Hard packed, sun -baked dirt is of little worth
and so The Farmer uses blade to break
the ground before seeding. This way the earth
is made more receptive. He’ll also take
fertilizer and spread it on his land.
This process adds nutrients that his crop
will need. Does the soil ever demand
that the tilling and fertilizing stop?
If you have faced trials or trouble in
life, you are blessed! For these can be the hoe
and fertilizer that help you begin
to be soil in which good crops will grow
The Farmer understands that on his field,
soil quality will affect the yield.
To read all parts of this sonnet cycle (as far as completed), hover over “The Elemenent – Sonnet Cycles” at the top of the page and select “Earth”.
Sharing this at dVerse for Open Link Night
The sky was brass that year in spring, there was no rain in sight
Old Sol burned fiercely in the day, cool did not come at night
The townsfolk spoke without much hope, for there was little doubt
That with the land so parched and dry, this year would be a drought
The farmers planted, knowing that they sowed their seeds in vain
Unless things changed and changed real soon, the fields would grow no grain
Town Council rationed water, for they had to draw the line
If anybody had green grass, they’d have to pay a fine
Then fin’ly in July the clouds came, white and tow’ring high
And at the top they flattened, making anvils in the sky
The children laughed “now we’ll have rain! We know that it can’t fail”
But those who had more years said, “go inside, we’re in for hail”
The kids were right: the rains came down in buckets and in sheets
and chunks of ice like baseballs fell on houses and on streets
This rain was not the kind that folks had wanted on their ground
For though the rains had fin’ly come, now all the land was drowned.
Written for dVerse, where quatrains are being explored. I have written a poem in the style of a “fourteener”. Each quatrains follows an AABB rhyme scheme.
My pen has been silent these last few months
While I took a break from poems
Burnt out from writing, rhyming, rhythm
Even though I still feel love for poems
And now that I desire to write again
I struggle to find words for poems
I fear that I’ve misplaced my muse
Where is my inspiration for poems?
This question burns within my soul
When will it end: this drought from poems?
Sharing this with dVerse. I’ve been absent from this on-line poets’ pub for far too long.
you spoke the earth and sky in place
you spoke in place the creatures too
you spoke the fiery stars in space
you speak and you make all things new
you whisper and the mountains shake
just speak and ev’ry knee will bow
a shout from you: the earth would break
one word is all I’m asking now
at a word from you the lame can walk
at a word from you the sightless see
at a word from you the mute can talk
at a word from you the demons flee
oh Lord why don’t you hear my plea
oh Lord would you speak a word for me?
sharing with dVerse
Note: Logos is the Greek word for “Word”. In the New Testament book of John, the “Word of God” was made flesh in Jesus Christ, and thus Jesus is Logos personified.
can it still be called a sonnet if it lacks of fourteen lines, yet has one-hundred-forty syllables? And if the words fit within a prescribed rhyme scheme, so instead of counting lines, syllables were counted and then multiples of ten were all rhymed and broken into lines they amounted to Elizebethan form or they mimed the schemes of Petrarch or Spencer?
Can you call it a sonnet if it reads more like prose than poem, but it still adheres to a few of the rules? Is it a sonnet? Who knows!
Count my syllables, and after each ten, make a line break. Is it a sonnet then?
The above is my experiment in what I would like to call a “prose sonnet”. My idea with this is to do with the sonnet what Allen Ginsberg did to the haiku with his “American Sentence”. If you do count the syllables in my piece, you will find (unless I miscounted), that syllables with a multiple of 10 are rhymed ABAB,CDCD,EFEF,GG as would be the case in an Elizebethan sonnet.
I’m posting this to dVerse, for Open Link Night. Please do go visit, and read the works of some rather fabulous poets! (This also responds to Bjorn’s Tuesday prompt to write a poem in questions)
One by one we bid each other goodbye.
There are the hugs given to friends who are
heading to the airport from where they’ll fly
to some resort. They never seem too far
away, as we know that they’ll soon be back.
Harder, though, are those final farewells, said
to loved ones who have stepped beyond the crack
that separates this world from the next. Red
eyed from grief, it might be tempting to think
we’d be better off if we didn’t bare
our souls to that most temporary link
called friendship, and yet, how sad not to dare!
for though each life like each flame one day ends
we’re richer for the time we’ve spent with friends
for dVerse Open Link Night
The whole cycle, thus far, can be found if you click on the link for “The Elements – Sonnet Cycles” at the top of this page, and then select “fire”
It was over a year ago that I posted part IX of this cycle, so if you need some context, click on “The Elements – Sonnet Cycles” at the top of this page, and then select “fire” (or select “water” if you would like to read a cycle that has actually been completed) . Needless to say, this installment is drastically overdue.
Around the circle a silence descends.
There’s a feeling, sensed by all, that soon
this joyous time celebrated with friends
must draw to a close. Someone strums a tune
softly on a guitar. A soothing song:
perhaps to the flames, or maybe to those
with whom you would now gladly carry on
(though strangers an hour ago). Who knows
why the fire works in this way: to draw
people together from stranger to friend?
Perhaps, though, this circle has its own flaw:
we are reluctant to let the time end.
And so, it is with a most heartfelt sigh
One by one we bid each other goodbye
Sharing with dVerse for Open Link Night
A border is a crossing/division/barrier
a dotted line on a map that says
this side/that side
a dotted line that says
mine/should be mine
a dotted line on a map that gives
an excuse for hate
a dotted line that says
“Border” is the theme of the day over at dVerse
You are quiet
Your voice I hear not
And in silence I suffer
Longing to hear you once again
O why do you keep your lips pressed closed
When I am drowning in the quiet
And a word from you would be
Breath in my lungs to sustain me?
It is not so much your reticence that
Has doomed me to suffer this disquieting quiet
But my own foolishness
For when you have spoken I have not been keen to listen
Release me from this hostile peace
And I will open my ears to hear
a free verse sonnet for dVerse
I long to shine
like a beacon in the dark
guiding the weary traveler
To safety and rsest
I long to shine
like a beacon in the dark
but too often I find
that I merely flicker
and burn out
For dVerse. My muse has been flickering recently, but shone brightly enough today to write a Quadrille (poem of 44 words) including the prompt word “flicker”