What would you do? He picked up the bird, threw it high What would you do? ’twas only stunned but now it flew! And as it climbed into the sky My friend breathed out a little sigh What would you do?
This is my response to the W3 prompt. It’s based on a story a friend told me. He had seen the bird crash into something and was motionless in a field. He could see it was still alive though.
The challenge was to write a rondelet. The rondelet contains a single septet (a verse of seven lines); a refrain; a strict rhyme scheme; and a distinct meter pattern. This is the basic structure:
Line 1: A—four syllables (refrain)
Line 2: b—eight syllables
Line 3: A—repeat of line one (refrain)
Line 4: a—eight syllables
Line 5: b—eight syllables
Line 6: b—eight syllables
Line 7: A—repeat of line one (refrain)
The refrained lines should contain the same words, however substitution or different use of punctuation on the lines has been common.
From All your Ev’ry day Experience – Choose that which you love Or that thing which inspires More than mediocrity. You have your own unique talent Lurking, waiting for discovery From all your ev’ry day experience
This is my response to the W3 prompt this week. The challenge was to write a Dectina Refrain, a poem which, syllable-wise goes 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10, but that last line is the first four lines put together in one line. Got it?
Oh — and the theme was “free” in any form. I went with free as in autonomy.
I’ve been thinking a lot about jobs and careers and that sort of thing. I’m so proud of all my children. I encouraged them individually to pursue that which they love. That way work is work but it isn’t really work because you mostly love it, right?
Autonomy in the workplace can be the key to truly loving a job. When you can do what you do, without someone breathing down your neck, micromanaging everything you do — well, THAT is amazing. Then work really isn’t work, just passion and, ultimately, a job well done.
Boy! Mustard, Oil, gum, grease, tar. I’m flustered! Nothing can remove this shirt Dirt
It’s the W3 challenge. The PoW challenged us to write an Acrostic Poem using the word “BOND”. As a theme, she wanted the poem to be about something or someone we are bound to or share a bond with. Alternatively, we could write about two or more things that are bound together.
Can you think of a tighter bond than stains and fabric? Okay, okay — I’m sure there are lots, but still, a stain has quite a bond, right?
This is yet another Deibide Baise Fri Toin, an Irish form with an aabb rhyme scheme and syllable count of 3-7-7-1 for each stanza. The first two lines rhyme on a 2 syllable word and the last two lines rhyme on one syllable.
Honestly, I put my poem in the same category as the following poem which appeared in an old Adventures in Odyssey episode about a boy who was struggling with poetry assignments in school — you know, all that symbolism and metaphor nonsense. He was a brick and mortar type kid. He wrote the following poem about pants.
I put on pants every day. To go to school or to play. I like pants.
Sometimes I wear pants of blue, Or brown to go with my shoe. I like pants.
Sometimes I feel sorry for ants. Because they can’t wear pants. I like pants.
Pants cover my legs so that I can go. Without them I would be cold I know. I like pants. I like them so.
Line: Point A to B ≠ strength. Conversely Circle: pointless and centered
The W3 challenge this week was to write either 1) a haiku, 2) a tanka, or 3) a senryu and use the word “strength” in it.
I looked up senryu because I didn’t know what it was. “The senryu is a three-line Japanese poetic form that focuses on human nature, generally with an ironic or darkly comedic edge.” (from Masterclass) It has 17 syllables, like a haiku, but I gave up on 5-7-5. Also, I decided that ≠ is one syllable. Of course, it’s not.
This may not seem human nature-ish, and it isn’t funny, but I had read something the other day that said Jesus drew circles, not lines. It stuck with me.
A bully draws lines in the sand and taunts those on the other side. Love includes them. There’s my human nature angle. (Angle — sheesh — I’ve got geometry on the brain!)
Note to David: I’m not submitting this to the W3 because it’s really not in keeping with the rules of the challenge. It was inspired by the challenge, but not a senryu.
That crescent Half-hidden, luminescent Resting on clouds in un-stark Dark
Moon inspires Because it only requires Mass gravity sun to be Free
It’s waxing Now – growing, growing. Maxing At full. Sun reflected bright Light
Such beauty The moon is never snooty! It brings delight to the sky [sigh]
My desire — Be like the moon and conspire To make people smile when they see Me
This is my contribution to the W3 prompt this week. This week’s Poet of the Week, Sheila Bair, challenged us to write a poem exactly 64 words in length that incorporates the words “light” and “dark”.
Done. This is a Celtic forms, Deibide Baise Fri Toin (don’t ask me to pronounce it), an Irish form with an aabb rhyme scheme and syllable count of 3-7-7-1 for each stanza. The first two lines rhyme on a 2 syllable word and the last two lines rhyme on one syllable..
I LOVE the moon. I really do. More than once I have thought about the fact that when we see the moon, we are actually seeing the sun’s reflection. Of course that begs the question — what am I reflecting? Dear God, let me reflect things that bring joy to others.
My mom becaused me when I whyed I think I drove her bonkers Her dementia was NOT payback Because, you know, love conquers
I really didn’t how alot I whyed and whyed and whyed Now I who and date-of-birth And where do you reside
My employer moneys me It’s not my motivation And when I nice those in my office It’s for more than information
I love when people story me Their travels far and near And when older farmers farmer me And tell of their John Deere
But let me backtrack to the whying It’s just something that I do — Other moves towards friendship The more I understand you
This is my response to the W3 prompt this week. The prompt involved verbing words like “because”. Melissa provided a list of words and we could choose five.
I used: because, how, money, nice, and farmer (which I know now was a misread — it’s actually former).
Two cats share an old chair by the woodstove An orange tabby and a calico They stretch and bask, sometimes paws interwove One wakes and grooms the other, licking slow
They eat their food together from a bowl Or crouch together watching some poor bird Sometimes they argue ’bout who gets the mole Mostly they don’t care who gets the last word
Companions would be an inadequate Description for this cat-relationship So bonded in a way that’s not clearcut Expressing joy wtih purr and lick and nip
They are true friends — someone with whom they can Just be themselves without ulterior plan
This is my submission for the W3 prompt this week: write a sonnet on the theme of friendship.
“Just hold out the grass on the palm of your hand,” Mom said, demonstrating the open palm to Iain.
Timidly he did it, taking baby steps forward until the heifer snuffled her warm wet snout onto his hand, licking the grass off. He laughed at the sensation: the smooth snout, the strong rough tongue.
“I grew up next to a dairy farm,” Mom said. “It’s where that housing development is now.”
“You were so lucky,” Iain said. “Why do we have to live in a city?”
“Your father has a good job there,” his mother replied.
“Are they [tipping his head toward the heifers] really where we get our milk?” he asked.
“Yup,” she replied.
“But I don’t see the thing they squeeze to get the milk out,” he said.
“These are heifers,” she explained, “young cows that haven’t had their own calf yet. They don’t have full udders until after they calve.”
He puzzled on it and bent his head sideways to try to look underneath. Sure enough, there were teats but no udder.
“Where’s the dad?” he asked. “We learned at school about babies. It takes a mom and a dad, right?”
“Bulls are dangerous,” she explained. “They use AI.”
“ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE?!?” he said incredulously. “Like aliens??”
She laughed. “No! Artificial insemination.”
“What’s that?” he asked. “How does it work?”
She gulped and reddened. “A picture would be easier,” she said.
Back home, she looked up the following picture on her computer.
“Ewwww!” he said.
This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. Just write no more than 250 words based on the photo prompt.
Several years ago, I wrote a poem about growing up next to a dairy farm and the experience we had when our pet heifer wandered over. Here’s the poem:
When my parents bought the farm (literally) Pa Jackson was over the hill (euphemistically and literally)
He milked the cows by hand While the barn cats tumbled in the hay (euphemistically and literally) I watched with wide eyes (the milking, not the euphemistic tumbling)
The Jacksons had a bull To do the job of the artificial inseminator And when our pet heifer, Sock-it-to-me-Sunshine, Wandered over To get to know the Jacksons’ cows (literally) The bull also got to know her (euphemistically)
Then, our heifer Was in the family way (euphemistically) She was loaded on a truck And sent to a home For unwed cows
The next summer The Jackson’s cows Were also loaded onto trucks And sent to auction Because Pa Jackson was Extremely Over the hill (euphemistically)
A few years later We read in the newspaper That he had bought the farm. (euphemistically)
And here’s the pet heifer with one of my brothers.
The howling Ah-rooyip, yip (no growling) Wakes me. Or does it? So near! Hear?
And owling hoo-HOO hoo-HOO (no growling) Out my window, I hear life Rife
With wildness Foxes scream – WRAAAAGH! – no mildness (Or growling) Look at the dark! Hark!
It’s early But day is alive, surly Lonely, looking, using sound Found
In darkness Life not visible, starkness Yet teeming, streaming. New day — Yay!
This is my response to this week’s W3. POW Lesley Scoble challenged us to: Create a poetic scene, based on this imagery: It is early morning. You get out of bed and go to the window.
Here’s the thing, though — I go to work at 5 AM, so I get up at 3:30 AM. When I get out of bed and look out the window, I’m mostly looking at darkness. Or the moon. I have written a poem or two about the moon.
For this, though, my getting-out-of-bed moments of late are full of sounds, so I wrote about them.
The coyotes have been so active and loud. And the owls. Fortunately, I don’t heard the fox scream often, but I did the other morning, as I lay in bed thinking about getting up.
Morning — even early early morning when it is still dark — is my favorite time of day.
The poetic form is an unpronounceable Irish form: Deibide Baise Fri Toin. Quatrains. 3-7-7-1 syllables. Rhyme scheme aabb: lines 1 and 2 rhyme on two syllables, lines 3 and 4 rhyme on one.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 