April Poetry Challenge 2021: Day Twenty-Nine

 

Day 29 Prompt: Evening

Form: Rondel

“House”

House, dark and asleep, I can write.

The last of my breath fills the page,

as the writer now takes the stage.

Computer screen shines, a spot light

on my monologue, so quiet -

keep the peace, even when I rage.

House, dark and asleep, I can write.

The last of my breath fills the page.

Words roll on the screen like headlights,

blinding my tired eyes of age.

Time’s script always sends me downstage

to find a rhyme to this good night.

House, dark and asleep, I can write.

Poetic Form 60: Byr a Thoddaid

 

Write Life

Write a new story. Let this end.

Fill the spaces with verbs, offend

those who want to see the antagonist

be first to raise a flag.

Your days are written with the ink

from the well of your soul. Unlink

the earlier chapters from your plotline.

It’s fine, write a detour.

Adjectives, metaphors connect

the real world with your heart, perfect.

Hear your voice, loud, in the punctuation!

Salvation is words, too.

Let your hands rush across the space

between blue lines. Set the pace

of living with paragraphs, not just words.

Edit towards a breath sought.

Write a new story. One that twist

and turns with emotion. Resist

penning a happy-ever-after line.

Untwine your forever.

Poetic Form #60 Byr a Thoddaid

The byr a thoddaid is a Welsh form. The rules are a little complicated. A byr a thoddaid 

poem can be a quatrain (4-line stanza) or series of quatrains. The quatrain is divided into

two combined couplets. One couplet is written with 8 syllables for each line. The lines 

have an AA end rhyme. The other couplet contains 10 syllables in the first line and 6 syllables

in the second. The 10-syllable line has an end rhyme near the end of the line. The 6-syllable

line has a link (rhyme, alliteration, etc.) to the end word of the 10-syllable line and then an 

end rhyme. The couplets can appear in alternating order.

A visual of the form looks like this:

xxxxxxxA

xxxxxxxA

xxxxxxxBxc

xcxxxB

Poetic Form 55: Golden Shovel

Why Poetry

-after Langston Hughes

Even in the darkest moments I hold

a pen with a fire to capture the fast

and fleeting muse that commands my mind to

fill the spaces between walking and dreams.

The strokes of ink are arrows, hoping for 

the gods, for the titans, to reveal if

I am worthy to mix a life with dreams,

or if words stay in my mouth when I die.

Each step I take is a verse of my life,

that I write with rhyme - sometimes. Breathing is 

a pact between impossible and a 

faith in flight. My heart can be broken-winged,

but poetry sets me free like a bird.

No matter the hue of the moment that

spurs my mind. These words, windows that cannot

close, allows my muse open lines to fly.

Poetic Form #55: Golden Shovel

The Golden Shovel form uses a line or two from another poem.  Use each

word in the line (or lines) as an end word in your poem. You keep the end

words in order as they appear in the original poem. (So, you can read their poem

reading the end words.) Make sure to give credit

to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines). Your poem does not have

to be about the same subject.

Poetry Challenge Day 19: 6 Words by Shakespeare

*The prompt today was to use 6 words that Shakespeare created.

bump

embrace

fixture

howl

lonely

resolve

When Shakespeare wrote

A candle flame flickers as your hand bumps the inkwell.

Stories tumble in your head. You embrace the muse to tell.

A quill, a fixture in your hand, paper running with rhyme.

You howl when the language blocks the end of the next line.

One man, on a lonely night, builds new words for new worlds.

Your writing resolve created lines that take flight like birds.

Poetry Challenge Day 13: Purpose

I Write

I write

    to fill the blank page in my heart

    creating the letters

        capitals

        and lowercase

    between the solid blue lines

        just above the dotted line

    with just a touch of my own personal style

I write

    to understand what is right

    in the midst of all that is wrong

        anger 

        and pain

    filling the headlines in bold letters

        using a simpler font

    I sift through today with a pencil

I write

    to worship the power of the word

    that creates the reality of now

        joy

        and love

    to be discovered in the space

        on the paper in front of us

    creation is found in the written words

I write

    to bring the past forward

    to connect to my children’s future

        history

        and possibility

    combine in a single purpose that reveals

 why the story of their life

    started with me writing between blue lines

This is not a poem

 

You will say this is not a poem

You will say there are no similes or metaphors

Like a line of crows

    sitting on a telephone wire

    a murder to all that pass

    afraid to fly on your own

You will say this is not a poem

You will say that there is no form

    That my words

        travel on

the page like

a path that

has faded

from the poems

of the past

You will say this is not a poem

You will say that the words mean nothing

That I’ve not said a thing

That there is no reflection of truth

    or painting of nature

    that there is no reason to read this page

But I write anyway

    Because I know that the best way to survive

        a murder

            is through poetry

Denotation Life

Happiness is just a cliché

A simile that is supposed to paint a picture perfect smile

To cover the cracks that show through your skin

This is not a hyperbole

Darkness outshines light, let’s be honest about

The paradox of this existence

The connotations are just too cloudy for anyone’s point of view

See this anecdote doesn’t have a happy Hollywood ending

There is no sequel to this short story,

only flashbacks that interrupt the narrative

Disrupting the tone of my verse

The rhyme scheme off

    because I write in free verse

    but with a sonnet mindset

I know no one will save these words as an allusion to explain

The irony of a story with no symbolism

Just a one star rating for this autobiographical soliloquy

I write

I write

    because no one seems capable of returning a shopping cart to the cart corral

    or slowing down for a yellow light

    or using a blinker to help other drivers know what they are doing

I write

    because there is too much hate in the world

    It is infecting our everyday life

    A 19-year-old rapes and kills a 66-year-old woman because he “had nothing better to do”

    Children can not go to a movie, school, shopping, or a basketball game

         without some kind of violence: gun, knife, or words

I write

   because school board members have personal agendas

   Teachers are burned out from testing

        tired from screaming parents (that won’t return a shopping cart)

   Students don’t even care what they will be when they grow up

   They have the newest app, Facebook friends, and 10k likes

    How can you want anything more than that?

I write

    because there is enough money

    It just isn’t used for the the things we say are important

    We preach one message but spend on something else

    Even the civility we get from the drive thru is scripted

I write

    because sunsets and sunrises never stop being beautiful

    A day is always an opportunity to show love

    Even if it is as simple as returning a few carts to the corral

I write

     for my family and friends

     To let them know I love them

     That I will stand for them

       no matter the rising waves of pain in this world

I write

  because my heart beats blood through my veins

  pulsing to my fingers

     that produce these words

     this poem

     for you to read