Oedipus Wrecks: Genesis

Each portal to that grief-wracked, hellish place
Inscribed foreboding warning for the wand-
'ring, weary, woeful souls be-damned I AM
to stand before those awful, vacant gates.

"Through me you enter woeful city fine.
Through me you stray yet further from sublime.
Through me you plummet depths you'll never climb.
Through me you enter woeful city prime."

To heave such heavy sigh when learning our
misfortune hour to stand bereft of deft reflex
collision course impending wreck with dest-
ination none elect and yet arrived.

From other side such shrieking cries.  A tick,
a tock, began the clock of moth and rust.
With tantrum screams, yet dragged I AM toward wick-
ed gate, all begging coming much too late.

To hazard open up the eyes, upon
the portal thus inscribed a final warn-
ing, lifetime mourning for wand'ring souls
about to call abode the realm of woe:

"Through me you enter woeful city dear.
You'll flee from pain yet always find it near.
Through me you enter woeful city tier.
Abandon hope all ye who enter here."

In pain in screams in mother's cries tak-
ing birth between her thighs, she slumps relieved
on seeing babe and drawing first of ma-
ny breaths, now little one confess such woe.

The other side of wicked gate cries once
resounded turn to cheer, and only babe
continues woeful chorus, fresh the warn-
ing 'scribed on portal door that opened here.

They're instituted far too long perhaps
to grin and welcome into swaddling wrap.
The baleful words fresh from th'gate bid wel-
come grievous welcome mournful tenant, come.

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Okay, this is my first attempt at iambic pentameter, and I admit this one is pretty poor.  I usually write poetry almost exclusively with end rhyme, and though this has some, it's not the exclusive pattern.  I wanted to challenge myself and write in iambic pentameter (just to see if I could do it) with no end rhyme, but as you can see, that didn't end up happening.  The tone of iambic pentameter is different from my normal writing which is more song-like, this is more like a monologue in a play (I guess that's why Shakespeare used it).

I'll try again, but I have a feeling iambic pentameter is going to be my white whale

Vulcan Blues

To talk about the way you feel
How is it easily revealed?
And when I talk, I stop and start
I loathe discerning my own heart.

And when you talk, it's fancy free
You're spinning circles round of me.
You've lapped me thrice, before I start
begrudgingly reveal my heart.

But not so freely, how I edit
And why I bother, that's your credit
Without your prod, I surely would not.
Except your model, surely could not.

I'd rather logic, reason, sense
Ad nauseam, at your expense.
And when I finish, something clear
Not muddled feelings held not dear!

Like nitroglyc'rin, TNT
Emotions sabotaging me!
If only could divorce from me
These mongrel dogs of mutiny!

You love your feelings.  Me?  I loathe them!
I seek divorce, while you betroth them.
I'm missing out?  I guess that's true.
I'm less one mongrel on my crew.

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Okay this one is a second attempt at iambic tetrameter.  I was a little bit less disciplined (more artistic) than last time.  Some lines end with a "feminine" rhyme (which I hear is okay actually, and not cheating) but I wonder about some of the 3 and 4 syllable words that have the accent on the first syllable or third syllable, if that works or it was too forced.  I of course offered a reading to "cheat" how it's intended to sound anyway :)

As far as the subject matter, I guess it's kinda weird, someone who writes poetry not wanting to talk about his feelings *shrug*

Oedipus Wrecks

The space between the earth and skies
No exit found between your thighs.

And every time we plumb those depths
Lament we haven't found it yet.

I know this was the portal in.
Why won't it take me back again?

And every time I lie awake
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

But soul remains here wrecked on earth.
It's hunger bound and parched of thirst.

I sought oasis 'neath the skies
Yet found no fount between your thighs.

What siren song be-sung is this?
To shipwreck sailors seeking bliss.

And every time we lie, I die.
What beckons me between your thighs?

The body comfort?  That's too base!
We'd rather rise to higher place!

I found distraction in your mind
Yet soul did yearn for other climes.

The depths we plumb, the heights we climb
And both they fail to pierce sublime!

The ample curves are so adored
A body portal, something more?

It houses something in that skin
Which portal did you enter in?

With source beyond the earth and skies
it took no birth between those thighs.

Which gate is it you entered through?
And can you take us back with you?

We plumb the depths, yet can't say why.
We scale the heights, can't pierce the sky

The space between where I reside.
Which portal did you enter by?

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This is probably my first long poem with a disciplined meter throughout (iambic tetrameter, try saying that five times fast).  I guess I usually do just straight masculine rhyme, and am quite lax on the meter (it may change from line to line or stanza to stanza) if it's there at all.  It was pretty fun exercise being disciplined for a change, I think I'll try some more.