Exactly that, a list poem or catalog poem, is an inventory of the selected topic including items, people, places, or ideas.  Look for it here:

Inventory by Gunter Eich


Security by S.M.(M).L.

All these things make us feel secure:

​Modern science
Modern medicine
Electricity
Indoor plumbing

A cell phone like a second brain
where symptoms are alleviated every day.

Symptoms of sickness
Of hunger
Of pain
Of love

An emptiness like an all-consuming fog
where images and words suffocate.

Stupid to think we are immune
Untouchable
Isolated
Safe

An assumption that we are safe like a child tucked in
while the house burns around them.

Some poems and poets are simply so iconic, they deserve to be emulated. Nothing could be more true than Maya Angelou and her "Phenomenal Woman," a poem that speaks to the power of loving oneself like none other. Angelou was a woman ahead of her time and can be an inspiration to us all today for both her content and her style.  Look for it here:

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Flappers by S.M.(M.)L.

Modern women shouldn’t wonder where our secret lies.
Flappers were brash and brazen, proving no reason to be otherwise.
Like a young bird flapping her wings to learn to fly,
She cut her ponytail and has grown to a woman’s size.
Flappers are
The roaring twenties
Flouting social norms
Not made to just smile and nod and please
She’s a woman 
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s she.

She is mischievous and flirtatious
Her own money made
Doing the jobs left by men gone to war
She showed Rosie the Riveter what she had in store.
The Doctor says she’s “the social butterfly type . . .
The frivolous, scantily-clad, jazzing flapper,
Irresponsible and undisciplined,
To whom a dance, a new hat, or a man with a car
Were of more importance than the fate of nations,” but
Flappers are 
More substantial than that. 
She is challenging women’s traditional societal roles
Discarding old, rigid ideas
Embracing personal choice,
Advocating voting and women’s rights.
She’s a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s she.

Coco Chanel inspired her dress
And fashion became liberating,
No longer restricting.
An unconventional appearance
With her short hair or floppy hat
Her outrageous behavior was in Vogue.
Flappers are
Loosened from laces
That restricted breathing,
From hoops that needed managing.
These fashion changes
Catalysts for the new feminine ideal.
She’s a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s she.

The New Woman was pushing boundaries
Of gender identity,
Representing sexual and economic freedom.
No longer restrained,
Flappers are
In motion with characteristics 
of intensity, energy, and volatility,
An iconic appeal to authority
With her arose deeper questions
Of behavior and values it symbolized
Cause she’s a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s she.                        

*with thanks to Maya Angelou   ​
"Flapper - Wikipedia." https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flapper. Accessed 26 Feb. 2018.         

Sometimes the simple "study of" or -ology of a natural phenomenon is all a poet needs.  Look closely at any of the quiet going-ons of nature and suddenly the parallels to the human experience abound.  Look for it here:

Mushrooms by Sylvia Plath

Melittology by S.M.(M).L. 

Busy: scramble across stamen and pistil
legs covered in color to carry
home hums with happiness
hexagons hold sweet sustenance
and generations infinite.

Just wait patiently knowing it will come.
Life cycles on in its unstoppable rhythm
sometimes unbearable, others, harmonious,
always on: a hum, a buzz,
a dizzying pace for fragile wings
that bear much more than they 
should and yet they do, they will.

Even when it seems beyond: carry on,
unperturbed, knowledgeable
a universe is at work making the
Impossible perfectly plausible.

Inspiration lies in the changes all around us as evidenced by the scores of poems dedicated to the months of the year.  When the seasons change, so too do our mood and perspective.  Look for it here:

The First September Breeze by Liz Rosenberg
​from  Firefly July provided the structure for:

October by S.M.(M).L.

The last October wind blew
through the bony 
skeletons of trees
and darkness descended as
if night were 
forevermore.  


​

is when a poem follows a distinct pattern of sound at the end of each line.  This provides a momentum for the poem, keeping the reader engaged for what comes next.  When identifying, label each matching sound with a corresponding letter of the alphabet, starting with A.  Look for it here:

"Sick" by Shel Silverstein

Choose by S.M.(M).L.

Strawberries are rubescent
as if glowing from within.
As for berries, they have the sweetest scent;
the taste is best when dribbled down your chin.
Like a heart, they are tender.
When plucked too hard, they will bruise,
but like the broken heart, they too will stain
the hands of the offender.
So when you pick, make sure with care you choose.   

is the art of  using an object or word to represent an abstract idea--it often relies on connotation and influences the mood of the piece. Look for it here:

Humming-bird by D.H. Lawrence
​
Hummingbirds by S.M.(M).L.

You flit, float, flutter,
minuscule in your species,
and we lure you in,
not to capture, but to engage.
We want your iridescence,
your zooming presence even
if we can't hold it. 
Engage in the ethereal. 
Imagine what it must be to 
be a speck of beauty 
and nothing more, a desire
no one tries to contain.
We reach out to you but
never try to grasp
the impossibility of your
existence in a world 
of dangers and destruction.
You manage to weave 
wonder, and we just watch
turn back into ourselves 
and wish to still our own
furiously beating hearts 
against the madness and
mayhem, dart past delirium 
and exist by sipping nectar
from the vividness of life.

is a balance in which one part is syntactically balanced against another, but with the parts reversed.  Look for it here:  

"Sanctification of Love" by Frank V. Gardner

Love by S.M.(M).L.

                     Love is                       nothing you                 
                 expect. Love is  everything you don't want,              
but you like it.  Yeah, yeah love is patient,
 but often not. Love is funny and dirty
 and gorgeous.  Love is fantastic in 
the real sense and awesome in
 the real sense. Surprising and
constant.  Constantly
indescribable.
Constantly
 described.
Love 
​is

you reaching for my hand, and me taking yours.

is the deliberate suggestion of more than one meaning, sometimes in conflict with one another, but with the purpose of being able to be interpreted in more than one way.  Look for it here:

The Unknown Citizen by W.H. Auden

Our Nature by S.M.(M).L.

The world melts:
drip, drip, drop
little April shower.
It's January.
Snow becomes slush,
slush becomes ice, 
and we're stuck
waiting for the rivulets
to turn to rivers,
hoping for an early spring.

The pine boughs heavy with
drenched snow release--
branches spring back, joyous
that their weight is lifted.
We too, that our wait
might be over, but it's not.  
Wind will turn cold again,
and the erratic patterns
signal we are out touch.

The weather, used to avoid 
contrasting emotion, once
relied on as almanac truth,
has turned its back on us,
we it, true force revealed.
Although we may relish
an early thaw, it means
less water to cycle, less
vegetation to nourish, less
oxygen to breathe, more 
power to put us back in
our place, just wait.  

The attitude a writer takes toward the subject of a work--differs from mood in that this is what the writer intends while mood is what the reader experiences.  Tone is revealed through the writer's diction (word choice), figurative language, and structure.  Look for it here:

I Have a Dream by Martin Luther King, Jr.

Puzzle by S.M.(M).L.

Peaceful and wise
beaded and brave
this piece at the center
held it together
dark hair with a feather
all dressed in leather
the strong nations
to whom we're all
indebted for home.

Hard-talking and working
pale and strong
this piece came looking
for a life beyond rule,
separation of church
and state.  Wanted different,
a safe haven, one nation,
indivisible, created equal,
but all takes time to be meant.

Stolen and chained
beautiful and brown
this piece didn't choose
this life.  Found strength
deep inside with pride
and the help of but half
a nation to alter the course
of history.  Even then,
not part of the all until
future generations can heal.

Still more come crossing
borders or waters
to seek out a new way.
At times the way is open,
at others it is closed, but 
always what is new is peered
at through narrowed eyes.

Forced to assimilate
reduced to stereotype
nothing left to cling to
nothing left that makes
sense because making
cents is all that is left.
Criticized for being
critical of capitalism,
but it's left each of us 
with the same questions. 

You are not me, and I
am not you, and we've got
to get to where that's just
fine.  We've seen ounces
of greatness from each
and every nation and
all had the same answer.

From Thoreau to Gandhi
to King to Yousafzai,
look to their kindness,
look in your heart for
courage to stand alone
together in a world
that hasn't changed
as much as it could.

We're selfish and empty
preferring entertainment
over empathy because if
you see me for who I am,
and I see you, no longer
assuming but actually 
knowing we can interlock
our hands and really
mean that gesture to 
hold us together.

It's what makes us different
that matters the most.
Despite our sameness,
our love, hope, and fear,
it's the beliefs about them
that make them so clear.
Each culture carries them
in their own way and there's
where we've got to get back to.

Individually we're broken
what's within is bent
and won't fit. Without
heritage were lost on
the table. Instead of making
each piece exactly the same,
we've got to come together
in our own way to feel at
peace with this home 
in the making.  No more pushing
or shoving to get it together
and let's forget edges to let
more in looking for a place.

Rounded and smoothed
we don't fit together,
better left with ragged edges
not forced into blandness
because the pretty picture
doesn't make sense when
it's covered in blood.

When the gunshots fire,
let's look and listen to ourselves.
Let's not cower in the corner
looking outward rather than in.
Each time we ignore, we are open
to more, we have to admit it's gone
wrong.  We can swipe away pieces,
point fingers and blame, but it still
won't come together as it should.

In this moment, not the next, stop
telling the same story.  It's a must
to be different, to accept the hurts,
and the happiness of the past.  It won't
be the same, because it's never really
been changed, the pieces have always 
been there. Let's shift our thinking,
stop beating our heads, and put our hearts
​back together instead.