I’ve been wondering how to approach older forms of poetry where the lines are broken and yet connected, both to express the thought and ease oral telling. In my end-of-April-mind I offer you a bit of fractured poetic form, can you figure it out? Because the formatting would be impossible to assure over various methods of viewing I mushed the words into a PDF and hence to a JPG. You’re welcome.
I will put another view of this in the comments.
Seeking?
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I am an optimist. It does not seem too much use being anything else.
— Winston ChurchillThe Cat Cam
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A Sunday like this all ordinary
the age of revolution upon us
in the Irish streets men and women joined
hearing freedom’s call and giving their all
kenning the heart’s reason holding tight
the pride of the land the ancient stirring
what then is this land they rebirthed from old
long told by song and written and by art
mystic and modern turned to a new day
with sirens’ beauty revolution’s call
workers of the world unite flung over
the city’s poorest held by tenements
Even sunlight sparks the waiting tinder
lighting the trenches of revolution.
Wonderful.
A second look at this:
A Sunday like this, all ordinary
the age of revolution upon us
in the Irish streets. Men and women joined
hearing freedom’s call and giving their all
kenning the heart’s reason, holding tight
the pride of the land, the ancient stirring.
What then is this land they rebirthed from old,
long told by song by writings and by art
mystic and modern, turned to a new day
with sirens’ beauty, revolution’s call –
workers of the world unite – flung over
the city’s poorest held by tenements
Even sunlight sparks the waiting tinder
raging through trenches of revolution.
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