Rondeau 6

The final shot will happen soon.
Perhaps on Sunday afternoon.
Or maybe in another week
We'll finally have the peace we seek
And then we'll sing a different tune.

They said that it would come last June,
"Before another harvest moon."
There is one thing of which they speak:
The final shot.

One day another damn buffoon
Will make the integral mob swoon.
And then the world won't seem as bleak.
Meanwhile the commanders tweak
To try to get for their platoon
The final shot.

Rondeau 5

Yes, it has been a few months since I posted. But I have been thinking about the poetry I write for this site all along. It takes concentration and time set aside to create something like a rondeau, (or any of the more complicated forms of poetry.) While I admit I could have been quicker about it this time, this poems are not the sort one can crank out ten at a time, and expect any quality.

Nonetheless, here is my fifth rondeau. My exploration of the form will continue for a bit more, hopefully without as large a delay as this time.

*

By candle light, one's heart is known.
For one can never be alone
Amid the dancing of the flame.
We cannot hide our pride or shame.
Our dreams, our fears, our sins are shown.

Undulating shadows are blown
Along four walls of solid stone.
Nothing ever looks the same
By candle light.

Some will their tragic state bemoan.
For sins, some others will atone.
Still others won't assign the blame.
To them it's nothing but a game.
And for a few? Their legend grows
By candle light.

Rondeau 4

In braver days, the land was free.
An honest difference would not be
A reason for me to despise
Distrust and doubt, defame with lies.
There was another view to see.

This land was safe for men like me.
It was no crime to disagree.
And noble souls could compromise.
In braver days.

No cowering on bended knee.
No public servant apathy.
No hungry wolves in sheep disguise.
No hesitance to realize
The weak owe no apology.
In braver days.

Rondeau 3

All summer long I hear the creek.
Bubbling, burbling, I hear it speak,
And with it crickets in the weed.
So very little do I need
When I embrace the earth's mystique.

I hike across  the world's physique,
Sweating and panting as I seek
The confirmations of my creed.
All summer long.

Oh how my passions reach their peak,
A soothing balm for when I'm weak.
Beneath the sun my soul shall feed.
There is a calling I shall heed
All summer long.

Rondeau 2

I wage a war I cannot show.
A war the world must never know.
The struggle is my private hell.
Combatants names I will not tell,
Nor will I tell where I must go.

No casualties. No blood will flow.
No commendations to bestow.
Yet if I win all will be well.
I wage a war.

An explanation I may owe.
Contemporaries tell me so.
Yet though their admonitions swell,
To say would sound my own death knell.
Suffice to say, it's going slow.
I wage a war.

Rondeau 1

As I mentioned in my previous entry, I'll be exploring another form for a while. That form, as you can see from the title of this post, is the rondeau.

The form was originally used in medieval France for songs, its use of a rentrement, (the refrain) making it ideal for singing about particularly emotional subjects.

Though not usually put to music in modern times, the basic structure of the lyrics has remained the same: fifteen lines, three stanzas. The lines are uniformly either ten or eight syllables long throughout the piece, other than the refrain when it stands alone.

The first stanza consists of five lines, of AABBA rhyme scheme, the first four beats of the first line forming the rentrement/refrain.

The second stanza consists of three full lines at AAB rhyme, the fourth line being the rentrement by itself. In the original French, the rentrement did not traditionally fall into the rhyme scheme. English poets in the 19th century popularized the incorporation of  the refrain into the rest of the rhyme scheme, thinking it provided greater emphasis.

The final stanza is five full lines, back to the AABBA scheme, the sixth line being another stand alone occurrence of the rentrement.

Though requiring practice, composing them has for me been easier than trying to describe them here. I do find  rentrement impactful, but unlike the villanelle which to me seems to come in unending waves of obsession for the subject of its two refrains, the rentrement of the rondeau feels to me more like a reminder; the reader is lulled away a bit with relevant, potent imagery or symbolism pertaining to the subject or theme, and is then brought gently back to it thus making the rentrement a sort of miniature poem in its own right, backed up by the rest of the verse.

The challenge, if one is writing a rondeau in the true spirit in which it was invented, is to devise a rentrement that is powerful in its own right, and to end each line memorably with an easily rhymed word.

The best example I have ever read in English is In Flanders Fields by John McCrae.

Thus far in my exploration, as you will see below, I have opted to make my lines eight syllables. Firstly because I am still weary of working with ten syllables from my exploration of the sonnet, and because I've found that many of my poetic phrases and lines tend to naturally gravitate toward eight syllables for some reason. Finally, I think the rhythm is more emotional with eight.

For now, I've also opted to keep my rentrement outside of the rhyme scheme of the rest of the poem, allowing it to stand alone. Contrary to the 19th century English poets mentioned above, I find this separation of the refrain, both in position and in sound is far more effective.

I will likely adhere to this pattern for my entire exploration of the form, but I may throw in some of the alternative structures later on.

For now, here endeth the lesson, and here startith the rondeau.

*

I'll find a way to stand up straight.
My  heart shall never hesitate
To open up for all to see.
I will be always true to me.
This is the manner of the great.

While here on earth I must not wait.
Once life is over, it's too late.
So even when I cannot see
I'll find a way.

I don't know what to make of Fate.
I only know love conquers hate.
And so wherever I may be,
My generosity is key.
(With other things I contemplate.)
I'll find a way. 

Acrostic Ten

This will be my last acrostic for this exploration. Time and other activities being what they are this year, I wrote fewer of them over the last few months than I intended. I have indeed spend more calendar time on posting acrostics than I had planned.

Nonetheless I have enjoyed the medium, and depending on the rules, it isn't as easy as one might think. Must of my rules were self-imposed, I grant you, but even if you go with the most basic approach to this form, they require some thought if you don't want to create mere gibberish which starts with certain letters.

I don't know which form I will take on next. I'm looking at several. All will be revealed within a week. I also hope to not let weeks go by between each posting as I did with the last two forms. That tends to keep me on one form for too long, I think.

Then again, there is no deadline here. No commission. Just my exploration of the forms I choose. And I'd rather only post poems that are well-thought out every two weeks, than half-assed poems every other day.

That being said, I'm ending this exploration of acrostic on my lightest note. After that, on to something else!

*

Savor
A
Little
Taste

Acrostic 9

From within the recesses of my mind,
Remembrances of better times.
I can't believe how much has changed.
Each time I believe I'm loved,
Newer, "better" people
Dominate all hearts.
So I'm alone.
Held by none.
I'm lost.
Pain.

Acrostic 8

Sticking with my usual ten-syllables per line method, though I plan to depart more from it in the final few acrostics I write for this exploration.

*

Make amends with loved ones you have injured.
Gentle demeanor is not a weakness.
The time we have on earth is limited.
Life affords all of us the chance to love.
Of this and little else can we be sure.
This should be our credo: To shine a light.
World, nation, home-all starting with our hearts.

Acrostic 7

Today's acrostic is dedicated to one of my other major passions.

*

Time speeds up, slows down, and sometimes stops.
Hither and yon scurry the actors of
Every stripe, preparing to put on
A production for all the world to see.
The world! (Or in the very least, their town.)
Reflecting human nature like mirrors,
Each performer adding to a new world.

Acrostic 6

Severe restrictions on one's true nature.

Offensive disregard for weaknesses.

Capabilities and knowledge ignored

In favor of cosmetic achievements.

Every day another door is closed

To those of us with unique perspectives.

Young, old and all in between must conform.

Acrostic 5

All of us collectively watch our dead ideals crust over like a scab.
Wandering through the remains of our principles today is obscene.
After our self-congratulatory ovations in hell
Kill any remaining authenticity we'll fall, like so many Narcissi,
Ever more with ourselves as our dreams become mundane.
None of it is necessary if you realize the entirety of yourself.

Acrostic 4

The last few days here have at last been warm, after a rough, dark, terrible winter in Maryland. This piece sums up how I felt a few days ago before the thaw.

For this one, I just let myself go in regards to beats per line. In general I have tried to keep to ten beats each, but that was mostly an arbitrary decision to define perimeters. It hasn't worked out as well as I thought, and I may just release that restriction from here on out. This one felt much easier and much more fun to write without it, and in the end, this type of poem already does have quite the defined constrictions, what with the letters and words and the order in which they appear. Probably the way to go from now on during this exploration, at least until some novel idea turns up for one specific poem.

*

Weary of the car getting buried.
Inside the house all day and all night.
Never certain when the roads are clear.
Too much ice breaking up my trees.
Every other day comes with a weather warning.
Remember summer? Does it still exist?

Acrostic 3

Sorry I have been so long in posting lately. Much of my free time has been taken up lately with: well you'll see.

*

One time, only every several years
Legions of the world's top competitors,
Yearning to obtain some national pride
Make their way, (with coaches, friends, equipment)
Past fears. Past doubt. Past personal ego
Into descendants of ancient glories:
Competitions paying tribute to when
Society mingled with all the gods.

Acrostic 2

This acrostic isn't complex, but isn't obvious either. Look long enough, however, and you will see the message. I may do more than one of my name, but for today, enjoy this one.

I will say the goal was to keep each line to ten syllables, just for the sake of some sort of perimeters.

I did resort to breaking up lines in the middle of sentences. Many poets doe this, but I usually regard it as hackneyed and a bit of a cheat. But for this, and because I'm trying to experiment a bit, I allowed it.

*

These things are true; I'm behind, alone, scared.

Words from others, and from my former selves

Are the blades, bullets, bombs of my regrets.

But, with patience, love and faith in myself,

Reflections of my best intentions and

Of those of other people will dispel

Shadows of my past, as well as nightmares

Of my present. Then shall the future show

Me that I'm: ahead. With friends. Courageous.

Acrostic 1

Time at last for a new form, and it's one that can be both childish in its simplicity as well as dizzying in its complexity. Cute or mechanical, obvious or secretive, obvious or mysterious. It is the acrostic.

In it's simplest form, this type of poem, (designed originally to help pilgrims easily remember religious truths) consists of lines the first letters of which spell something. Usually that which is spelled relates to who springs from the content of the poem itself, though not always. At other times, it is the first world of each line that spell the message. Or the second word. Or basically any number of complicated ciphers can be involved in the creation of an acrostic.

It can rhyme, but need not. There are no official limitations on syllables per line or stanzas or any such thing. In short, an acrostic can be as little or as much as the poet wishes.

I will be experimenting with both the easy and the complex during this exploration of the acrostic and I'm looking forward to it. The form has enough freedom to allow me a relief from the specific complexity of the villanelle, but offers the potential of complexities that allow it to be a challenge to me at times.

So, enjoy my first simple example. Not as straight forward as it could be, as I don't use uniform meter in each line. But the "hidden" segment should be obvious to you.

*

Tell
Your friends
Until they understand
(Not merely hear) that
Given the particulars of his
Life, he will almost never have
Enough patience to accept or ignore
Bouts of their rapid verbosity,
Or any assumed intimacy
With such people.
Extroverts prevail
Rarely.

Villanelle 8 (And Corrections)

Happy New Year.

The holidays are always such a whirlwind and this year was no exception. As you can see from my previous entries, I managed only one villanelle during that period. And if you look closely, I did it wrong. My previous villanelle has seven as opposed to six verses. I never noticed as I wrote it, nor as I transposed it into the blog. I only noticed it when I completed today's villanelle.

That was also when I noticed I'd mislabeled the last one as number eight, when it was in fact only number seven!

While the holidays and many other factors certainly contributed to the double-error of my last villanelle, the complexity of the form and the level of concentration required before during (and it would seem after) its composition played a bigger role. All of this by way of saying that I've elected to end this first exploration into the villanelle for now. It's only eight, I realize, but believe me, eight villanelle takes the time, thought, creative energy and concentration of many more poems of other forms. I still like them, and there is a certain fun in going through the sometimes mind-wracking process of this form. But seeing as how slow my composition rate had become since switching to villanelle, I wanted to move on to something else, here in this New Year. Something fun, but less complicated. I don't know what I'll go with next, but rest assured it will be something I can produce with less time commitment than a villanelle. Hopefully by the time I enter my second exploration of this fascinating form, whenever that may be, I'll be able to produce more. Until then, do enjoy this final villanelle for now, structured properly and everything.

*

And so begins a time of peace.
A time to seek a comfort in my soul.
My worst anxieties will cease.

Like philosophers in Ancient Greece
I'll make excellence and piety my goal.
And so begins a time of peace.

All my anger I now release.
And walk into Light, though stumbling like a foal.
My worst anxieties will cease.

This human life we do but lease,
Our temporary nature is the toll.
And so begins a time of peace.

Henceforth, while on this Earth, my joys increase.
No more lay I, lazy on a knoll.
My worst anxieties will cease.

Likewise, regrets and fear decrease.
The wonders of this life I shall extol.
And so begins a time of peace.
My worst anxieties shall cease.