Holidays

Here it is, the first Friday of the New Year, and the first poem. This poem was written in response to the homework assignment given by my poetry group, which was to write a poem about tradition. I’m not sure this is what the assignment had in mind, but it is what it is.

I’m not exactly in love with it, so I might try a different approach at some point.


Holidays

A kiss, a cheer, it’s Happy New Year
A toast for good things to come
We won’t miss the past, though it didn’t go fast,
This year left us all feeling numb.

With candy and cards, poems from the bards
Love often gets carried away
With chocolate and hearts, Cupid’s sharp darts,
Celebrate Valentine’s Day.

A toast with green beer, raise your flagon and cheer
And join me in dancing a reel
It’s St. Paddy’s Day, and the pipers can play
While we dine on a green tinted meal.

Chocolate galore, egg hunts and more
But there’s more to Easter than games
He died on the cross, we mourn for his loss
, He took all our sins without blame.

On Canada Day, fireworks will display
And color the sky with their light
Picnics and games, barbecue flames
The party lasts into the night.

Now summer is done, Labour Day’s come
No more barbecues, beaches or fun
Soon leaves will turn, piles of them burn
The season of fall has begun.

We all gather ‘round, a table that’s crowned
With the annual Thanksgiving meal
Turkey and sides, new dishes tried
A bounty that’s sure to appeal.

A fire of bones, ringed by dark stones
To celebrate All Hallow’s Eve
Witches and cats, pumpkins and bats
And ghosts for those who believe.

The stockings are hung, the carols are sung
The lights of Christmas shine bright
A star in the sky, leads wisemen nigh
To the babe in the manger this night.

Lost Girls

Here’s the thing. I’m having a bad week, so there’s no prompt story.

However, I keep getting these single lines, sometimes two or three lines, popping into my head out of nowhere and then yesterday I got had the first verse of a poem just suddenly appear in my head.

Now the unusual thing about this is, I haven’t really been writing poetry this year. I’ve met up with my poetry group I think three times so far, but other than spiffing up a previously written poem, I’ve had nothing new to contribute.

So having this partial poem appear and having no prompt story, I figured why not finish the poem and post it here? And furthermore, I’m thinking maybe I’ll even post a poem once every month or so, just for a change of pace.

It will give me a break from the prompt stories (which can get rather irksome), and it’ll get me writing a poem once in awhile.

So . . . here you go. My first bona fide poem of 2020. I’m not sure that it’s done yet, but it’s done enough to share.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Lost Girls

I remember those girls
peas in a pod
full of dreams
full of hope
they were going to be
best friends forever
but somehow I lost them
paths diverged
out of step
out of time
gone

I look for them everywhere
in the mall
in the park
in the mirror
but they’ve left
without looking back
leaving a trail
of broken dreams
broken promises
broken lives
behind

Dreamers of Dreams

My poems are a disorganized mess. I really need to find some way of organizing them and keep track of which ones I’ve shared already and which ones I haven’t. At one time I had a blog dedicated to poetry forms and I was writing one a week, but I found the pace a little hard to keep up and the poems suffered because of it.

Last year I only wrote 25 new poems but I like to think it was quality over quantity. This year I unfortunately haven’t been keeping track, so I can only guess that I’ve written about a dozen or so. Again, I need to find a way of keeping track.

At any rate, if you write poetry the chances are good that you also read a lot of poetry, like I do. And there’s nothing I enjoy more than discovering a new poem or poet. So I’ve decided that I’m going to start sharing some of my favourite poems once a month, starting with a today.

I’m pretty sure a lot of you have read this poem before, but even if you haven’t I’m sure you’ll all agree that you don’t have to be a poet to enjoy it. Whether you write poetry or not, I think all writers are dreamers of dreams.

Ode

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy

Passion For Poetry - Dansa Poetry Form

Not only do I have a new poem to share today, I have a new form as well! Be still my heart - can the end of the world be far behind? LOL

Today’s form is the dansa, which is an Occitan verse form developed late in the thirteenth century by the troubadours in southern France. It’s actually fairly simple, which makes me wonder why I never tried it before.

It’s short, only three verses. You start with a one line refrain that’s repeated at the end of each verse, so the first verse has five lines and the other two verses have four. The rhyme scheme is Abba(A) bba(A) bba(A). Easy peasy.

Now, having nothing more to say about this form, here's my example:


Mythic Wind

The wind has blown a myth to me.
He came to me within a storm
I let him in one early morn
He was the fairest man to see
The wind has blown a myth to me.

With cloven hoof and curling horn
He was not from a human born
His eyes they held a silent plea
The wind has blown a myth to me.

His sweet embrace was oh, so warm
A night with him I was reborn
And now we dwell beside the sea
The wind has blown a myth to me.

Dreaming

Wednesday kind of snuck up on me. There I was making excellent progress on a story I was working on, when all of a sudden I realized I was supposed to be posting a poem.

And I was actually going to try to write something new for a change, only, well, it was midnight when I started this post and my brain was not fully in gear. In fact, it took several tries before I rooted out even an old poem to use.

I’m pretty sure I was around thirty when I wrote this poem, which is kind of funny when you consider the subject matter. But just to give you a little perspective on the way my mind works ... I have a sister who’s ten years older than me, so when she turned thirty I was only twenty and I thought thirty was positively ancient. She has never forgiven me for the hard time I gave her. LOL


Dreaming

If I could live another’s life, my world their point of view
Oh, how happy I could be to do the things they do.
Instead of drab existence, a life more richly led
A wish fulfillment fantasy - another’s path to tred.

If I could have the romance that others seem to find,
The passion everlasting, the closeness so divine
The happiness I would derive from such a life as this
Seems to me the best that I could ever hope to wish.

If I could find adventure, the kind others seem to find
How exciting life would be - a mystery to unwind
Flights of fancy lead me to far exotic lands
Filled with wondrous peoples and vistas ever grand.

If I could see the dreams I dream come to life at last
The way that others seem to do then when the dreaming’s passed
I could look back upon a life and see what others see
And feel the satisfaction, that dreaming caused to be.

If I could live my life once more now that I’m at the end
I’d live a life that’s real this time instead of one pretend.
I’d do the things I dream about and when my life is gone
There’d be no regrets, as there is now, for things I’ve never done.

Terzanelle

This form is a little ... shall we say ... challenging. It was invented by Lewis Turco in 1965, and for those of somewhat familiar with poetry forms, it combines the villanelle’s refrain with the terza rima’s end line patterning. What truly makes it challenging is the number rules for it:

1. It is a fixed form of 19 lines - five triplets and a quatrain.
2. The body is comprised of tercets that each refrain the second line of the preceding tercet for its third line.
3. The first line of each of these tercets is rhymed with its refrained line.
4. The first and third lines of the opening tercet are refrained as the second and fourth lines of the closing quatrain.
5. The closing quatrain refrains the second line of the last tercet as its third line and rhymes its first line with that refrain.
6. Lines may be in any length or meter within reason.
7. Terzanelles may be written on any subject.

Got that now? There’ll be a test later. ;-)


Dragonflight

The wind is sighing through the trees,
The warmth of summer shimmers ‘round;
Magic‘s found in days like these.

A forest pool, a wild playground,
Where water lilies are abloom,
The warmth of summer shimmers ‘round.

A wafting scent of rare perfume;
The air is soft with ambient light
Where water lilies are abloom.

Who directs your soaring flight,
Free spirit wandering where it will.
The air is soft with ambient light.

You dip and weave and fly with skill -
I’d follow if I only could,
Free spirit wandering where it will

I watch you flitter through the wood;
The wind is sighing through the trees.
I’d follow if I only could -
Magic is found in days like these.


If you’d like to learn more about the Terzanelle, try one of the following links:
Shadow Poetry 
Writer's Digest 
The Poet's Garret  
Popular Poetry Forms 

If you give it a try, I’d love to see what you come up with. If you email it to me at carolrward(at)gmail(dot)com, I’ll post it here next Wednesday. And if you don’t, then you’re going to be stuck reading a couple of poems that survived junior high school.

How’s that for incentive? :-D

Light On Her Feet

Once again the last Friday of the month has snuck up on me, although to be fair, May ends Thursday next week so I feel I should be granted some leeway. But a promise is a promise, so ready or not, here we are. :-D

Here’s a reminder of the prompt picture:

As you know, the idea of these prompts is to inspire you to creativity. It doesn’t matter whether it’s fiction, non-fiction, or poetry just so long as you write something. In my case I’m working on a short story that seems to keep changing, necessitating me going back and changing the beginning. I may, or may not, finish it later today. Or tonight. Or tomorrow.

In the meantime, the oh-so-talented Jamie DeBree sent me this lovely poem inspired by my prompt. It makes me wish I’d done a poem too - maybe I will eventually. ;-)

Light on Her Feet

Like a bright burning
filament she
dances,
flickering,
mesmerizing,
hypnotizing all
who dare stare into her flame.

While you’re waiting for my story, I suggest you check out Jamie’s on-line serial, Rattlesnake Falls. And if you’re curious about how the characters ended up where they did, drop Jamie a line and if you ask nicely she’ll catch you up.

Now cross your fingers and check back tonight, and if the planets are in the right alignment I just might have my story up too.

See you later.

A Poem For Remembrance Day

Here in Canada, the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month is the time and date set aside for to honour those who have fallen in armed conflicts, chosen because that was when hostilities ceased during World War I. I think there are very few families whose lives have not been touched by the loss of a grandparent, parent, child, or some other relative who has served their country. There have been so many conflicts since World War I, and so many losses.

Despite the fact this year marks the 100th anniversary of the iconic Remembrance Day poem, In Flanders Fields, by John McCrae, I felt the urge to write my own poem of remembrance and I'd like to share it with you here.


Always

I remember my grandfather.
He liked to draw
and when I was very small
he taught me the proper way
to draw a pine tree.
He served
with the St. John's Ambulance
as a driver
in World War I and II.
I will never forget.

I remember my uncle.
He like to read
Louis L'Amour
and to work with
anything mechanical.
He served
as a tail gunner
in a British Lancaster
in World War II before
he became a POW.
I will never forget.

I remember my father.
He liked to work with his hands;
he loved power boats
and used to take me fishing
when I was a child.
He served
with the Canadian Armed Forces
as a Peace Keeper
in Egypt and Korea.
I will never forget.

I remember my brother-in-law.
He had a ready smile
and loved to play pranks.
He carved wood and leather;
he was an amazing artist.
He served
with the American Armed Forces
and fought in Korea.
I will never forget.

These men are my family.
I do not need
a single day
to remember them.
I will remember them
each and every day.
Always.