like to share is called Gatsby’s Curse. If you are able to recall, during my portrait presentation, I connected the character of Jay Gatsby to my facade, explaining that I am “The Great Gatsby reincarnated…a girl whose desire is painted green..a victim of false hope.” But, before getting into the poetry itself,  to make things transition more smoothly, I suppose I will have to give a brief analysis of the text itself, which based on what I had said just previously, I am clearly not terribly excited for. But, as I had also mentioned, I am still capable of ackowleding its importance and occasional necessity. So, here we go:

In The Great Gatsby, the colour green symbolizes hope, specifically false hope. Jay Gatsby lives across the water from Daisy Buchanan, whose dock emanates a green light every evening. It is implied that, each evening, Gatsby reaches out toward the light, presumably towards Daisy who he desires to reunite with; he wishes to rekindle the love they had both once shared in their youth. But the thing about light is that it is a fickle thing—it is not permeant and is constantly changing. The green light, for instance, could not maintain a constant presence at the end of the dock as it would obviously only appear during the dark hours of the evening and perhaps the early morning. Similarly, Daisy is also a fickle individual. Just when Gatsby’s hope reached its pinnacle, when Daisy had led him to believe that she would leave Tom for him, she changed her mind. Moreover, although Gatsby’s car was yellow, one of the witnesses of the car accident claimed it was of a “light green colour.” And, this accident, as a matter of a fact, was an inciting incident for the chaos that soon ensued–Daisy’s decision to stay with Tom and Gatsby’s death. Thus, this also proves Gatsby’s hope—that associated with the green light—to be ultimately futile.

The focal point of my flash poetry realtes to this futility–that of false hope, especially in the case of unrequited love. It is based on my own experiences.  I also allude to the characteristics of my own soul–how it is purple–and how this, in itself, clashes with my pursuit of the illusionary green light.

Now, without further ado, I give you Gatsby’s curse



Her desire was

painted green.


The same

colour of her pills




the gem stone

she was named after.


His eyes




the light at

the end of the dock–


it was an unattainable colour

for an unattainable love.

The moss grew thick

across her heart as

thorned vines shot out

from her limbs and

the chlorophyll

filled her veins.


–And, at that moment, the purple girl turned green

But the colour green

has no place

in the life of a girl

with a purple soul,

for nothing beautiful has

ever come from mixing

the two colours together–

all you get is an awful



A terrible, murky brown.


–Her lungs had filled with swamp water

It was a love–

a longing–

that bloomed every spring

only to die come autumn.


It was something that was

never meant

to last.


— Green turned grey

From the moment I

began chasing the green light–

from the moment I fell in love–

I started turning blue.


–You took my breath away, and I don’t mean that as a compliment

And because of you,

I know that each new love

that comes my way

will always hurt a little

more than the last–

a little more than the

one that came before it.

I should have stuck with purple.

She stood in front of

the bay window

in nothing but an old

t-shirt and her underwear.


She sipped from

the bottle of rum in her hands

as she stared up at the

delicate lights waltzing across

across the black sky.


“Goodbye, my love,”

she whispered.


–Aurora Borealis

It was in her blood

to chase after things

that were faster than her–


things she could never have.


Things that she was never

meant to hold.


–I was Gatsby, and he was my green light

I thought you were the one thing

I had to live for.


Little did I know that you would be

the very thing that killed me in the end.

Oh, purple boy, I know you’re

out there somewhere.


Won’t you come and find me?


Won’t you come and save me from the green,

from this curse The Great Gatsby has

bestowed upon me?




The second flash poetry series, Sychopant, I would like to share was actually inspired by our class’ current novel study–The Picture of Dorian Gray. With this poetry series, I have attempted to emulate Wilde’s implementation of imagery in the novel, which, of course, puts an emphasis on physical appearances, and therefore, aestheticism. Similarly, in my own piece, I have also made use of vivid images in order to accentuate the beauty that, like in The Picture of Dorian Gray, is often associated with living an exceedingly pleasurable life. That being said, in my last post I had briefly mentioned the potential monotony that is associated with living a moral lifestyle, while living a hedonistic lifestyle–a lifestyle similar to Dorian’s–proves itself to be tantalizing in all of its exquisitely damnable glory. This is the main premise of Sychopant. In relation to the title itself, the word “sychopant” refers to a person who flatters another in the hopes of gaining something in return. This was obviously intentional, as I wanted to parallel Dorian’s selfishness with that of the narrator of this piece; much like Dorian manipulates others to obtain what he desires, the narrator of this piece uses flattery to manipulate Dorian  into teaching her how to live the way he does–hedonistically and treacherously; she wants him to show her “how to be bad for a change.”

With that said, I give to you Sychopant. Please keep in mind that any similarities to Oscar Wilde’s own writing in The Picture of Dorian Gray are purely intentional; I have purposely integrated Wilde’s quotes into this flash poetry series in order to convey a meaningful connection to the text. I hope you enjoy!



I have always been

inexplicably attracted to

boys like you.


(And I prefer boys over men

who have always been

far too cautious for my liking.)


I suppose you could say

that you are my type:








And maybe that is

exactly what I need

because I think I

could learn a thing or two

from someone as treacherous

as yourself.


So tell me,

my dear Dorian Gray–

won’t you teach me how to be

bad for a change?


Lord Henry’s Legacy

Won’t you teach a girl

to indulge in every

wonderfully immoral sensation

this life has to offer?


–Cure my soul by means of the senses

And, for these sensations,

I shall pay you in poetry.


Of course,

I shall not rhyme.


I would not want

you to think

me inferior, after all.

I wish to feel

the exquisiteness of sin

and the tragedy of its consequences.


–Jolie laide

So, perhaps then,

you can show me

how to be someone other

than myself tonight–

for I have grown dreadfully tired of

that girl that I am,

a girl who is so monotonously good.

He emerges,

scales adorned

with gleaming beads of jacinth

and spiraling ribbons of gold.


His mouth drips with

a dark, tantalizing nectar

and from his nostrils

billows the intoxicating

smoke of Opium.


The dense foliage

from which he materializes

is draped in fruit–

Scarlet apples of

incredible voluptuousness

and ripe pomegranates

plump with juices.


With a flick of his tongue,

he whispers,

“Choose your poison, darling.”



I choose my friends for their good looks,

my acquaintances for their good characters,

my enemies for their good intellects,

and, most importantly,

my lovers for their (ravishing) sense of immorality.

And it is here

that Brimstone

and Lilac Blossom

shall unite,

poetically intertwined

with a most paradoxical

type of beauty.


–Destroy the heaven in me

I would gladly fall from grace with you.

My Opium Dream,

show me how to be indifferent

to the troubles of this world.

Take me away to some high place

clouded with a thick blue haze,

a place laced with a

narcotic forgetfulness.


–Sedated by your corruption

Cut  the strings that tether

me to morality–

to goodness,

for it is my goodness alone

that has victimized me.


–Their footprints are embedded on my spine

Use these

crumbling petals of mine

as your ashtray.


Enkindle my soul;

imbue me with seething passion

and an arbitrary darkness

(the very things I do

love the best about you.)


Burn me alive–

burn me until

until I glow so bright

that they are blinded

by the undeniable intensity

of my embers.


Perhaps this the only

way to be beautiful.


–Take this coal and turn her into diamonds

They say there is no such thing

as an immoral book.


But maybe there is such a thing

as a moral girl

who writes immoral poetry.



https: //giphy.com/gifs/smoking-ben-barnes-dorian-gray-x8WMqGxXMYxDa


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4 thoughts on “A Poet’s Homage

  1. Dear Jade,

    I am lost for words – you are an incredible writer, someone who I aspire to be able to write poetry like. I really enjoyed reading your introduction, as I found that it was the opposite of myself – structure and critical essays are my go to, whereas I find poetry difficult to write and convey my ideas. Reading your introduction was like an introduction to the shift in my own mind that I wish to achieve, where I am able to write both poetry and criticals with the same amount of vigor and passion, as you do.

    The poetry itself was phenomenal; I especially loved “Sycophant,” and the integration of Wilde’s work and quotes from “The Picture of Dorian Gray” – my favourite integration was “I choose my friends for their good looks, / my acquaintances for their good characters, / my enemies for their good intellects, / and, most importantly, / my lovers for their (ravishing) sense of immorality.” Your ability to not only emulate the work of the authors, but twist it into your own “purple – souled” creation is absolutely beautiful and intoxicating. You are adaptable in your writing and I believe that is what makes you strong creatively.

    There honestly is nothing that I can see for improvement at the moment – it took my breath away. If something does come up, I will make sure to post another comment.

    Thank you for this, I look forward to reading more of your blogs.

    – Shyla

    1. Dearest Shyla,

      I feel like we balance each other out. My go-to is poetry while you often take a more analytical approach to your writing. And, just as you seem to be inspired by my poetry, I am just as inspired by your own writing; as a matter of a fact, I’ve often used your essays as a structural guide for writing my own essays–like I said, I often struggle with structure, haha.

      I’m so very pleased that you enjoyed “Sychopant”–It took a couple of weeks to put together, so I am glad all that work hasn’t gone in vain!

      That being said, I actually did find a couple of things I could probably improve on. I noticed some spelling and grammar mistakes in this post after I’d read your comment (whoopsies) but I went back and fixed them. But if you happen to notice anything else, please let me know!

      And thank YOU for taking the time to read my piece. I feel like my blogs last year were a lot easier to get through because they were shorter. But now I can hardly seem to STOP writing, which means that it probably takes folks a lot longer to read my posts. I haven’t yet decided if that is a good thing or a bad thing. Guess I’m just gonna have to play it by ear 😉

      Love you lots Shyla!


  2. Dearest Jade,

    As I read the the last lines of the first flash poetry that I have ever truly read, I thought, “Wait, that’s it?!” I wanted to keep reading on, but sadly that was all. Your writing is so intriguing, and your tone is very sincere; I can easily imagine you reading it out loud.

    I myself am not much of a poet, and I greatly admire anyone who can write such beautiful words and not struggle with the structure of anything. I am a person who likes structure and familiarity-although I am not good at critical essays- so based off the pendulum Mrs. Hunnisett came up with, I would say that I am right in the middle. I like structure, but I also like some freedom. In some ways, I connect to your words of, “I am a free spirit,” but also recognizing “the purpose of critical writing..”

    I greatly appreciate you sharing your flash poetry, as I have never really understood what it was, as mentioned before. As Shyla said, I repeat and agree that the poetry is phenomenal! I really liked how you added specific quotes to your poem, and I feel that it left a deeper impact because of it.

    In terms of improvement, although I struggle to find anything to offer, I did see that you put a capital “W” on the line, “Now, Without further ado..” Besides that, I can’t see anything else I can really say.

    All in all, your poetry brought me to an entirely new perspective, and I thank for writing and sharing your flash poetry!



    1. Dear Kelly,

      I am happy to hear that my flash poetry has, as you said, brought you some new perspective and understanding! I am also glad that I was able to leave you off with somewhat of a cliffhanger, if you will (“WAIT, THAT’S IT?!?”) I like to keep my readers on their toes as cruel as that sounds (muahahaha).

      Also, since you said that you haven’t really read too much flash poetry, I would be happy to recommend some of my favourite poets (flash poetry as well as some longer free verse pieces)

      Here’s a list for ya:

      – Rupi Kaur
      – Amanda Lovelace
      – r.m. Drake
      -r.h. Sin
      -Lang Leav

      Also thank you for catching that pesky capitalization error–I wouldn’t have caught it otherwise. I will go fix that right now!

      Thank you for reading my post and for your sweet comment!

      Lots of love,

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