The beam’s surprised face spoke to all below.
And how we understood is not too clear.
It spoke without it speaking we do know.
But why did we all gather and appear?
On this the greenest warmest summer day
So many out for peaceful noontime drive
When we all got this urge and drove this way
And at turn by old maple did arrive.
And no one here’s familiar where they’re at.
The multitudes that left their safety shell.
And there is more than one of this or that.
We stand attentive under beam’s own spell.
Just kidding everyone who…
Colors they glow from this hydrangea cluster
Violets and blues shine so bright they might bluster
Falling slowly through stone walls losing luster
Through lichen and moss covered rocks down below
Holding bright blossoms green leaves on stems although
Soon will turn wind burnt shriveled grey and fallow
Enjoy this exuberant growth of summer
Hold on to this fleeting florescence from her
Be present the end will be quite the bummer
Written in response to Literary Impulse’s prompt, ’uncommon poetic forms’. …
Who am I to say take it from me.
Or this or that or listen to thee.
I still might be right
At least this one night
But no one here has to agree
To talk about things without knowing
Feeling great when the words they are flowing
To some others it’s not
‘Cause I will talk a lot
And my breath will be wasted while crowing
There’s this pub they call Shabd Aaweg
To write here us poets do beg
To be published here’s grand
Though it can’t be too bland
Or my words will be found with the…
Holds this twig
Once it was
In this box
Take a look
Steel does cut
No one knows
What is what
Sharp pain burns
Blood was warm
Tried to flee
Gave me care
You saved me
Staunched my blood
Killed the germs
From this crud
Heal these wounds
Best of friends
The cethramtu rannaigechta moire is an Irish form of poetry consisting of quatrains with three syllables per line and end rhymes on lines two and four.
It sounds like something’s moving in the ferns,
He shouted out though no one heard his call.
His wife looks out and found her heart still yearns,
Thought he’d be here if anywhere at all.
She pushes open the creaking iron gate
Where ferns hide footprints walking past the light
Of empty soulless present left to fate
And hears his voice cry out each tear-filled night.
He fought his hardest knowing all too well
And screamed out for his life though none would hear.
Kept screaming, when he heard the pealing bell,
The ferns remain, the man did disappear.
Two clouds flouting decorum floated
Quickly above the treetops.
I know you can’t believe that bro!
Who’s irritating whom?
A lungful of air carried both over the steep hill.
Wind gust aggravating each other aggressively.
This argument, the words, I won’t, you do, I can’t. Forget about it.
Let’s go drop some rain on someone. I love you, man.
The descort was performed by thirteenth century French troubadours. It’s main rule is nothing can be the same, line or stanza length, meter, no rhymes nothing should look or sound the same.
I wrote this descort in response to Literary Impulse’s…
Everything we see
Almost every tree
Western burning spree
Smoke rise up to thee
There’s nowhere to flee
This poem is an example of a Lai, a form popular in France and Germany in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. It is written as a single nine-line stanza with the rhyme scheme of aaabaabaab. The ‘a’, lines have five syllables, the ‘b’, lines have two syllables.
Written in response to the Literary impulse prompt ‘uncommon-poetic-forms’, fifteen of them as prompt’s in Somsubhra Banerjee’s excellent explanation of the forms in the link below.
I don’t think I remember that first stream
Where raindrops fell upon this barren land
And dripped from fern draped ledge of ancient dream,
Once gathered up, this journey home was planned.
The river’s grown so quick it can’t be scanned.
Can’t see my way across, depth can’t be gauged.
Look out, sharp rocks, steep drops, the current raged.
Life’s pleasant beaches turned to granite wall,
With fewer handholds, yet my fear’s assuaged.
A glimpse of sunlight shines before the fall.
This poem is an example of a Dizain, a ten line single stanza poem, ten syllables per line, form…
William J Spirdione is a poet who writes sonnets and more about nature and the humans within it.