Month: November 2017

Serendipity

Serendipitous soliloquy 

Does this tirade scan iambically

I pace the floor while shouting my declaimation 

Trying to rid myself of my consternation

You swore you loved me, You chased and wooed me

I began to trust and became your devotee

How could I become sucked in to this morass

I am feeling such an ass
My ego has nose dived my world has rocked

I am feeling such dismay my system is shocked

This drama is unfolding as I play my scene

Wishing like Shakespeare the villain could intervene

Or at least eavesdrop on this great soliloquy

Instead of an audience composed of just me

I hope across the ether the echoes resonate

Making you aware of my solitary debate

Why rhyme

Words crawl across the page

Full of ideas, need to engage

Stories, prose or rhyme

Has to be rhyme, when , little time
Rhythms and rhymes feels so easy

Feel so right, work so cleanly

Poetry purists will say how cheesy

Expell their breath, very wheezy
An idea to express,  reaction to provoke 

A hope for debate, revolt, or quote

Human relationships float my boat

Love, lust and human trust, my promote
Why rhyme

Nice line

Tends to keep things 

On springs
I can do more rounded prose

Use large words,maybe pose

Metrical composition

Personification recognition
Versification 

Conflagragation 

As long as it rhymes 

Suits my paradigms
Why rhyme

Because I so love it!

Sadness sometimes lurks in a corner

But as an optimist,I try t be an informer

Alternative way

If you are feeling at a low ebb

Despondent unable to cope, with lifes web

Heartbroken, unappreciated

Clothed but feeling stark naked
When you want to give up,stop, look for hope

Regroup, retrench and for a moment,be a castle in a moat

Find your essence, the centre of your being

Retreat into your inner eye, do new seeing
Let go of all the things you can’t control

Hold all your strengths and blessings to extol

Grieve for dreams unfulfilled

Wishes and hopes that have chilled
Then parcel that grief and toss it away

Breath deep the scent of the happiness bouquet 

Find small green shoots to nurture, even in the devastation 

Don’t give up, hold on, it’s all in the interpretation

Find lifes alternative way.

Ups and Downs

What is it with life

 it has ups and downs

Pleasure and pain

 Joy and heartbreak

do the rounds

Would that our lives

 could, just be pleasure

No pain or woe 

for us to measure.
Why is it, things

 go so wrong?

Bad things happen 

not like in songs

How do I deal 

with the days

 that are black

When the roof 

caves in

The cheque

bounces back

I have to dig

in deep

To my reserves 

my internal resevoir. 

What is it with life

 it has ups and downs

Pleasure and pain

 joy and heartbreak

do the rounds.

Lay your head

Lay your head on my heart

Feel the beats stop and start
Our mind pictures blending

the feelings we are tending

feel the warmth of my skin

it must be win win

Reach out to me
Feel the beats stop and start

describe your feelings

in this time we are stealing

a time free to care

we have little to spare
Lay your head on my heart

Feel the beats stop and start

Poetic Voice

Poetic voice.

Poetic voice is something that I am thinking about at the moment and I would love to get others views.

Here’s a piece setting out some nuts and bolts about poetic voice that you may agree or disagree with do tell me.

I am also struggling with some questions that I would love your take on them.
 What is Poetic Voice? 

According to one dictionary of critical terms

, to speak of voice in a poem is to:
 … characterize the tonal qualities, attitudes, or even the entire personality of this speaker as it reveals itself directly or indirectly (through sound, choice of diction, and other stylistic devices)…[voice]

 reminds us that a human being is behind the words of a poem, that he is revealing his individuality by means of the poem, and that this revelation may be the most significant part of what we receive from the poem… Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics. Ed. Alex Preminger. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965.
 In poetry, the term ‘voice’ refers to the way in which you translate what’s in your head to the outside world. Poetic voice is very simply the way that you write. It is your choice of words, the order of your words, the length of your sentences, the weight of your stanzas, the length of your poems, your use of imagery, your choice of subjects, your outlook, and everything else that goes into the writing of a poem. While any of these aspects of your writing can change from one poem to the next, general patterns will surface over time.
I read recently that you can always recognise the poetry of Laura Adcock by  her cool almost icy tones, that Emily Dickerson is noted for her brevity and use of words (somebody said you could sing most of her poems to the tune of The Yellow Rose if Texas…..I haven’t tried it!) These are just a couple of examples of poets recognised by their style.
What is running around in my mind at the moment is:
Is the development of voice  just about developing a formula that allows the poet to easily write a poem….becomes habit for example?
Does recognising a voice mean that the reader can prejudge where the poem  will go…rather like books by authors that continue to use the same plot formula in their books. 
How does the poet keep their voice fresh and authentic?
There are lots of other thoughts sculling in my brain.
What is your take on poetic voice?

Sharing Time

Sharing time with you

Makes me happy

       Respite from reality

A secret space

      Touch and embrace

Feelings of vitality

Wrap close around me

Like tendrils of morning mist

                          Clinging, hard to resist
Sharing time with you

Is the pinnacle of my week

            Emotional peak

From that first meet, kiss

The feelings of bliss

                     Engulf me

You feed my mind

I reply in kind

                Cerebral compatibility

Time

Night turns  too quickly to early morn

As I follow the spark of an idea

And the tick of the clock fails to warn 
The fall of the second hand, seems to scorn

As I write oblivious to reason

Night turns too quickly to early morn 
I am driven to create ideas unborn

To be shaped into the arena

And the tick of the clock fails to warn
Between punctuation and profundities thorn

I do not recognise my tired demeanor

Night turns too quickly to early morn
Lack of sleep a  serious cause to mourn

Tomorrow i will recognise this schema 

And The tick of the clock fails to warn 
Without rhyme or reason passion  feels stillborn

Productivity precedes amnesia as

Night turns too quickly to early morn

And the tick of the  clock fails to warn
This is an edited version of Ticking Clock removing all the ing words. 

Ticking Clock

Late nights turn quickly to early morning

As I recognise the spark of an idea

Whilst the ticking clock issues no warning

 

Space between the second hand is falling

Recognising potential could be the reason

Late nights turn quickly to early morning

 

I will have recognised a new dawning

of ideas, to be pushed in the arena

Whilst the ticking clock issues no warning

 

Between punctuation and profundities crossing

I do not recognise my tired demeanor

Late nights turn quickly into early mornings

 

Lack of  sleep, causes serious mourning

Tomorrow I will recognise this schema

Whilst the ticking clock issues no warning

 

Without rhyme or reason need becomes longing

Recognising insomnia and amensia

Late nights turn into early mornings

The ticking clock issues no warning
Written in the Villanelle form.