I
Don’t sing.
My cat of
many years, Olaf,
Is always glad
To sing, to meow and yowl and
act like he is big

The W3 prompt for the week is to write a poem based on the piece of artwork show above, and, if possible, make it a Golden Shovel poem.

In a “Golden Shovel” poem, the last words in each line are, in order, words from a line of another poem. I chose an e.e. cummings poem. And struggled. Or should I say, i struggled

be-
causeif
ever
there was a poet
whos(tyl)e
set him
a- – – -part
it
was

eecummings

I wrote about an entirely fictional cat. I’m not really happy with it –the poem, that is. About as happy as I would be if I had a cat that yowled all the time. But I wanted to participate. [sigh]

The poetry form is called a Cadence. The rules are that it be written in 7 lines, that the lines follow this syllabic pattern 1-2-3-4-4-8-5, and that the end words be strong (no articles or prepositions). Well, two out of three ain’t bad, right?

The bagpipes loved the little girl
O skirly, whirly, twirly, sklirl
He hoped that he could catch her eye
As she went traipsing merrily by
She barely slowed, and so he sighed,
O skirly, whirly, sklirl

’twas lonely waiting to be seen
O skirly, whirly, twirly, skleen
The blue-eyed girl was now long gone
Off in the distance he could hear the song
Of bagpipes playing nrrrnn nrrrnn nhawn
O skirly, whirly, skleen

But who should now come into view?
O skirly, whirly, twirly, sklooo
The little girl tugging her mother’s hand,
“Mama, I want to be in the band!
To play these pipes would be so grand!”
O skirly, whirly, skloo0

She picked him up, nestling him dear
O skirly, whirly, twirly, skleeer
“Please, can I take this home with me?”
Mom started to say, “Let’s wait. We’ll see.”
But didn’t. She heard the lassie’s plea.
O skirly, whirly, skleeer

And now the rest is history
O skirly, whirly, twirly, skleee
Each is the other’s sole desire
Scotland the Brave, Mull of Kintyre
Making music all day — a girl-bagpipe choir
O skirly, whirly, skleee

This is in response to the W3 prompt this week: Write a nonsense poem with at least one invented word of your own.

I wish I could see inside your head
The swirl of thoughts all tangled there
I would take one tiny thread
I’d follow it to who-knows-where

The swirl of thoughts all tangled there
Twisted, matted, snarled, knotted
To follow one to who-knows-where
To open that which has clotted

Twisted, matted, snarled, knotted
Hopes and hurts and harms and healing
I want to open what has clotted
To understand what you’ve been feeling

Hopes and hurts and harms and healing
I wish I could see inside your head
To understand what you’ve been feeling
I would take one tiny thread

Any parent would understand this, but especially parents of older kids, parents of adolescents, parents of introverts, parents of kids who struggle for words.

This is in response to the W³ prompt — write a pantoum with at least four stanzas. A pantoum is a interwoven poem with repeats lines circling through the stanzas. Here’s the rhyme scheme for mine:

ABAB BCBC DCDC DADA