poetry

do following things for every single line

  1 determine strong
/weak strees.(accent) ex) between, Radio. Do this every single word in the poems
2 what is verse? couplet, triplet quatrain, sestet, octave etc?
3 rhythms lamb, trochee anapest, dactyl etc?
4feet? trimeter, tetramater? Pentameter, Haxameter etc?
 first poem is in red and second one is in blue
 Oranges
 The first time I walked
 With a girl, I was twelve,
 Cold, and weighted down
 With two oranges in my jacket.
 December. Frost cracking
 Beneath my steps, my breath
 Before me, then gone,
 As I walked toward
 Her house, the one whose
 Porch light burned yellow
 Night and day, in any weather.
 A dog barked at me, until
 She came out pulling
 At her gloves, face bright
 With rouge. I smiled,
 Touched her shoulder, and led
 Her down the street, across
 A used car lot and a line
 Of newly planted trees,
 Until we were breathing
 Before a drugstore. We
 Entered, the tiny bell
 Bringing a saleslady
 Down a narrow aisle of goods.
 I turned to the candies
 Tiered like bleachers,
 And asked what she wanted –
 Light in her eyes, a smile
 Starting at the corners
 Of her mouth. I fingered
 A nickle in my pocket,
 And when she lifted a chocolate
 That cost a dime,
 I didn’t say anything.
 I took the nickle from
 My pocket, then an orange,
 And set them quietly on
 The counter. When I looked up,
 The lady’s eyes met mine,
 And held them, knowing
 Very well what it was all
 About.
   Outside,
 A few cars hissing past,
 Fog hanging like old
 Coats between the trees.
 I took my girl’s hand
 In mine for two blocks,
 Then released it to let
 Her unwrap the chocolate.
 I peeled my orange
 That was so bright against
 The gray of December
 That, from some distance,
 Someone might have thought
I was making a fire in my hand
            A valentine for ben franklin who drives a truck in california
 I cut the deck
   and found a magician
   driving a mack truck
   down the California grapevine.
   His eyes were glistening Japanese beetles,  
   and his hands were surveyors of the moon.  
   He pulled a carnation
   out of his sleeve,
   and offered me a ride.
   I took the flower and said I was leaving  
   to be an illusionist. He said
   he specialized in cards
   and sleight of hand.
   I touched his mouth and ears
   with my lips,
                      “Keep on truckin,”
   I said.
   But he laughed and told me a bedtime story.  
   His body was an elm.
   His mouth was filled with grapes.
   His hands turned my body into new honey.
   Now I am home alone,
   reading directions
   for sawing a beautiful woman in half.  
   First you start with a mirror … .
   Before I turn down
   the crisp sheets of my bed,
   I shuffle the tarot deck.
   But the magician is missing.
   Is he
   still driving the freeways of California?
   Or is he
   only an illusion
   in my own  
   magician’s  
   head?