Poems Containing Irony Novels & Stories

The irony was a sad joke. The house of God was filled with my enemies.

trapped in the terminal all the people ignoring it because they do not know what to do with it except to leave it alone until it scares itself to death it makes you terribly, terribly sad You wish you could take the bird outside and set it free or (failing that) call a bird-understander to come help the bird All you can do is notice the bird and feel for the bird and write to tell me how language feels impossibly useless but you are wrong You are a bird-understander better than I could ever be who make so many noises and call them a song These are your own words your way of noticing and saying plainly of not turning away from hurt you have offered them to me I am only giving them back if on

Arrogance befit no man for whatever we have today, won’t be buried with us tomorrow. ~Humeyra. HAMDAN’S P.O.V The last messages I got from Humeyra really messed me up. I didn’t know that I meant so much to her that my death would affect her as much as she said. The poem she wrote to me still lingers in my mind as I recall my heart beating to every word that her poetry entailed. The poem goes as follows:

she quoted. Your voice is like a bird, but everyone’s ears are bleeding. From the inside, your house shines and shines, but from the outside, you can see it’s built from bones. From out here, it looks like a graveyard, and the garden’s all ash. And besides, your breath stinks. We’re through. She remembered a poem she read by Ross Gay years ago and burst out into laughter. " The last line always gets me." She laughed harder, almost falling off her bed.

Words can deceive the listeners But not the readers. You heard it 'I want to live my life' But I read it as 'I want to leave my life'. Words can deceive those who can hear But not those who can feel. You've heard 'I loved you' But I felt 'I lied to you'. Looks can deceive those who took a look partially But not those who can see wholeheartedly You looked like an angel descend from the sea of clouds But I saw you as a demon hiding your face at the crowd.

I called my iron dagger to me—apportated it into my hand—but he flung his own hand out and the knife went darting away as he laughed viciously. "That iron does not truly exist here, little star," he purred, "and you're not powerful enough to stop me from extinguishing your light. Extinguishing an extinguisher." He laughed again. "How poetic. Do you like poetry? I do. Very much. Words are lovely; so many meanings depending on how you pair them or say them... and so much power for those with the magic to wield them. Too bad you don't know any powerful words to use against me, but you wouldn't be able to speak them anyway. Not with my hands at your throat."

Fiasca laughed out loud. "I am a businesswoman, after all." Emma shrugged her shoulder's as if it was nothing. "Yeah, the iron lady." Fiasca grumbled in disdain. **************** Short poetry for my lovely readers: It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set:

And that person is the woman he loves more than anything, and whom he betrayed for nothing. Irony is a slow poison. And Ariane has just become its undisputed mistress. ---

“Tell us, how are we, the audience, meant to take these words, having come from the lips of none other than Polonius?” “Um, awesome advice, sir?” I blurted out, instantly regretting my choice of words. Quiet giggles rippled through the lecture hall. “Irony, my dear boy. Irony,” the professor intoned. He turned his attention behind me. “Miss Morris, can you please enlighten us as to why?” Mackenzie cleared her throat, her voice calm and confident. “The speaker, Polonius, is a conniving scoundrel,” she explained. “Even his own family knows it. So to have such an amoral man moralizing to his son is ironic to the audience.”

So did the rest of the class. A little later, that is, when the reading-aloud turns ended, while explaining the meaning of the poem he spoke in a fashion, as if it wasn’t a poem, but a story. The story of the patriot, he said, had another story within. And that another story, was the story of foolish Icarus. Then followed the insight: When you have wings of wax, don’t soar too high, don’t stoop too low. The insight was too long and arrhythmic to remember. Unlike those short ones: As you sow, so you reap or A little learning is a dangerous thing. I couldn’t mug it up. So I had written it down on my notebook.