Villanelle 7

Finally, after quite the hiatus, I'm back with another villanelle! My apologies for the delay. But as I have said villanelles require a lot of thought and concentration, even for someone used to writing poetry, such as myself. So much concentration in fact that during this exploration I have had to alter my entire poem-writing process, which has remained essentially unchanged throughout my life. The results have been satisfactory to me, but they are quite time consuming to get started. (Though Nanowrimo, as well as the holidays have contributed somewhat to the delay this time I have to say.)

I had hoped to write at least ten villanelles during this exploration. That may still happen, if I put my nose more to the grindstone, but the grindstone is not the point of this poetry experiment. The point is to find out a few things about myself, my poetry, and to see what sort of forms speak to me most. While I enjoy the villanelle challenge quite a bit, I'm not sure that working on two more is in my best interest for this go around. I don't want it to become work, after all.

Then again, it is only two more, and I've taken a break from most other creative writing for the rest of the year. So who knows? Right now, not even I.

I do know, however, that it's time to post this most recent villanelle. It's hot off of the pencil. It didn't take the turn I thought it would when I first conceived the refrains, but I like the quaint, almost folksy eloquence of the poem.

*

I'll get to where I need to go.
I'll listen to what my heart will say.
I'll discover all I need to know.

Learning lessons from both friend and foe.
Preparing for tomorrow with today.
I'll get to where I need to go.

Often, what we reap is what we sew.
I shall begin to sew without delay.
I'll discover all I need to know.

Who am I to answer "no"
When destiny itself shows me the way?
I'll get to where I need to go.

Therefore, my worries I will stow.
I'll take this journey, come what may.
I'll discover all I need to know.

"Grant strength to creatures here below,"
To heaven every night I'll say.
I'll get to where I need to go.

And if the gods on me bestow
That single thing for which I pray,
I'll get to where I need to go.
I'll discover all I need to know.

Villanelle 6

I must apologize for being away from the poetry posting for nearly a month. Other writing missions have eclipsed the poetry aspects of my writing lately. Plus villanelles are very time and energy consuming. I need to set aside specific, uninterrupted time to compose these poems. Even more so than the sonnets, I think. A villanelle is not the sort of poem one can simply whip up while waiting for dinner to cool.

Indeed, exploring the villanelle has caused me to depart somewhat from a longstanding custom I have of starting and finishing each of my poems all in one sitting. Believe it or not, that has been what I have done for 99% of my poems, but with these I've found it easier to come up with the refrain first, and then come back to fill in the refrain with verses later. In this last case, quite a bit of time passed between developing the refrain key and composing the poem itself. (I still compose the body of the poem all in one sitting, however.)

Time got away from me, but now I am caught up to this latest villanelle, and I present it here at last.

*

For a moment I can see her still.
(Though I never hear her speak.)
She was more to me than just a passing thrill.

I'm swallowing a bitter pill.
Prospects of her coming back are bleak.
For a moment I can see her still.

It was mostly physical until,
She let me see her weep when she was weak.
She was more to me than just a passing thrill.

But she had longings I could not fulfill.
I am an average man. She is unique.
For a moment I can see her still.

Most men who look like me would kill
To move their hands across her form-so sleek.
She was more to me than just a passing thrill.

I simply couldn't summon up the will
To leave my peaceful valley for her peak.
For a moment I can see her still.
She was more to me than just a passing thrill.

Villanelle 5

For my fifth villanelle in this exploration, I went darker, or at least angrier. Again, I've been free with my meter.

The repetitive nature of the alternating refrains of the villanelle do, as I have mention previously, lend themselves to obsession, or fevered memory. In this piece I wanted to utilize that refraining style to illicit thoughts of anger, (in this case over a damaged relationship of some kind). We tend to be repetitive when we fight, or when we are angry about something, and we tend to emphasize the things that have angered or hurt us the most, sometimes to the exclusion of other, more productive thoughts.

Who is at fault within the relationship on which this poem is based? I'll let you decide.

*

I refuse to take the blame,
(Though I'm the one you will indict.)
I always lose this stupid game.

I think that it's a crying shame;
You never think I could be right.
I refuse to take the blame.

For years and years it's been the same;
No longer will I choose to fight.
I always lose this stupid game.

I wonder when exactly you became
So cold. So angry. So full of spite.
I refuse to take the blame.

Your bitter, raging heart, I've tried to tame,
But you won't accept the light.
I always lose this stupid game.

Well, I shall never speak your name!
Remain here in your manufactured night!
I refuse to take the blame!
I always lose this stupid game.

Villanelle 4

For this, my fourth villanelle of this exploration, I have once again been loose with the meter of any given line. I am finding that the form offers much more depth of feeling when it isn't limited to iambic pentameter and other specified meters. It's becoming clear to me that the potency of this form lies almost completely in the rhyme scheme and the refrain structure, and not in the meter itself, so I'm likely from here on out to write lines in a more free-metre.

All that being said, I think this poem is my best villanelle so far in this exploration. I made an effort to step outside of the usual rhymes. (The same sounds tend to show up in most villanelles I write for some reason.) I think I've achieved something that is both emotionally resonant but also familiar and coherent. You be the judge for yourself.

*

There's still a voice that I can hear,
A memory that won't escape detection.
When I feel pleasure, pain is near.

A haunting. Not so loud, but clear.
A love not gone despite its imperfection.
There's still a voice that I can hear.

The people and the things I once held dear
Remain in pieces in my heart's collection.
When I feel pleasure, pain is near.

Like black mud stains to bright white robes adhere,
So to the soul a lost love's recollection.
There's still a voice that I can hear.

Though numbed a little more each passing year,
Some fits of pain remain, like an infection.
When I feel pleasure, pain is near.

My present and my future course, I steer.
But there's a periodic interjection;
There's still a voice that I can hear.
When I feel pleasure, pain is near.

Villanelle 3

For this piece I have held on to the traditional rhyme scheme that makes this form so unique. But I have allowed myself more free reign with the meter. No specific syllable count and such for this one.

As I mentioned in previous posts, the villanelle tends to lend itself well toward obsessive thoughts, and obsessive thoughts in turn trend somewhat dark or melancholy, at least in this context. That being said, I'm a bit surprised at how brooding and somewhat depressing my villanelle have been so far. Is it me as a poet, or does the scheme truly, by its nature tend to direct one towards darker narratives?

Think on that as you read my latest.

*

My heart is hidden by a kind of smoke.
I pray that smoke is taken by a breeze.
I fear the better part of me will choke.

There are happy memories I could invoke.
I could extract some joy from anywhere I please.
My heart is hidden by a kind of smoke.

Today my spirit's voice is but a croak.
The songs within my heart are but a wheeze.
I fear the better part of me will choke.

My intellect stands solid, like an oak.
Analysis of facts, I perform with ease.
My heart is hidden by a kind of smoke.

I whistle and I smile at a joke.
(I'm not completely lost to things like these.)
I fear the better part of me will choke.

I hope at least it hasn't broke.
That someone out there holds the keys.
My heart is hidden by a kind of smoke.
I fear the better part of me will choke.

Villanelle 2

Here is my second villanelle. This time a more depressing tone. I was hoping to capture the obsessive thoughts nature that many people have associated with the form.

This time I use iambic pentameter. I'm satisfied with the results, though there are some weaker spots. I think I've done better with rhyme in this one than the last, though.

*

The ones who do not live in fear are blessed.

They live in paradises they design.

My trembling spirit never gets to rest.

To know the swell of courage in my breast...

And never to my cowardice resign.

The ones who do not live in fear are blessed.

So many dark, depressing thoughts molest

This tortured, tired, tender heart of mine.

My trembling spirit never gets to rest.

Despite the many times I have confessed,

I'm granted no relief by the Divine.

The ones who do not live in fear are blessed.

And now with doom I find myself obsessed.

I find my very life force in decline.

My trembling spirit never gets to rest.

I wonder what the brave ones would suggest.

Can nothing in my life be anodyne?

The ones who do not live in fear are blessed.

My trembling spirit never gets to rest.

Villanelle 1

After skipping last week, I return this week with the first example of the next poetry form I will be exploring: the villanelle.

The villanelle is a complex piece with which even masters of language have struggled. French in origin, (starting, according to some scholars as early as the 1600's) the form nevertheless failed to gain popularity in France, so few are written in French. Most are in fact written in English, and they began appearing regularly in the 18th century in that language.

Because the form was based on pastoral songs that were intended to be sung centuries ago, pastoral themes were common for villanelles at first. Yet from what I can gather, that theme has been largely abandoned in the English version of these verses. But do to the refrains, and the shortness of the form, many have concluded that a certain obsession with the subject matter is appropriate to the form.

One holdover from the form's roots as a song is the unique refrain structure. The first of five three-line stanzas begin and end with lines from the refrain. Each subsequent three line stanza ends with the first refrain, and then the second, alternating. The final stanza is a four lines, ending with a couplet which is a combination of the two refrains. The rhyme scheme itself, being something like A1-B-A2  A-B-A1  A-B-A2  A-B-A1 A-B-A2  A-B-A1-A2.

Even sounds complicated, doesn't it? I will say though that in practice it is easier to follow these rules than it is to explain them. No doubt it will be easier to follow once you read my sample. Or you can read what is argyably the most famous example of this form in English- "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", by Dylan Thomas.

Thomas uses iambic pentameter in that piece. Iambic octometer is also used, and that is what I have tried to utilize in my first sample below. However, I've been reading several articles about the villanelle in the two weeks since I last posted here, and from all I can tell there is not now, nor was there ever a definitive rule for the length of the actual lines. Some say eight feet, some say ten. Some articles come out and claim that line length has never mattered. In other words, unlike haiku, there is not "purest" form that I can find for the villanelle in regards to meter of the individual lines. So I will be exploring various meters, with no particular order or consideration. Any given villanelle may have lines of eight feet. Some may have ten. Some will ignore line length entirely. I will, in short confine myself to the rhyme scheme and refrain. (That should be enough to keep my hands full most of the time.)

I also read that slight variations in the refrain are encouraged. I may engage in that at times, if the piece can be made better by it. Yet to me, the very purpose of a refrain is to keep is the same, and I will try to keep my refrains identical.

What follows, I kept to iambic octometer, probably because that is the meter of the first villanelle I happened to study for this exploration took on. This is not my first ever villanelle. I wrote one once, long ago, that looking back seems to have had some kind of different structure than what I have described. I will have to dig that one out and have a look again.

But for now, here is the first in this exploration. Octometer proved tricky, but I think it works here. I don't however think I will pursue it again, unless two excellent phrases that fit it should arise in my imagination.

*

Retain forever thoughts of me.
Think fondly of me every day.
I'll love you for eternity.

See what others will not see.
Do not turn your face away.
Retain, forever, thoughts of me.

Remember when I brought you glee,
And when one night you heard me say
"I'll love you for eternity."

Defy what others would decree;
"Avoid him. You must stay away."
Retain, forever, thoughts of me.

There is but one reality.
Advice from others holds no sway.
I'll love you for eternity.

My thoughts in perpetuity
Return to you in every way.
Retain, forever, thoughts of me.
I'll love you for eternity. 

Limericks (Group 3)

This is the last group of limericks I will be doing. At least for this exploration. They were a nice, fun break, after the long, and sometimes intensive concentration that the sonnets required. (Though I will say finding rhymes that are also humorous, as per these limericks, or not as easy as it may appear. Probably why the form has endured for all these years.) Next week I will have moved on to a new form. But I have had a lot of innocent fun with these limericks, and will certain return to writing them again someday.

*

I painted a capital "A"
On the roof of my condo one day.
My Mom said to me, "Will you now paint a "B"?
And I told her, "Not until May."

*

If ever you travel to Maine
And meet a masseuse named Lorraine,
Bid her good day, then run far away.
I know her. She's clearly insane.

*

As an actor I fall into rage
At people (regardless of age)
That let their phone ring and don't silence the thing
While I try to perform on the stage.

*

I wonder if all of the ducks
Could fit into all of the trucks.
We'll never find out beyond shadows of doubt,
And I really think that kind of sucks.

*

Writing limericks should always be fun.
Your stress level drops down to none.
No need for "sublime". You need only to rhyme.
Four silly lines, and you're done. 

Limericks (Group 2)

Continuing with some limericks. Next week will probably be my last set of limericks for a while. Again, their point being to ease the transition between more difficult forms.

But for now, enjoy a few more!

*

The piñata I hung in my room
Is more boring than one would assume.
It collects too much dust. It's too hard to bust,
Filled with candy i cannot consume.

*

A singer who called himself Steven
Had a voice that was rather uneven.
He got punched in the mouth when he traveled down south
And massacred "Don't Stop Believin'".

*

And Englishman wore a disguise,
To give his good wife a surprise.
A fake beard and a wig, while dancing a jig.
But his wife didn't fall for his lies.

*

The door at the end of the hall
Was painted at the end of last fall.
It used to be green, but when it was seen
Nobody had liked it at all.

*

I met a young girl from Dubai
Who was born on the Fourth of July.
She said, "No big deal. That day lacks appeal."
Then she shrugged and bid my goodbye. 

Limericks! (Group 1)

After an enjoyable but at times taxing exploration of sonnets, I wanted to move to a lighter, more fun poetry form, to give both myself, and any of you readers a break from the most complex poems. What better choice for such a task than limericks.

I won't stay on them for long, maybe two or three weeks or a few grouped together. Though traditionally and technically limericks are supposed to be off-color or down right dirty in order to challenge a societal taboo, I won't be producing any dirty ones. Scholars and and more "famous" poets contend that the true wit of a limerick is lost when it is clean. I'm not prude, but I see few things less clever than dirty jokes/limericks. After all, just how many times can references to sex and genitalia be either entertaining or socially satirical? If I'm going to have a chuckle over some nonsense I'm writing, it's going to be about something a bit more creative, or at least surreal, than dick jokes. Sorry, scholars. You can be clever without being pornographic. So that's what I'm doing, as it is my site for my poems.

The limerick has been around since the early 1700's, it seems. For those who don't know, the rhyme scheme is AABBA. The meter is either anapestic or amphibrachic, for those into that sort of thing. But if you've ever heard a limerick, you know what the rhythm is, even if you don't know the name for it.

That's all the scholarly attention I'm going to give to it. As far as I'm concerned, they should be goofy and fun. That's certainly why I chose them for this brief exploration.

Here are my first group of five.

*

I went to New York on a dare.
(Though I don't know a soul living there.)
Spent all day on my feet while walking the street
'Cuz no cabby take poems for fare.

*

A priest poured a rabbi a drink,
But he spilled it all into the sink.
His friend said, "oy vey" and then walked away
And their friendship remains on the brink.

*

There once was a jackass named Brian.
If he was talking you knew he was lyin'.
He'll steal all your food, put you in a foul mood
And you'll hate him without even tryin'.

*

A man put his horse on the stage.
(He thought it would be all the rage.)
It took a big dump, and it never did jump,
So the man's wife said, "Jake, act your age."

*

Once an old man with a limp
Decided he wanted a blimp.
But the price was too high for the poor man to buy.
So he paid for it being a pimp.

Sonnet 16

With the following Italian form sonnet, (with a different CDCEDC sestant) I bring this exploration of sonnets to a close. I find this configuration possibly the most interesting of all of the Italian forms, with the orphaned "E" rhyme placed there in a powerful solitary position. So much was I fascinated by its possibilities that I almost extended my exploration of the sonnets for a while longer, in order to explore it alone.

But in the end, I decided that both my mind, and the blog have reached their fill of sonnets for now. I certainly intend to revisit them at some point, possibly starting with this very form. But for now, it is time to move on to another form. One that isn't quite so draining, perhaps.

As for subject matter, this is probably the most upbeat of all of the sonnets I have written. Sonnets are probably not generally associated with upbeat themes, but it feels appropriate to end my exploration with one that does so.

So next week, you will see something else. But for now enjoy this final sonnet of the exploration.

*

Assemble all precautions in your mind.
With relish now dismiss them one by one.
You'll feel much more alive when it is done.
We must move forward! Never fall behind!
Solicitude. Forgiveness. Being kind.
Protecting weaklings. Singing. Having fun.
To all, show mercy. Angry thoughts to none.
Don't let you better angels be denied.
The world is filled with every kind of strife,
And every day we face a simple choice:
Extend your empty hand, or wield a knife.
The former offers love, the latter fear.
Just put away the blade, and raise your voice.
Embrace the risks that come with living life.

Sonnet 15

This sonnet is of the same rhyme scheme as the previous sonnet of the Italian form. I find the form fascinating for reasons I got into in the last entry. I hope to do more of this pattern in a future exploration of the form, and I almost did so during this exploration, but next week will be my last sonnet for a while.

Until then, though, here is another in the Italian form. I find this one slightly better than my last one.

*

Apologies to those who would not care.
Within their mind, I never did them wrong.
Contrition from my heart would not belong.
Relationships that do not need repair.
Yet soon my life shall change. I must prepare.
My soul begins to sing a different song.
A fondness past that absence did prolong
Is now replaced by something that is rare.
My former loves for years had filled my dreams.
I'd conjure them when I was feeling weak.
I now relinquish my heart's hold on all.
(Save one who loves me truly now, it seems.)
Forgive me, Memories. I must withdraw.
No more your warm embraces will I seek.

Sonnet 14

I moved to another Italian form for this sonnet. The sestet has a CDE CED structure. It looks unnatural and not at all poetic for English, and at first it feels that way as well. Yet once I read the lines out loud, there was a certain fanciful yet organized meandering to the scheme, as though a poem in this form intends to follow a more symmetrical structure, digresses for a moment, and then remembers to right itself in the end. I wrote two in this pattern, but I think this one is the better of the two, even though I make use of a sort of unreliable narrator. I don't know if that is generally done with sonnets, but I did it with this one.

*

A tragic circumstance is not fair game
To contemplate new ways to woo and win.
I know the sort of pain she must be in,
But something stirs within me all the same.
Of all the selfish actions I could name,
The one I'm thinking of would be a sin.
I'm sure I'll get disowned by all my kin.
Such punishment is equal to my shame.
I don't enjoy the prospect of her pain!
And I could never cause it on my own.
Yet being there I cannot wish it gone...
I know the notion may appear profane,
That I appear to move her like a pawn.
But when I comfort her, I'm not alone.

Sonnet 13

Continuing with variations on the Italian form of the sonnet. I like the form of the sestet here, though I think it requires more thought and planning than does the Shakespearean form.

I leave the usual topic of romantic love or lust for this poem. I also have to play with word selection and sequence a bit more than I like. I'm happy to do it sometimes, but prefer to keep standard syntax when I can, though that simply isn't always possible when English is applied to the sonnet form. Especially more modern English. That being said, I wish I had done better with a few of the lines, and I wonder if sometimes I have enslaved myself too much to the specific meter, at the expense of a better poem. It wouldn't kill me to use a feminine ending or half-rhyme once in a while, I suppose. I am stubborn like that.

*

I will depart this place one final time.
No longer will I darken its front door.
It's like a second home to me no more.
My heart is off to find a better clime.
I'm hoping to forget just how sublime
That being here would make me feel before.
And gone the people that I did adore
Without a reason and without a rhyme.
If only I could leave my thoughts as well.
I do not wish to think of better days.
I wish instead to let my spirit roam,
And not within a memory-soaked hell.
To inner peace I have found many ways.
It all begins by leaving now for home.

Sonnet 12

This time a different variation on the Italian sonnet. I use the CDDCDC scheme for the the sextant.

Though I do enjoy linguistic challenges, and am new to this variation, I don't think I'll be working with it much more. It may have to do with the nature of Italian itself. I don't speak it, but it could be that the particularities of that language make this set up musical, whereas in English it feels clumsy to me, and almost arbitrary. I've no doubt I could improve with repeated attempts at this variation, but I found it uninspiring on the whole, and would rather not delve deeply into it during this exploration. Perhaps a future one.

By all of that as it may, here is what I composed pursuant to this variation. I had to stretch with this one a bit. Satisfactory, but nothing of which to be especially proud.

*

Within the realms of my exhausted mind
I am a here. And a villain. And a knave.
I cannot make my deepest thoughts behave.
They always leave reality behind.
No longer can I know how I'm defined.
My crumbling sense of self, I cannot save.
Perhaps I could if only I were brave.
(Or if the world had only once been kind.)
My true identity is lost to pain,
Obscured by years of being all alone.
By now, however, history has shown
That men like me are simply called insane.
But if my chance at peace has not been blown,
I have to love myself and try again. 

Sonnet 11

After a brief hiatus, I am back posting poetry. Still on sonnets, but this time, I have moved to the Italian form.

I'm happy to move on to another sonnet form. Sonnets are easy to understand, yet challenging to keep fresh when composing them on a regular basis. Switching off to another form has helped a bit. I won't be writing ten of each form, but I will be writing several Italian forms, due to the fact that the rhyme scheme for same can vary. That is to say the scheme for the final six lines (the sestet) can go any number of ways, historically. The octave, or the first eight lines is more set.

I've had experience in the past with an ABBA rhyme scheme, though not for sonnets. I enjoy  composing in this form as well as reading in it. The challenge with the sonnet is that I must do it twice within one poem, without repeating a word to end the line with. That was its own challenge. I've only composed one Italian sonnet so far, (that which follows), but I'll have to keep this in mind for future attempts.

This one has a romantic bent, but I don't think I'm going to hold myself to that theme as I play around with Italian sonnets. I'm more interested in exploring the form and meter, having kept the traditional theme throughout most of the Shakespearean sonnets.

I consider it an adequate first attempt, not fantastic. I hope to improve with the next few Italian forms.

*

The tender whisper of my name at night.
I cannot even see her gentle face.
There's not another sound from any place.
My doubts are out of mind, and out of sight.

She stops my hand as I reach for the light.
We lay in silence in our darkened space.
Our life proceeds for us at our own pace.
"Right now I only ask you hold me tight."

She never has to ask. "I give at will
The comfort and affection that you seek.
"I'll be right here, if you are well or ill."
The last that night that either of us speak.
When dawn approaches we are silent still.
She strengthens me when I am feeling weak.

Sonnet 10

With apologies for being unable to present a poem last week, (which was unusually busy for me), I present this, my final experiment with the Shakespearean form for this exploration. I'll continue exploring sonnets for a bit, however. I will most likely try composing only one or two sonnets in the other forms, (such as the Italian), as I don't wish to wear out sonnets in either my own mind, or in that of my readers. I imagine when in the future I come around to explore sonnets again after this cycle, I'll concentrate on a different form for the duration.

Yet for now, enjoy my final Shakespearean, or English sonnet of this exploration.

*

The morning after I have been with her
Is like a gutted homestead: void of life.
And all the wondrous things that did occur 
Carved from my soul with a serrated knife.
The memory of being by her side
(Intoxicating as it was last night)
Today is nothing but a wish denied.
An admonition resting in plain sight.
"She mustn't love you, if she isn't here,"
So says my brain as I still lie in bed.
"The emptiness you feel should make it clear.
"The girl's affections? Only in your head."
But every evening with her that I spend
Removes the morning's anguish in the end. 

Sonnet 9

This one gave me a bit of trouble for a while, as I worked with the proper meter in the mid-section. It amazes me how often the perfect line in my head is either nine beats or eleven when I write a sonnet. But I did, as you can see, eventually get the correct number of beats per line. (Though I did have to jiggle the accents a bit in some of the lines. Even Shakespeare did that.)

In the end, I'm satisfied with this one most because I was able to overcome the previously mentioned issues.

I think i will do one more standard Shakespeare style sonnet after this one, and then I will move on to other styles of sonnet, or otherwise be less restrictive in my composition. But that is the future. Until then, enjoy this latest poem.

***

If I could play with Time and rearrange
The order of the days already gone,
I'd only move the one (don't think me strange)
Though all the universe would be my pawn.
The day, but no! The moment that we met.
That's the one I'd steal with such a power.
How very close to perfect life would get.
Heaven at the top of every hour!
But all the hours since would still be there...
Still locked within my too sharp memory.
No mastery of time could make you care.
(Nor any other form of devilry.)
So I will live my good days and my bad.
I'll keep the happy, and get through the sad.

Sonnet 8

I experimented somewhat with this one, alternating the first word of two lines in a row between two words, and then having both in the closing couplet. The subject matter makes this effective, I think.

***

I can't pretend I've never thought of her.
I won't deny she's often on my mind.
She once was called an angel. I concur.
She is the gentlest person you will find.
I am aware of warnings from my friends.
I hear concerns about my mental state.
"She isn't right. You won't like how this ends."
"She soon will hurt you. She won't hesitate."
I see much more than any of them do.
I love the woman more, the more I learn.
She may not be the type that they would woo.
She doesn't have to be. Let me discern.
I am in love. I do not need consent.
She is the only one that need assent.

Sonnet 7

I'm somewhat satisfied with this one. I had to stretch the meter a bit more than I like to, so it's a tad clumsy near the middle, but it works as a sonnet overall, I think. Enjoy.

***

The perfect time of day to think of you
Would be an hour prior to the dawn.
Still dark enough for wishes to come true,
When all the doubts of yesterday are gone.
If I should wait until I see the sun
Before I let the thought of you arrive
Realities of day will have begun
Decreasing images I could derive.
Nor dare I think of you in dead of night.
Fatigue and worry occupy me then.
The middle of the day would not be right.
(I must devote my thoughts to work again.)
In truth, however, any time of day
You're apt to steal my every thought away.

Sonnet 6

I like this sonnet. Not because it's the best use of the format, (though better than the previous example), but because it was fun to write, and I think has a fun theme. I get a little bit "meta" as they say, and mention poetry within the poem.

I've placed the volta in line nine this time, as it seemed to fit with the nature of the piece. It's not the most pronounced shift in tone, but it's there, it works, and as I said already, I enjoyed it.

***

I thought it was a mediocre verse

When first I came across it in a book.

Though many poems I have read are worse,

I did not give this one another look.

The words that move one man may bore the rest.

"To each his own," and all such platitudes. 

The doggerel of  some may prove the best

To other men with other attitudes.

And then the lady that I long to hold,

In casual discussion said to me

The very poem that had left me cold

Had always given her serenity.

So though it may have come to me too late,

I love the pretty verse I used to hate.

Sonnet 5

Many consenting people are kept apart not by the law, but by social norms that weigh heavily on them. This sonnet touches on some of that.

I like some of the lines, but overall I'm not satisfied with this one. I had to abandon iambic pentameter in several lines, for starters. Strictly speaking people write sonnets without it all the time, and I perhaps will intentionally during this exploration. But for now I was hoping to stick with iambic pentameter more consistently than I was able to with this one.

I also had to fall back on some common rhymes. They can't all be unique of course, but a few are a bit like plain white bread in the poetry world and I had to resort to a few of them.

I enjoyed the theme of this one, and had committed to it by the time these problem arose, so I didn't abandon it, and I put up the finished product here for you all to read and perhaps enjoy. But I had to be a bit patchy here and there. Still, not a bad effort, I suppose.

***

Oh take away the multitude of years.
Make insignificant our gap in age.
Ignore the condemnation of our peers.
For love, chronology can be no gauge.
Mere quantity of birthdays cannot be
A reasonable metric for the heart.
Be willing to accept the gift of me.
Why must it matter when my life did start?
If any love for me resides in you,
Let me rest my head upon your shoulder.
When you need comfort, I'll provide it too.
Please don't walk away because I'm older.
I need to let you be the age you are,
And I for now will love you from afar.

Sonnet 4

It's early, but this sonnet is probably the one I like the most so far in this exploration. Not perfect, but closest to what I feel the purpose and structure of these sonnets should be, strictly speaking.


***

I know a love that never can be seen.
The love I bare for her, and she for me.
Invisible devotion lies between
The two of us. Like islands and the sea.
The home and family with which she stands
And I cocooned within my loneliness
Unable to fulfill all love's demands.
Unwilling to acknowledge or confess.
I'll never hear her say "Forever yours."
Nor will I hear myself reply in kind.
I am the one I know that she adores,
Yet both of us pretend that we are blind.
Still, when she signs a note with my pet name
I feel as though we're married all the same.

Sonnet 3

Unlike some other forms of poetry, writing the sonnet, or at least in the proper fashion I am attempting, requires quiet time, free from most other distractions. It is a time consuming form which goes better for me when I set aside specific time to work on it. (Unlike say, haiku, which I can sometimes compose in spare minutes here and there, or with the TV muted during a commercial break.) Setting aside time to write a sonnet isn't always practical, but it is worth it when I do so. This makes me think I should put in the extra effort to do so for the rest of this exploration.

This sonnet came about during one such allocated block of time last week.

A deep conviction keeps your love at bay.
A passion we can never consummate.
I have no proof, but think that you would say
"It's not God's will." And I would say "It's Fate."
Dichotomy of faiths have often barred
What otherwise would yield a love sublime.
Esteem for one another would be scarred;
Sincerity would wound us in due time.
That within you which my heart would claim,
(The things I sense that you would freely give)
Would spark a conflagration all the same,
Destroying everything for which we live.
Though there are things we must not sacrifice,
The knowledge that we long to will suffice.

Sonnet 2

In this next sonnet, I tried putting the volta in the ninth line, and if you read it in a certain light, you can tell. But upon rereading, I don't think the mood truly does change until the couplet at the end. The natural pattern for me when composing Shakespeare style sonnets seems to be to place the volta in the couplet. I feel that is more natural as well as being more challenging; one must come up with two lines that change the momentum of the previous 12. Still, I plan to write some more with the volta appearing earlier. I will likely not mention it every time I do so, however, since if most readers can't find it, I;m not doing it well enough.

Here is the next sonnet:

Each night I lie in bed, deprived of sleep
Surrounded by the darkness of my room.
The memories I do not wish to keep
Fill spirit, heart and mind with bitter gloom.
A caravan of images invade,
Each one a gateway to a former bliss,
Reminders of how love has never stayed,
Reflections on the mark I always miss.
So many types of beauty have I held
With both my hands and sometimes with my heart
Divinity within me oft has swelled,
Though it be doomed to fade beyond the start.
If I have felt such pulchritude before,
No doubt I shall encounter it once more.

Sonnet 1

I now move on to sonnets. A few words about them before I share the first of them.

As with haiku, modern poets tend to call something a sonnet, and then proceed to invent any meter and rhyme scheme they wish. That is their right, but as I mentioned with haiku, I'm not sure what the point of following forms is, when one authorizes one's self to break any and all of the rules for same.

Not that there is only one hard and fast set of rules for a sonnet, as there are several varieties  During this exploration over the next few weeks I'll be composing sonnets of more than one formal structure, but I'll stick with one kind at a time, writing a few and then moving on to another variety when the time feels right. I may experiment with free verse sonnets near the end of the exploration, I haven't decided yet.

Actor that I am, I've decided to start with what's commonly known as the Shakespearean sonnet. (Though not invented by him.) Fourteen lines of iambic pentameter, three quatrains and ending with a rhyming couplet. Before the couplet, the quatrains generally follow an abab cdcd efef  rhyme scheme, and that is what I will do for now. (I will think about half-rhymes, like Shakespeare did, as needed.)

Many Shakespearean sonnets present the volta or change in tone, on the eleventh line, at  the start of the couplet. Sometimes the volta occurs on the ninth line, at the start of the final quatrain. I tend to prefer the former, but I will be playing with the latter as well.

Shakespeare himself usually confined his sonnets to matters of love or lust. While that topic will be covered by my own sonnets, I won't confine myself exclusively to that subject matter.

Finally, the point of a sonnet, or to me any poem, is to make breaks in meter come at natural breaks in a sentence, and that's what I try to do in my poetry. Breaking up a sentence at an awkward moment just to fit the meter is to me, usually cheaper.

And now, the first sonnet of this exploration.


So many things you do are not for me:
The easy smile. The tilting of your head.
The tapping foot you do not think I see.
How you refuse to drive, but walk instead.
You don't consider me before you write
The sentences and paragraphs you share.
Each time you read a poem with delight
It isn't done because you think I care.
A thousand little things that make you shine
Have earned for you a small place in my heart.
Yet none of them for others, I'd opine;
They would continue if I would depart.
But I consider that you've not been told.
It is a secret I prefer to hold.

English Haiku 7

This set of English haiku represents the last from my current exploration of the form. I will certainly return to it sometime in the future, but for now, it's time to move on to something else.

In these entries, though I did still stick to 5-7-5, I abandoned any sincere attempt to be profound. These haiku were pure fun. Not that I didn't have fun composing the others, but these were intentionally lighthearted in nature; I'm just playing with meter here, basically.

I know I've posted a lot of haiku since starting this blog, and that's one reason why I feel it's time to move on to another form. But given the shortness of the form, any given session during this exploration produced several poems at a time. Obviously if I had posted only one haiku per entry, I'd be sharing nothing but haiku for the next several months, and I didn't want to do that. I won't be as prolific with longer forms here on the blog, probably sticking to one at a time. Tune in next week for that.

But until then, enjoy these, the last of my haiku for this first exploration.

Baltimore Ravens.
Bringers of many heartaches.
All is forgiven.

(This one was written after the Super Bowl, but before the free agency self-slaughter.)

*

Major League Baseball.
Spring training games do not count.
I watch anyway.

*

Late night TV shows.
E.A.S. interruptions.
Safety first, I guess.

*

Ty Unglebower.
Writer of several haiku.
More to come someday. 

English Haiku 6

More somewhat less traditional English haiku from my recent exploration. Again, I've kept to the 5-7-5 meter, but have departed from the theme of nature.



Pencil to paper,
Forming words from heart and mind.
Poets brethren.

*

Schoolgirl, age fifteen.
Wind drying tears on her face.
Time drying her heart.

*

Statue of Hermes
Standing by in all weather
Imparts a message.

*

Sleeping on a couch
A young woman with arms crossed
Settles all disputes.

*

Sede vacante.
Benedict the Sixteenth lives.
New ground for the church.

*

Empty theater.
Shadows of thousands of plays.
Not truly empty.

*

Long forgotten bridge.
Duck with duckling caravan.
Only they can cross.

English Haiku 5

Though I started out this recent exploration of English haiku with the intention of practicing the "truest" of the form, I also played around with haiku that are a bit removed from that. I stuck to the 5-7-5 meter, but explored subjects that are generally outside of traditional haiku, outside of nature. Some I hope are still profound. Others were not at all intended to be, but were merely an example of me having fun with the meter.

The next few posts will be the slightly less traditional haiku I came up with during this recent exploration, starting with these below.

Morning of my birth.
Thinking of what's come before.
Trying to look up.

*

Long nights in my room.
Alone and also lonely.
I run from myself.

*

Movies and stories.
Creations of other's minds
Help me know my own.

*

Seeking out my youth.
Looks to the past are fruitless;
I was always old.

*

Lord and Savior Christ
Plus other Divinities.
There is no conflict.

English Haiku 4

My exploration of English haiku continues with these selections. I've mentioned before that the haiku I group together in a post were not necessarily all written at the exact same session, though often they were. These five, however, were all written at the exact same session. Though I couldn't know as I wrote them, these five represent what I think are among the best traditional English haiku that I've written during this exploration over the last month or so. In these, I feel I come closest to the ideal pace, meter, and atmosphere of the traditional haiku, as I defined it in my first entry on the subject.

Sitting on the ground.

Mountains rise in front of me.

Sound of flapping wings.

*

Rumble of thunder.

Sky the color of granite.

Imminent cleansing.

*

Dew on blades of grass.

Spider webs share the sparkle

Of the morning light.

(That may be my favorite and best one of this exploration.)

*

Coy shoot through a pond.

Ripples move a lily pad.

Nothing is disturbed.

*

Moonlight on the sea.

Undulation of the waves.

Perfect partnership.

English Haiku 3

Haiku of this kind are both easier and harder than one would think. With surprising regularity, I find the perfect middle line in my head to have six syllables as opposed to seven. Not eight and not five, but six. Exactly one less than the form requires. I wonder if there is something specific to English that draws it towards a phrase of six syllables right after one of five. I don't know. In either case, here are some more of my successful haiku.


Vultures high above.
All that remains of a fox.
Life and death and life.

*

Frozen solid lake.
Three wolves stand in the middle.
Winter serenade. 

*

Snakes on dry, hot sand.
Tumbleweeds bounce to new homes.
Succulent cacti.

*

Indigo bunting.
Jet black crows in nearby field.
Potential strange flock.

*

Dormant, brown tree limbs
Against a polished blue sky.
Past, present, future.

*

Moss-covered boulders
Flanking a raging river.
Behold yin and yang.

*

Blue jays. Cardinals. Crows.
Pheasants. Turkeys. Starlings. Doves.
Diverse sky masters. 

English Haiku 2

As you can probably imagine, I tend to write several haiku at one time, given their brevity. So I've also decided to post several at a time. Each of them are stand alone works for now, that is to say they were not written with a particular sequence in mind, and so are not presented as such here. In fact, the haiku I post together here were not always written in the same session. But all were written since I began this renewed interest in poetry. Here are some more:


Sunshine in April
Melting residual snow.
Almost warm enough.

*

A hawk on a limb
Head hardly ever moving
Still sees what it needs.

*

Distant thunderstorm.
Small herd of cattle cloistered.
Pain in old mens' knees.

*

Neighboring meadow
Home to many fireflies.
Starry nights concede.

*

Fire in my hearth.
Shadows on friendly faces.
The presence of God.

*

Misty forest path.
A wild turkey crosses.
My steps are profane.

*

Eye to eye with deer.
Close enough to hear them snort.
They do me honor.

English Haiku 1

The term “English Haiku” is quite a misnomer. The traditional Japanese short-form poetry really doesn’t have an English equal that can replicate its brevity and simplicity of language, because of the difference between syllables and word order in Japanese and English. So over the ages, poets have done the best they can to come up with a rough equivalent for the English language.

Probably the most well-known of these attempts is the three-line, 17-syllable structure, or the 5-7-5 structure, wherein there is no rhyming. Furthermore, the piece should reflect a moment in nature and, in the best case scenario, indicate the season in which is takes place.

English haiku have taken on different forms in recent years. The trend, as it is for most of poetry these days, is leading towards less structure. I may explore those types of English haiku in the future, but for my most recent writing sessions, I have stuck to the “traditional” English haiku of 5-7-5. I’ve also done my best to keep the emphasis on nature and the truth it sometimes reveals to the observer.

With that in mind, here are some of my most recent:

Frigid river runs.

Surrounding snow insulates.

It can still be heard.

*

Smell of coming snow.

A wind louder than the waves.

It is still the beach.

*

Sweltering midnight.

Steam from a recent down pour. 

The goddesses make love.

*

Light snow in April

Melted away by lunchtime.

Yes, I remember.

*

Strong wind in July.

The putrid heat is moving.

I do not say much.

Welcome.

As I mentioned a few days ago on my main website, TyUnglebower.com, I have recently gotten back into writing poetry. This blog will be, as you can tell, a place for me to share what I come up with.

For now, most of what I plan to write will be form poetry with structured patterns. This will allow me to play with language, and set specific goals. But if the mood strikes me, I will also post some free form stuff as well.

To begin with, I will probably concentrate on one particular form for a while, and post some of the results of that exploration here. In time, the postings may be more random.

I’m not setting a specific schedule for posting of the next poem or group of poems. One of the points of my getting back into poetry after a long absence is to be easy on obligation, and high on creativity. I’ll attempt to follow the rules of certain poetry forms, as I said, but other than that, I want my poetry, and this site dedicated to it, to be a low-stress affair.

So subscribe or check back often. You never know when I will post the next poem. (Well, this time you will know, since I’m telling you I will be posting the first selections later today, so look for it.)

Thanks for stopping by.