Want

"What is it you want? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy?" Her tone was sarcastic.

"All of the above, I am a fool, and I'll take what I can get."



(short I know, but sometimes that is all you need to get your point across.)

Villanelle

(okay, ever since I read yours, I have wanted to try it, and since today is the last for this week, I wanted to do one today.)


Spirits of nature, set me free.
Lift me up upon the wind.
Release my soul from lock and key.

Sing me sweet and dance me fair, into my endless bowery.
Refuse me not, saying, I have sinned.
Spirits of nature, set me free.

Set my life to dancing, under star and tree.
Spin me into the wild crosswind;
release my soul from lock and key.

Whisper promise, and court me coyly;
you, whom with my minds' entwined.
Spirits of nature, set me free.

Let roses sing and I'll bring my dowry;
and let you wander through my mind.
Release my soul from lock and key.

Bid thoughts and dreams, to blend and spring, from every passing fancy.
If thou would be so kind.
Spirits of nature, set me free.
Release my soul from lock and key.


(This is of course a Villanelle. I know some of the rhymes are more of a slant rhyme than a true rhyme....

And no, no one needs their legs broken my dear friend. Angst seemed to flow well this week for me.)

Muse

"I am waiting for the muse to move me."

"You know, I could grow old and die, waiting for you to finish this, or at least make a start.".

His eyes brightened, "Thanks Tony, that was it!"

"What was?"

Paint quickly flowed onto the canvas. "voila!"

"Oh, ha ha, Mark, very funny."

"I thought it was." Turning the painting to the light one could see a man that had been killed with a paintbrush.

(I know I have been slackerish with this one, so I thought I better get it out there.)

Want

"What is it that you want?" she asked. "Money? Fame? Popularity?"

"Acceptance and understanding," he said. "It's not that difficult to understand."

"It's hard to understand you when you're half my age and twice as smart as me," she said.

He peered up at her. "Is that weird?"

"For now. Give yourself a few years and I'll look you up."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you'll be hot in a few years, kid, and I'm patient."

Triolet

When you said you loved me,
I know now, that you lied!
My heart was given just to thee;
when you said you loved me.
Those words they set my spirit free;
now suffer the wrath of wounded pride.
When you said you loved me,
I know now, that you lied.




(This of course is a Triolet.)

Haiku

Romaji: ore no uta / wa kage no yume to / natsu no yoru

Kanji (if you can see it):
俺の歌
は影の夢と
夏の夜


Translation: My song / is the dream of a shadow and / summer nights

(I make no warrant as to the accuracy of my Japanese; form reference is here)

Muse

"Stop asking about it," she said, and dragged a hand through her hair. "Until the muse strikes, the best I can do is scribble on and hope some sort of plot evolves for me."

"Forget the plot," he said. "What you need are characters. Make your story character-driven, and they'll make the plot for you. Because people do that - make life have a plot. But only cool people. Like me."

She punched his shoulder lightly. "Still angling to be a hero in my novel, eh?"

Rondeau

Surrender life to death's embrace.
Sigh a last breath and go with grace.
Sing a last song, smile a last smile,
tell a final tale, and walk your final mile
Step through to that final, last someplace.

There, things move at a slower pace.
Treading feet, they leave no trace.
Find peace at last; thou willing exile.
Surrender life to death's embrace.

Do not to me your steps retrace,
go on and forward, find your place.
Think not on past and let regrets compile.
Go onward my friend, and walk your last mile.
Repose there under your snowy lace;
surrender life to death's embrace.



(Poetic form is the Rondeau. Funnily enough, we have a large pan in cooking that is also called a rondeau. I tried to be very conscious of grammar and punctuation, but I probably still got some wrong. Let me know eh...)

Elizabethan Sonnet

On midnight feet through streets we follow, flow
As wind or winged without pure heaven's light.
Warm prey and hunger we with glee shadow,
When human horror warns you take your flight.

Our bright black eyes and siren voices sing
And draw you down as still as carved statue.
Our hands and hearts do your destruction bring
While in your arms we gently, sweetly kiss you.

Soft lips cool linger on your throat; your sighs
Are golden mead to tease and please our ears.
Then pain sparks terror in your wide green eyes;
We are the sum of all your darkest fears.

Our kiss of death brings forth the drink of life:
We walk in beauty on the edge of a knife.

(I even went for the iambic pentameter, though it's highly imperfect. Elizabethan Sonnet)

Sestina

Under the silver-blue glow of moon
A prentice lingers in a vale of shadow
With eyes on the sky, in hope of flight.
From remnants of scream-shattered dream
Out of his hay-loft bed he rose,
Pausing for warming-whiskey to swallow.

Stars fade under a winging swallow;
Our prentice stumbles, a thorn pains his palm, a rose
To pick for a fair maiden of a dream.
At his image fair maidens take flight.
Beneath a cloak he hides in shadow
And wonders of a maiden's kiss under a May Eve moon.

Velvet blue arcs across sky in graceful flight;
Our prentice tastes longing to be that swallow,
But Master's fists bury his dream.
He fears the madness of the moon,
The desperate weeping in speaking in shadow.
Our prentice smiles and plucks a rose.

As velvet wings, the petals of a rose
Along his arms would give him flight
If his heart's desire he spoke in shadow
And avian flesh he dared to swallow.
Warm blood, he moans, in fever of moon
And cold vale breeze, he prays, in dream.

Starlight and ice-wind is no dream;
His father from prentice station rose
And defied the fever of the moon
To capture the key of human flight -
Flee human form, take that of swallow,
And soar beyond a midnight shadow.

From under cloak he flings off shadow
And bares his face to cold beyond dream,
From mid-air snatches the winging swallow
And plucks it clean, just as the rose.
Its petals along his arms grant flight -
Free, and on wing he seeks the moon.

Fallen, the dream, an un-petal'd rose,
As prentice-swallow he takes first flight
In silver-blue shadows beneath far moon.

(European form: Sestina; harder than the professionals make it look)

Tanka

To death I go down,
And you have abandoned me.
The autumn of life,
of my life, in twain with thee.
Cold and barren now seems to be.






(This is a Japanese form known at the Tanka, it is similar to the Sonnet in feel, but it follows more closely to the Haiku style poem, following a 5/7/5/7/7 Syllable count. The form can be found here.)

Hover

The butterfly hovered over the drowsing girl on the ground; and made as if to land. Gently brushing her cheek it alighted on her soft warm skin and walked across her flesh.

The girl giggled and the butterfly took off.

"Hey momma, I just got a butterfly kiss."

Cinquain

Spin around in spring times rush.
Dance upon the sunlit fields.
Revel in the seasons first bursting blush.
Live for spring, winter it has healed.
Until unto winter, spring again yields.



(this is a European form known as the Cinquain. Let me know if it didn't make much sense)

Hover

"Don't hover," she snapped. "I hate it when people read over my shoulder."

"I'm not hovering," he returned, tartly. "I just happen to be crammed into the same space as you because, oh, yeah, we're lab partners. Let it go."

"Stop bickering and get a room already - maybe next class you'll be more pleasant," the girl at the next table said.

The silence that fell over their corner of the chem lab was thick enough to slice with a knife.

Then the teacher laughed.

Rondeau

And so I lie in starlit fields
While grass beneath my corpse fast yields.
I ponderous hear the nightingale songs;
Though for your embrace my body longs
My mind demands me my weapon wield.

Moonstone shadows my face do shield.
My voice, my mien so even-keeled
As with regret I speak you wrong
And to you I lie in starlit fields.

My gaze and courage I silently steeled
When for forgiveness I should be reeled
Down to my knees before the throngs
To confess my heart and spoken wrongs.
But guns and shells my soul unsealed
And so I lie in starlit fields.

(The rhyme isn't perfect - doggone plurals - but this is a European form known as a Rondeau)

Spencerian Sonnet

The end has come at last to me,
Here I say goodby.e
Do not mourn for I am free,
When it is my time to die.

Oh, sweet hours that we have spent, how quickly they do fly
to us night is ever drawing nearer
and in you arms I lie
In the moonlight here I smile, shadows dancing in the mirror

My eyes, my love are growing dimmer
I sigh a final breath
They, to loose their brightest glimmer
When I am gone to death.

Heart is warm, though body chill
I'll remember you, my love, when I am under hill.




(This is a Spencerian Sonnet and the form is here)

Triolet

How often I sought your forgiveness
For words I never spoke
Don't you know the years of earnestness
How often I sought your forgiveness?
Despite your unyielding stubbornness
To never fix what never broke,
How often I sought your forgiveness
For words I never spoke.

(Poetic form Triolet)

Aware

Are you aware of the consequences of your actions? No? Then go ahead. Follow the beautiful girl into the shadows, see how well your parents take it when your exsanguinated corpse is found the next morning. People will wonder where you went for about three weeks if she hides you well, or maybe she'll let you live and give you to her lupine brothers as a snack.

Don't trust the pretty girls, not when you look like you do.

An easy mark.

English sonnet

Tread lightly upon my heart,
you who do not intend to stay.
Make is possible to have a fresh start,
Walk along the side paths and pass me on my way.

Do not offer you hand, only to let me fall.
Do not make me wish for things that could never be.
Do not leave me waiting to hear your final call.
Do not make me to blind to see.

Tread lightly, tread lightly.
Leave no trace behind.
Always deal rightly,
With hearts that you may find.

Do not chain my soul to thee.
Teach my heart, then set me free.



(Link for the form.)

Overview #6 Shakespeare

This week was a little tougher than I thought, I came to realize that it has been a long time since I have read these plays, and some that I have not read at all. I noticed that I turned to the Sonnets, and tried to avoid my first impulse which was to use lines that everyone knows. I did use lines from Macbeth and Midsummer Nights Dream, because I love those plays and are the most familiar with them. I could not resist using some of those pieces. I have come to realize that I need to reread his works. I was also glad that I could work with Nagi on revising my work.

I noted that I used the sonnets like a conversation, or as something written. I like how the Sonnets lend themselves sometimes to a conversation.

All in all, a good writing week.

Villanelle

I never asked your soul to be my light.
My request was not in asking but in mocking.
I guide my feet with my own voice and dim-lit sight.

No mortal could attain your Himalayan height,
Not in study or fervent begging, praying.
I never asked your soul to be my light.

No angelic wing could glide in similar flight,
Nor heavenly hymn match crystalline-note singing.
I guide my feet with my own voice and dim-lit sight.

What hammer-fall could prove your acts but right?
Earthly authority will never attain just judging.
I did not ask your soul to be my light.

Though thunder rages are your perceived slight,
My mortal hands refuse the self-wrought wringing.
I guide my feet with my own voice and dim-lit light.

For all the illusions by which you paint yourself sun-bright,
At the clarion call you'll feel the trap door falling.
I never asked your soul to be my light.
I guide my feet with my own voice and dim-lit sight.

(Closed form is European Villanelle)

Project #7: Closed Form Poetry

That's right, boys and girls, it's time for a little poetry! There will be no word restrictions for this week's assignment; the restrictions will be guided by the form of the poetry alone. Write a closed form poem every day, and choose a different form for each poem. For the sake of this assignment, The Management recognizes the different forms of sonnet (terza rima, Elizabethan, Petrarchan/Italian). If the poem requires only a certain rhyme scheme, don't sweat over a meter scheme. Please be kind and post a link to a reference that demonstrates the form of the poem in abstract terms (e.g. the rhyme scheme of the Elizabethan Sonnet as ABAB CDCD EFEF GG). Don't be afraid to use a form someone else used on a prior occasion, but try not to be a lemming about it.

Overview #6 - Shakespeare

This was a really fun challenge. The difficulty for me, of course, was in resisting the urge to lines lines from all my favorite plays. I ended up failing as Twelfth NIght, Othello, and Julius Caesar all ended up on the chopping block. It was surprisingly easy to pick some of the lesser-known quotes because the famous ones don't often lend themselves to modern conversation unless used as a direct allusion. This week's project was, for me, really an exercise in dialogue. There was at least one piece wherein the quote I used wasn't spoken aloud, but then it was written in a note, which has more or less the same effect of the spoken word. I was eager to use my favorite line from Venus & Adonis, so that came first, hands down. I felt like the old-fashioned diction didn't always lend itself to the use to which I put it, and that annoys me in retrospect. I also did feel as though I was stalling out. Dialogue is one of my favorite methods of characterizations, because what people say reveals so much of who they are, and I should have stretched myself, looked for a way to hide the quote in the description of a place or thing. Maybe if we do a reprise of this challenge I can try for that. Overall, however, it was an enjoyable exercise, and I got to flex my wings a bit with dialogue.

Julius Caesar

He stood on the wooden platform. The crowd milled around the platform, standing in the mud. He hadn’t thought he’d rated such a reception, that the locals would brave the weather to bear witness to his end, but then he supposed he would be flattered - if he’d done what they thought he had.

The man beside him trembled.

“Cease your shaking,” Tristram said. “You’ll jolt us out of our boots.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” the man asked.

“Afraid of what?” Tristram fixed his gaze on the horizon. If he looked hard enough, he could see the spire from the cathedral of his home shire.

“Afraid to die.”

“No.”

The man gaped.

Tristram continued gazing straight ahead as he spoke. “Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I have yet heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”

“You’re really not afraid?”

“It’s a bit difficult to be afraid of the inevitable,” Tristram said.

The man opened his mouth to ask something more, but then the bailiff stepped onto the platform, made a grand show of checking the rope collars around the prisoners’ necks.

“Any last words?” he asked, leering at Tristram. His hand was on the lever.

Tristram said, “Cry ‘Havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war.”

The platform fell out from under his feet, the rope jerked taut.

Enemy troops descended.

(Word count: 250; quotes from Julius Caesar)

Sonnet CXLVII

"I don't know you anymore."

Kim looked up from her screen for the briefest moment at Gavin, but said nothing. He would continue to speak, whether she wanted him to or not.

"You have changed so much that if I were to pass you on the street, I would not recognize you." Gavin was frustrated with his friend. She had changed not only her personality but her looks as well. He truly would not recognize her, and neither would her enemies.

"What do you want Gavin? Are you here just to try to get me to stop my downward spiral into hell?" Kim's tone was mocking.

"No." Gavin said simply. "I was just hoping that you would see what you are becoming."

"Of course I know what I am, and what I am becoming," Kim smiled, a wicked twist of the mouth, "I am becoming the Angel of Vengeance."

"But..."

"Go away."

Gavin turned to leave, his parting words, "For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night."

With that Gavin left the room, swearing to himself that this would be the last time he tried to reason with Kim; but he knew it was a lie.

(This is Sonnet CXLVII)