Day 28, NaPoWriMo

This still needs some tweaking.

the sky today blue and opalescent
the low hills of the catskills blending to
lavender tucks and pleats above the brown
fading to one: the sky and clouds and earth
These mornings when the spring’s unsettled still,
cold nights and balmy afternoons then gone
I hear the birds begin to sing at dawn
just as the sun hops over the near hills
The front yard lays heavy, each blade a drop
the empty birch twigs dripping water down
last night my little flashlight caught the world
ablaze with diamonds, but now all is gold
The birds still just, as when I stopped last night
afraid my feet would scatter all the gems.

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Day 27 NaPoWriMo Bonus Real-Life Haiku

Sparked by a real-life moment today. What a jerk.

hint: My “exCUSE me?”
and you repeating yourself
will get you “that’s RUDE”.

you were more than rude
and then you repeated it
when I called it out.

The explanation:
the reasons you think you’re right
to be so rude… wrong.

or

Justification
reasons entitling you
to be so rude… false.

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That Day 24 fusion thing, NaPoWriMo

I finally found the reference I remembered, explaining what I’d encountered in that poem form I completely stole and probably misused on Sunday. What I was looking for was my links re alliterative verse.

A long line is divided into two half-lines. Half-lines are also known as ‘verses’, ‘hemistichs’, or ‘distichs’; the first is called the ‘a-verse’ (or ‘on-verse’), the second the ‘b-verse’ (or ‘off-verse’).[b] The rhythm of the b-verse is generally more regular than that of the a-verse, helping listeners to perceive where the end of the line falls.[1]
A heavy pause, or ‘cæsura‘, separates the verses.[1]

There was also this, which would have been useful the other day when NaPoWriMo’s prompt was about kennings:

The need to find an appropriate alliterating word gave certain other distinctive features to alliterative verse as well. Alliterative poets drew on a specialized vocabulary of poetic synonyms rarely used in prose texts and used standard images and metaphors called kennings.

Turns out I could have properly showed you the poem with lines broken by || which is handy to know for future iterations, especially when trying to quote to unpredicably text-showing parts of the internet.

A Sunday like this || all ordinary
the age of revolution || upon us

Currently when I’m providing a two-line extract of a poem I try to put a • at the end of the first line, just in case whatever is showing it doesn’t honor the return that really is there. Hey it happens. Anyway, I had some fun melting a whole lot of stuff into a block of words with a river of space through the middle of it. And now I will try to remember and grasp more completely what the form should embrace.

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Day 27, NaPoWriMo

I got lost at lunch looking for a particular (and I’m quite sure not mythical) Shakespearian sonnet. No luck there but it did end up with a ramble of a different kind.

If poems were roads, paved and smooth with travel,
no doubt we’d rush to put them to paper
sparing no ink, putting the words quite so
in proper order with exact meaning.
We’d whisper them in darkest ears, at night,
recalling the journeys planned and taken
beneficial rambles sunny and warm
heady and restorative elixirs.
Words strung one to one like cars commuting,
sidling up and past and rearranging,
always flying through the briefest landscapes
then taking a turn and landing somewhere.
What exit? Where are we now? Not quite sure
But since we’re here, how about some lunch, then?

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Day 26, NaPoWriMo

I might reserve the right to do another later, but this is what I thought about during the morning commute. Some things are inevitable.

The end of April comes rushing up now
wrapped in rains and cool nights and promises
of some warmer days that May is hoarding
and nights that aren’t so very skeptical.
The birds follow their ancestral wisdom
and turn back to the northern homes and nests.
Those who chart migrations follow on their
calendars and maps, yearly rituals.
Some note the first bursting of daffodils
and leafing of trees covering the hills
Others, smelling the warm, moist nights recall
when love first broke the winter’s long silence
Hearts turning towards each other like sunflowers
that cannot resist the spring’s heated pull.

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry and Lyrics, sonnet, weather | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments