Yes, all of the world is a stage my friends At least it is told what the people say From when we begin until our time ends Our too brief ride held in Sol’s sweet sway And it matters not what part we will play For as prince or pawn is roll of the die At Act I, Scene I: curtains rise: we all cry
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Tonight at dVerse Frank challenges us to “is to write a poem with seven lines.” For those who want to go a further we are challenged to make it like a Chaucerian stanza/Rime Royal – is a seven-line poem in iambic pentameter with a rhyme scheme of ABABBCC.
And I don’t want the world to see me Cause I don’t think that they’d understand When everything’s made to be broken I just want you to know who I am “Iris” by the Goo-Goo Dolls / “City of Angels” Soundtrack
Some question my sanity year after year That I’ m not quite right is abundantly clear Stepping in and out of darkened lucidity The voices in my head are mostly a minor din But that yellow dress you wore that day did me in It was the red cape to the bull of my insanity And the voice gained control was full of hate As you stepped to me smiling sealing your fate For my mood was downright ugly And I don’t want the world to see me
I don’t deny what I’ve done to some women is sick But you weren’t like those yacht girls who fall so quick All their smiling as they think I’m at their command They dangle promises of a young love so sweet But it’s me holding their hearts, feeling their heat And then ripping it from them with my bare hand But you, you disregard all concepts of my deceiving My inner voices wondering why aren’t you leaving Never having had an experience like this firsthand ‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
False yore flows from my cruel lips with ease Yards of lies with an inch of truth to please The truth a means of passage, merely a token So you yawn in my face, knowing it’s unwise And yet you laugh seeing the truth in all the lies Behind every filthy word I’ve ever spoken From you the truth shines bright and sure The lightness of your heart, ywis so pure But can I believe your heart is solid – oaken? When everything’s made to be broken
And so you survived more than just the night Even knowing down deep I may never be right For goodness knows I really didn’t give a damn If you drowned in all the tears you yield Brought on by all these damn fears I field ‘Cause you were never part of the program But you’re still here and nothing denies How I yearn for the feel of your light in my eyes But mine are the eyes of a tragedy ma’am I just want you to know who I am
<>========<> One of my favorite poetry forms: a Glosa.
Swearing up a blue streak The grain of his outer staff Perfectly matching my inner sculpture I weather the frothy current Tinkling down the esophageal path In a flight of carnal – carnival – carnivore joy The apparition of the newly dead bird laid to rest
The morning air purred contentedly
In azures bright and clearly
Enough to see forever
Comforting as a warm wrap and a good read
Oh put it in a box for me indeed
In retrospect I should have known better
Of course it’s going to turn like this
The barometer drops to ruin my bliss
And the azures hiss and howl to a sleet of slate
I retrieve my umbrella placed out of sight
For the barking and caterwauling out tonight
Felines and canines dampening on our date
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Having silliness with a common analogy for uncommon weather
Dawn finds me at the window waiting for the sunlight
As once again I suffered another sleepless night
The once brilliant stars no longer seem as bright
Because you’re not here with me to enjoy the sight
I carry this sense of gloom in the noon of day
The things once beautiful no longer hold sway
I never dreamed how your voice my mind can replay
Or how for the lack of you, my heart does decay
I never guessed how deep
Was your love’s imbue
The vast emptiness inside me
That only you can fill
How much of my life is
Wrapped around yours too
I pray to let you know
Baby, yes I do, love you still
These walls still hold your laughter, carry your scent
A bittersweet symphony that cause my heart’s rent
And staying away from home, does not pain circumvent
For all the reminders of you, in every place we once went
Only when the synergy was gone, did I understand our rapport
How I can’t seem to lift myself, for it’s you who helps me soar
A call, a letter, name it, baby I’m on my knees ready to implore
To beg, to plead, anything to hold you in my arms once more
Our friends say that we are living in a hellish trance
You know without each other, neither of us can advance
I vow to replace every stolen moment of our romance
Just give me the chance, baby, please give me the chance
I never guessed how deep
Was your love’s imbue
The vast emptiness inside me
That only you can fill
How much of my life is
Wrapped around yours too
I pray to let you know
Baby, yes I do, love you still
Time
Tick tock
Transient
It can stand still
Yet keeps on moving
Hands
Digits
Grains of sand
It crawls or flies
But keeps on moving
All
What comes
Before and after
From womb to tomb
It keeps on moving
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I begin National Poetry Month 2020 with an Arun.
Created by friend and blogger GirlGriot. An Arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable and increasing by one syllable with each line. 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x. There are no other rhyme or structural requirements.
On Monday Linda asked us to create a little magic in quadrille – a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title using the word of the day: magic.
On Tuesday for Poetics Mish asks us to contemplate the following by Mizuta Masahide:
“Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon.”
Use it as inspiration to note experiences of our own personal insight or enlightenment and pen a poem.
I am minded through these trying times that just because we can’t always see the joy in life, does not mean it’s not there waiting to be noticed again for those who remember to look.
It’s not the breadth of his shoulders Or the warmness of his gut It’s not the stride of his long legs, That oh so proud strut
It’s not the coin of his bank Saved in bunches To cope with any fallout From rainy-day punches
Nor is it being held in his strong arms, A niche for me made so dear It is his deep rumble of sweet nothings Whispering everything in my ear
<>==========<> Tonight at dVerse, Björn challenges us to Listen to Lists. Be creative, use any type of list and then write a poem from that list. Let it grow, and be inspired by rhymes and metaphors.
