Let’s write a poem.
Let’s open up and spill our guts.
Let’s write a poem.
Let’s grab the words, create a tome.
Let’s reveal all of what is what.
Let’s stitch together all the cuts.
Let’s write a poem.
.
This is a RONDELET. The poem form has 7 lines. The refrain on lines 1, 3, and 7 is 4 syllables; the rest of the lines are 8 syllables. Rhyme scheme is ABAaBBA (where ‘a’ rhymes with the refrain).
Broken heart,
How has this child crushed hope,
Torn relationship apart?
You’re a ghost.
They don’t give a damn these days;
Occasional text at most.
Maybe time
will heal whatever lies here,
Give grace, pass this pantomime.
This is a treochair poem. The triplet stanzas have an ABA rhyme scheme, a 3, 7, 7 syllable count, and alliteration.
Angry men are glass
When they shatter
Their shards slice:
they destroy what matters.
They cut up lives,
lose the love they amassed.
A POTATO FORK POEM
(for Brenda)
.
Fellow forks, beware!
Do stay away from here!
Brenda takes us
then she breaks us.
Oh tremble! Feel fear!
Come only if you dare!
.
Digging rocks and boulders
(Putting bodies in the ground?)
Brenda will abuse you
Aggressively use you
Your handle’s snapping sound
Means you won’t get older.
.
Forks, do NOT come near!
Get the fork out of here!
This time it is
exactly what I want to see.
This time it is
My priorities, not his.
Whatever I want life to be,
my choices and philosophy,
This time it is.
Another rondelet. The speaker of this poem has a bit of a declaration here! 🙂 I have met quite a few women over the years who’ve fought to overturn programming and embrace their independence.
I heard your name
calling to me from long ago.
I heard your name,
(Oh, that melancholy refrain!)
whispering words so soft and low,
memories I need to let go.
I heard your name.
This poetry form is called a ‘rondelet’ and plays with an A/B rhyme, lines of 4/8 syllables, and a repeated refrain (as you can see!).
Fleance dreams of flight,
soaring on outstretching wings
into a moonlit night,
No day trips for him, he’s heard things
about flying too near the sun.
Day is for escape, for climbing,
Peaks ascending, journeys begun,
At sunset (it’s all about the timing)
he leaps into red glowing,
falls on moon rise
spreads his wings, catches winds flowing
embraces skies,
Wonders at all he does espy
and murmurs “Fly, Good Fleance! Fly!”
Midnight
outside the kitchen window
snow capped cedars glow
in moonlight.
Shawn L. Bird 