This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.
"A Poem"
In a second, everything changes.
Nothing
turns the world like when the muse
believes
in rhyme and meter. Hope sitting
like a
dream’s aftertaste, flavored in
foolish
words, found through the pen of a
poet’s heart.
Poetic Form: Waltmarie
This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2022 challenge and will be revised.
PAD Prompt: What they never tell you
Poetic Form: Kyrielle
“I was never told”
I once believed in the other
side of the mirror. I discovered
my reflection, a copycat.
I was never told about that.
I recorded songs on cassettes,
for our future roadtrip. Regret
was the rest stop I arrived at.
I was never told about that.
I write words day in and day out,
hoping my name is poet. Doubt
sounds in my ears like a high hat.
I was never told about that.
All the unwritten rules to live
by, when I think I have arrived,
I am served a new caveat.
I was never told about that.
Today is the first day of the Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing Writers' Conference. I thought it would be fun to share the works I create during this week. These works may be revised after the conference is over.
"This is a Moment"
This is a moment
The one between the lighting strike
And the thunder
Like children counting Mississippies
To know when to cower
In fear of the storm
The window panes
Rattling the historical pain
Of every tornado
That touched down in our fields
Of dreams
Tearing up the newly planted crops of stories and poems
That could one day feed the souls of this Earth
This is a moment
Filled with backward steps
Mental debates
Like standing on the high dive in June
Your dad watching
Your mom’s hand resting on his shoulder
The water looks so far away
And the teenagers are getting angry
At the bottom of the ladder
This is the moment
This is the sentence
This is the word
That allows us to crawl out of the covers
To play in the rain
12 feet above everyone
Day 24 Prompt: Question
Form: Magic 9
“Why Me?”
I question the choice of the muse,
as I grip a pen with another poetic idea.
Struggling to find the words to choose
to fill the space between me and you, reader.
I admit that the words struggle in a confused
clatter, like magnet letters falling off a fridge.
I scramble to place them back up, only to lose
the voice hibernating in my mouth ready to be a
poem. But I write, again, to keep the muses amused.
Write well they say, yet I fail.
A tall tail a price to pay.
Maybe I can’t find ways, hail
the sale of my dang dismay.
Carve my name in bright paper
a caper for the fast flight.
No daylight say skyscrapers
cuts razors right, I will write.
Poetic Form #97: Rannaigheact Mhor
The rannaigheact mhor form is a complicated Welsh form:
Quatrain with an abab rhyme scheme, including consonant end sounds
7 syllables per line
2 cross-rhymes in each couplet of each quatrain
Final word of line 3 rhymes with interior of line 4
2+ words alliterate in each line
Final word of line 4 alliterates with preceding stressed word
Final sound of the poem echoes the first sound of the poem
What word do you fear in the dark?
Doubt, loud and stark.
Why do your hands shake as you write?
I am finite.
When will there be a sense of joy?
Just a decoy.
Words fall from open wounds. Nothing
stops the harassment echoing
between the blue lines, narrowing
doubt, loud and stark. I am finite, just a decoy.
Poetic Form #88: Ovillejo
The ovillejo form is a Spanish form popularized by Miguel de Cervantes
(1547-1616). This 10-line form consists of three rhyming couplets
and a quatrain. The first line of each couplet is 8 syllables long, presenting
a question that the second line (3 or 4 syllables) responds to as an answer
or an echo. The quatrain has a cddc rhyme pattern. The final line combines
lines 2, 4, and 6 together.
The form looks like this:
Line 1: a rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 2: a rhyme in 3-4 syllables
Line 3: b rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 4: b rhyme in 3-4 syllables
Line 5: c rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 6: c rhyme in 3-4 syllables
Line 7: c rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 8: d rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 9: d rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 10: (Line 2) (Line 4) (Line 6)
No pen, no brush, has to touch paper in
this life. Nothing will be missed from art not
created from pain, joy, or any of
the heart’s languages spoken. Don’t begin
to believe a song moves a lover’s thought.
We can live a digital life, tic-tock
the only music that counts. Spending time
like our pockets are filled with enough clot
to have our name shine in the stars above.
Ignore the muse, don’t search for the end rhyme
with love.
Poetic Form #82: Curtal Sonnet
The curtal sonnet was invented in the 19th century by Gerard Manley Hopkins. The poem has 10 lines written in iambic pentameter and then a final single spondee line (a foot consisting of two long or stressed syllables).
I stand upon a hill
overlooking my city
searching for a peaceful place to write
Even though the sun
has not set
the horizon is dark and moving
like smoke
The darkness billows out
covers the land and sky
moving towards me
I follow the firework display
while darkness covers
the street and buildings
I frown as people scramble
out of buildings
only to be snuffed out
like the street lights
As my city disappears
I feel my hair move
as a breeze grows strength
In seconds the wind howls
I swear I can hear
the violent sound
of teeth gnashing
The wind tears tears from my eyes
my ears ringing
as I bow my head
I set my feet and shoulders
against the approaching darkness
now at the base of the hill
I am afraid
My chest hurts as my heart
tries to break free
to find a safer place
The darkness rushes
over me, I kneel
It sounds like a pack of wolves
but I feel no teeth
The world around me becomes silent
I wait a moment
to open my eyes
Reluctantly, I lift my lids
I see nothing
until my eyes adjust
to the darkness
I can see the faintest outlines
of the world around me
shoes, notebook and pen
On instinct, I find my
notebook, pen and thoughts
I start to write
While the ink saturates the paper
my pen becomes a light
I look up to see
other small flames
The darkness is being punctured
in the city below
stark light against the stillness
the constellation
Ursa Minor
I stand, watching the single flames
start to migrate
to the center of town
The lights move as one
becomes two
becomes three
becomes together
The darkness dissolves
in ragged patches
from the light of talent
With my pen and paper in hand
I start down the hill
to join the others
removing this blanket of darkness
