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Just some things I've turned out in my Poetry class with Bree (my professor AND Assistant Manager at work!)


Who What Where?
Form: Free Verse
Dorian Hoppie

Am I the moon?
Do my actions follow after
A path of clockwork gyration.
Do the days fade as quickly
As some waxen face of old?

Where will the path end
Right where it began?
Or am I simply standing
In place under the dream.

Oh wait I’m the moon.
That’s right. Or am I that,
The sun? This winding path
Has me lost. Stranded.

But that light over head,
It is too bright. To rest and
lie down, and close my eyes,
I think that sounds nice.







Grow up.
Form: Villanelle
Dorian Hoppie

Prince in black, he will fade, walk down that path.
My mind grows old, withered, a dull glow.
These knights won’t live, lie down and die.

With the passing of time, the journeys, walked
Long into the night. Each passing hour, second,
Prince in black, he will fade, walk down that path.

Rusted swords cover a warred land, filled
With magic, charred with a grand story.
These knights won’t live, lie down and die.

That woman he loved, the one I made, she is
Gone. His friends, vanished. The world.
Prince in black, he will fade, walk down that path.

Their legacy never came, the two fathers.
The destined battle never fought. All gone.
These knights won’t live, lie down and die.

When time draws closer, creeping, I’ll forget.
Those grand things, Holding me, restraints gone.
Prince in black, he will fade, walk down that path.
These knights won’t live, lie down and die.




Heat Vent
Form: Sonnet
Dorian Hoppie
2-3-09


There’s white new snow outside, it fell o'er night.
Pulling the blinds, pulling them shut, I can’t see.
Often, when it snows, unwanted, the house lights.
All that’s needed, a warm grated vent, cozy.

You’ll gust for me, you’ll warm my skin, my face, bare.
Tiny hairs wave to and fro, bumps that vanish.
A dent there is, the carpet deepened, a ware
The carpet faded, soft, a feeling cherished.

Cocoon I am, my body rises, balloon.
Bottled tightly in warmth from down beneath us,
The bright white light, outside, from my heat monsoon,
Can not rouse me, so intoxicated, thus,

I really should get up, must retreat, wallow
Away, my day is gone. I want a pillow.





Dorian Hoppie
Form: Triolet
Porcelain Contemplation


Did it work, did he die? Done.
s**t, the toilet paper’s out.
The ground, soaked, pooling out, his blood.
Did it work, did he die, done?
The fan can’t be reached, stench and crud.
It was all planned out, without a doubt.
Did it work? Did he die, done?
s**t, the toilet paper’s out.