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Let’s all Waltz Wave
This form asks for a one-stanza titled poem, with nineteen lines; each line has a set number of syllables. Pattern: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 2, 1. Words may be split into syllables to fit the pattern. This form seems to educe a soothing cadence as the lines gently increase and decrease, so it is suggested that topic chosen for this form also be soothing.
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
Like I have so many nights before, watching the time carve by
I know that this cattle drive, was worth all the time of the run
But on nights likes these, no nights like these are never any fun
The ambiance of a crystal clear night, I cannot deny
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
But all my thoughts now turn to you, as I watch the campfire
Each flame a flimsy copy, of you when filled with desire
Those jolts of emerald flashes, which herald your fluid moods
How well I’ve learned to read them, the bad, the ugly and the good
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
My longing for your touch is so deep, I damn well want to cry
I squeak out a prayer to the heavens, that you still feel the same
Upon my return to you, I shall ask you to share my name
In the meantime, the thoughts of your dew soft skin just get me by
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
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Welcome students! – Today’s form is the Quartern.
The quatern is yet another French form. It consists of four stanzas of four lines, or sixteen total lines. The quatern is a syllabic form, meaning that there are a required number of syllables per line. Traditionally there are eight (8) syllables per line (or tetrameter, to those who want to get all technical), but it does NOT have to be iambic!! (Yes, I took very creative license by using fifteen syllables in my example above.)
The other trait of the quatern is that there is a repeating refrain, similar to a kyrielle. In this case, the refrain is repeated one line lower in the poem in each stanza until in the fourth stanza it’s the fourth line, like below…
Line 1 (refrain)
Line 2
Line 3
Line 4
Line 5
Line 1 again (Line 6)
Line 7
Line 8
Line 9
Line 10
Line 1 again (Line 11)
Line 12
Line 13
Line 14
Line 15
Line 1 again (Line 16)
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I know some curse
This perverse form
dVerse I smile.
For all the while
Poets style, words
Beguile, they do!
Sweet Pub ‘tis true
My thanks due, yes
To you in verse.
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Because I just know the widget will expire if I try to wait until much later to post this, I do so now. My sincere thanks to all of you who attempted this week’s Form For All the Than Bauk. I have enjoyed these past two days reading all the fun, poignant, dark, wonderful and deliciously interesting takes on the form.
I walk the rows of the garden
Whispering voices the only sound
Passing by the stark white blooms
Rising from the hallowed ground
And I gaze upon all the blossoms
Row upon row to infinity unknown
Fingers lightly touch this newest bloom
Here in the garden, garden of stone
Each bloom marking lives young and old
Lives that eventually have stilled
Some blooms have seen many an age
Some are as fresh this grave just tilled
A flag waves softly in the wind
Today at half-mast flown
Standing for the one who no longer can
Here in the garden, garden of stone
Scattered about these many blooms
Are others who are here like me
Honoring their own seeds fallen
Into these blooms for eternity
Hand slanted to brow, we are all together
Hand held over heart, yet each all alone
In laughter and tears and memories
Here in the garden, garden of stone
For they are children far too short
To appreciate their own youth
Their spirits grow old far too fast
To live and die with that cold truth
Thus mourning comes, as sure as dawn
In the 21 guns of honor shone
For we who are left behind still grieve
Here in the garden, garden of stone
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Gleam in His eye
A Memory
Ashes to Ashes
Longevity?
With blessings well aged
With blessings well saged
A many decade writer
Hopefully equal giver and receiver
Always a friend
And of course a Diva
At the beginning of my world-travels
Patient when a holiday light unravels
A Home Owner
An Amorous Wife
Luckily better at inciting passion
Sometimes the cause of strife
Professional at Work
Part-time Jerk
Occasional Fighter
Mother of another
Mother
Poetess
A Daughter
Alive
Me
Gleam in His eye
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While yet I find you waiting in my dreams
It’s though we’re not meant for the light of day
The sunlight hides your face from me it seems
I have no idea just what all this means
This haunt my subconscious has wont to play
While yet I find you waiting in my dreams
Your face so near yet blinded by moonbeams
Your face so gone when lords of light hold sway
The sunlight hides your face from me it seems
A hapless pawn I am in these grand schemes
You hide at the first hint of sun’s display
While yet I find you waiting in my dreams
Or do you have a hand in these extremes
These rules I have no choice but to obey
The sunlight hides your face from me it seems
You’re here at Nox’s whims but yet it deems
That Eos equally keeps you at bay
The sunlight hides your face from me it seems
While yet I find you waiting in my dreams
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Form for All: Physics and the Art of the Villanelle
Dawn the first light to sparkle on the water
Breaking apart the morning mist
Drying dew drops that gather in the night
Doing their part to add to the mystique
They land on top of the fine fronds
Of the snowy milkweeds
Turning them into small diamond bursts
In search of the rising sunlight
For three days I’ve tried to capture this
For three days I’ve failed miserably
Technical and yes, user difficulties
But today, today feels like the day I won’t blow it
Still, I pull out my rabbit’s foot and give it a smooch
Then my Nikon to check the aperture settings
And with one last kiss, I snap the shot…perfect!
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In the courtyard with his guitar
On a warm and starry spring night
Standing near the glow of lamplight
And sings of love so near, so far
He sings of longing as a scar
A deep wound of internal bleed
A wound of perpetual need
Soft chords wrapped tight in notes blue
A testament his heart is true
Love eternal in every deed
She knows it’s her he’s singing to
She hears each note that bear his pains
Within the blood of her own veins
His longing sears her through and through
For it’s a love long overdue
She’s never known the like before
As it’s his heart that makes hers soar
His tender words gently hold sway
Her heart she’ll give to him always
Lets him and love into her door
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So it has been for many of my years
My dreams do stage all my hopes and my fears
Dreams that come to me when it’s not quite day
Or in the moments before night holds sway
A gale force of winter, a zephyr of spring
Hard as I try, their memory won’t cling
The dreams are but a moment, a most fleeting thing
Leaving just an impression of their core
Hints warning or guidance no less no more
As a true rule of thumb it is not much
But I’ve learned lessons on not heeding such
Never truly day, never truly night
This whispering place between dark and light
So clearly seen to me, but not within my sight
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‘Aladdin’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’ no longer hold a charm
‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ have lost their sway
The sound of glass breaking, holds not the same alarm
When I could conceive a multitude of frights just yesterday
Macaroni and glitter artwork, stuff that used to be bane
Along with a medal made of paper, in the scrapbook
A box with a bundle of model trains and cars and planes
Memories past, that bellow for a just another look
Emphasizing the second syllable of the word every
The volcano project that was quite a bit unstable
The melted chocolate cookie smile used to distract me
From the crumbly mess left on the kitchen table
The children who couldn’t fib, looking me in my eyes
The kids I couldn’t trust not to burn the toast
The brats who threw a party and told straight-faced lies
When confronted with evidence of their being such gallant hosts
The con-men who know ‘Please mother?’ from ‘Mommy PUH-LEEZE??’
The house slaves with laundry finished and dinner cooked, ready to serve
The hooligans who greet me at the door when I take too long fumbling with my keys
The young men who offer the aspirin, sensing I’ve had a day that tested my nerves
These days I find myself staring a little longer at their faces
And the tones of their voices, to my memory, I try hard to adhere
Some mother’s instinct I suppose, preparing for empty spaces
That once remote chance of their leaving, now drawing near
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