Together 'We'

It's In-form poetry day at Poetic Bloomings...

During our Sunday Seed this past weekend, Bill Preston reminded us in his tribute to our friend Earl Parsons, by writing a poem in the poetic form that Earl had proposed a while back. Earl call it an "Appreciate" explaining it's origin from the children chant "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate..." So as such, the stanza of the poem has two words in the first line, four in the second, six in the third line and finishes with eight words in the last line. I believe you can string stanzas together with that configuration.

So write your poem in Earl's form, Appreciate. Let him know you have him in your thoughts, and I'm sure he would certainly do just that, appreciate your efforts.

First you,

Then me, together ‘we’

And ‘we’ is better than ‘I’

Whether we laugh or whether we cry

I hate

To think of you

Alone, when we should be together

…everyone needs someone with which to weather weather

Don’t you

Agree, my dear, we,

No matter what we must weather

It is much more bearable when we’re together

© Janet Martin

Two Rispettos or One Autumn Poem Entitled Silk-Thread Toll

Today Poetic Bloomings invites us to a write a Rispetto.

A Rispetto, an Italian form of poetry, (Italian:: “respect,” – plural rispetti, a Tuscan folk verse form) is a complete poem of two rhyme quatrains. The meter is usually iambic tetrameter with a rhyme scheme of abab ccdd. A Heroic Rispetto is written in Iambic pentameter, usually featuring the same rhyme scheme.

Fretwork of farmer’s field is felled

And fruit from laden leaf-looms culled

Spring’s framework to filled fathoms meld

Bud-promises plucked, pulled and hulled

Mist-trysts on frost-kissed climes amass

Like gilded glints of shattered glass

As glitter of forgotten wars

Bedecks earth’s heath in breath-wreathed stars

***

Time’s rubric is resolute, fixed

Season-ilk spirals, silk-thread toll

Of Birth, then death; a life betwixt

Its quantum woven through with Soul

Nothing new waits where Now, newborn

Baits gated brogue of morrow’s morn

Where wonder-lust and laughter-tears

Stirs soldered dust of yesteryears

© Janet Martin

Time Is The Essence...

 Don't you LOVE, love, love what Time does with earth in Autumn?

Throw me a poetry-lure about Time and I'll bite every time;-))

That's the topic at Poetic Bloomings today.

Time is the essence

Of presence and air

Past swells, future lessens

A moment-ous affair

Nobody can still it

Or deter its course

Only One can will it

This breath by breath force

Ephemeral treasure

Appears, disappears

Pain, passion and pleasure

Shaping yester-years

When will it expire?

This temporal lease

Hinged to Something Higher

Someday Time will cease

…ah, then, in Time’s ending

Its crux is revealed

Death’s Awesome Awak’ning

In thin air concealed

© Janet Martin

Time is of the essence and the essence of Choice.

Who can usurp its immutable voice?

Its glance like a sparkle of sun on the sea

Temporal hinged to eternity

Heaven-hued

 Today's Poetic Bloomings form challenge is called a Bussokusekika.

  It is a Japanese poetic form that follows the rules of tanka, except there are six lines with three seven syllable lines that end the poem for a 5-7-5-7-7-7 syllable count.

 

Dawn, September-hued

Hints at heaven-mirrored sweeps

Streets paved with charred gold

Beneath velvet folds of mist

Earth, a table harvest-heaped

Man, a monger mercy-kissed

Grappling with Hope’s ling’ring Weight/Wait

© Janet Martin

For all the glorious joy September holds 

it cannot completely fill That Place which waits/weights for Heaven.

...while it grants golden glimpses!

Lucky Girl...(or but-by-the-grace-of-God-girl)

The reason I like to try to write to prompts is because 'writing to order' can be quite a challenge. Yesterday's Poetic Bloomings prompt was called Potluck. 

Choose any form we enjoy and write about luck.

Walt (from Poetic Bloomings) called me Lucky Girl yesterday, so I typed the title

And hoped he was right;-)

Better late than never…

 I find it utterly astounding how a lawn, completely dead-seeming can turn lush and green after a few

drenching rains...it's a great metaphor of what happens as we respond to the touch of God.

Lucky Girl

Across the return of spring-like green, surreal

After the laughter of warm August rain

The poet gazes and spins thought’s word-wheel

Willing the whisper of Muse to her brain

Sweet summer morning, unravel a poem

Revive her blight-stricken, heat-smitten mind

Blind her to the kinder duties of home

Where sometimes Poem is so hard to find

Grant this Canuck a bit of Irish luck

Charm Time’s fresh offspring with iambic smile

Humor her hunger with rhymes that don’t suck

Let her be a Lucky Girl for a while

© Janet Martin

(this poem is written strictly for the prompt because I prefer the word grace. 

Luck is such a hopeless word) 

Form: Quatrain 

Poetry Definition of Quatrain

A stanza or poem consisting of four lines. In the basic form, Lines 2 and 4 must rhyme while having a similar number of syllables.