Werewolf

[Hawkman]

Alone in moonlight’s brightest midnight stare,
The spirit of the forest claims his due.
A victim of the curse few people share,
Perhaps a blessing, if he only knew.
His fellows of the daytime he evades,
This arcane law not wishing to explain,
That if encountered in his favourite glades,
He’d feed on them and little would remain.
For in dark hours at night when moon is full,
The wolf within is free to hunt and run,
When fools may all fall victim to his cull,
With luck perchance to join him in his fun.
For this fleet creature’s habit of the night,
Immortal life confers with just one bite.

[PrinceMyshkin]

How deft! But what a morbid streak you appear to be on? Where are the daffodils? Where is the hope that in you once was born, or the locks that from your rich head of hair appear to have been shorn?

[Hawkman]

Hi Prince, I’m afraid that:

The daffodils and locks
(that to my head are still attached)
Are of greys that seem to me,
Quite positively matched.

The daffodils indeed,
Lie under concrete in the rain,
So, no odes to love from me,
Since my previous refrains.

I feel that for the moment,
I must lack the inspiration.
Dark humour only flows,
From my pen’s infatuation.

A sonnet to a werewolf
Seems to me a merry jest,
My fans I think will like it,
But I can’t speak for the rest.

Strange that you should ask me,
Where my hopes and dreams have gone,
I ask myself that question,
Every day, upon the morn.

My muse, I feel, keeps prodding,
Though I’m sure that I must slight it,
Any poem on these lines,
Well, I just refuse to write it.

H

[PrinceMyshkin]

Refuse, refuse to write what comes
and you might, one day, be struck dumb!
I doubt it, though, since where you live,
a species of English still must give
some inspiration, and the love of writing
forever needs requiting.

[Hawkman]

If I should lack for poetry,
I guess there’s always drink,
For Alcohol can dull the pain
Of the poems I’ve not ink’d.

Perhaps relief for those who find
Abrasive, trivial or slight,
My quirky style of writing
And my skew-whiff take on life.

And now it’s time to pull the plug,
Lest my copybook I mar,
In communicator’s parlance:
QNR, QTL the bar…

QNR - I am at the point of no return
QTL - My current course or heading is

[PrinceMyshkin]

Off to the bar then, if you must,
but don’t let it bar your return. Just
don’t offer poetry to your bar-mates
or anything but giddy prose
lest they stuff your bitter
up your nose.

[Revolte]

Alone in moonlight’s brightest midnight stare,
The spirit of the forest claims his due.
A victim of the curse few people share,
Perhaps a blessing, if he only knew.
His fellows of the daytime he evades,
This arcane law not wishing to explain,
That if encountered in his favourite glades,
He’d feed on them and little would remain.
For in dark hours at night when moon is full,
The wolf within is free to hunt and run,
When fools may all fall victim to his cull,
With luck perchance to join him in his fun.
For this fleet creature’s habit of the night,
Immortal life confers with just one bite.



woooooo! My favorite monster! I love this one Hawk :hurray:

[Hawkman]

Happy to oblige, Revolte. Maybe I'll work my way through the lexicon supernatural beasties - What would you like next, I wonder?

H

[Revolte]

Happy to oblige, Revolte. Maybe I'll work my way through the lexicon supernatural beasties - What would you like next, I wonder?

H

Zombies lol, give them longing and viciousness.

[Hawkman]

OK, You're on! - H

[blank|verse]

Yeah, you seem to be catching on very quickly to this poetry lark, Hawkman. I seem to recall suggesting in a previous post that you should attempt a rhymed sonnet and here it is.

This is enjoyable stuff and I can imagine the forthcoming 'zombies' one being equally so.

My next suggestion is that you bring your diction into the 21st century and do away with the syntactical inversions.

Revolte - zombies with 'longing'? Am I missing something? "Oh, how I yearn to be a mummy..."

[Revolte]

Yeah, you seem to be catching on very quickly to this poetry lark, Hawkman. I seem to recall suggesting in a previous post that you should attempt a rhymed sonnet and here it is.

This is enjoyable stuff and I can imagine the forthcoming 'zombies' one being equally so.

My next suggestion is that you bring your diction into the 21st century and do away with the syntactical inversions.

Revolte - zombies with 'longing'? Am I missing something? "Oh, how I yearn to be a mummy..."

hahahaha

I dont know, I just like the idea of a zombie having some emotion still left in it but unable to act on it, and even if he was I mean.. the guys going to be pretty gross, he'd have to find a zombie lover, and would they even be attracted to eachother?

[Hawkman]

What I'm finding is that in order to maintain the iambic, the syntax just has to fall into an archaic style. It seems to me that contemporary English is less suited to formal poetry than one might think. I spent 6 hours trying to get, 'The Banshee' to work until I resorted to the more classical style and then it just happened in a matter of minutes.

So after the zombies I have to do a Mummy poem?

Regards,

H

[blank|verse]

Revolte - I'm no horror fan, but I associate zombies with being brainless, emotionless; so what you're suggesting is a little stroke of genius - what if a zombie has consciousness enough to realise it's a zombie. Brilliant.

Hawkman - (Adopts booming Brian Blessed voice): DDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVEEE!!! Sorry, had to get that out of my system at some point!

(Where was I?) Ah, yes, poetry. See if you can read Don Paterson's latest collection 'Rain'. The first poem, 'Two Trees' is written in modern blank verse, which, importantly, doesn't stick rigidly to the metre of iambic pentameter, but uses its beat and pulse. The first two lines:

One morning, Don Miguel got out of bed
with one idea rooted in his head:
aren't 'clean lines' of blank verse, but obey the rules syllabically, and work because of the caesura (pause) created by the comma after 'morning' and the natural phrase ending which coincides with the line break and the fact the last foot of each line is iambic - ending on the stress is important, particularly when, as here, you're using rhyming couplets.

Paterson is a brilliant contemporary poet and uses traditional forms with modern diction and is well worth reading.

[Hawkman]

Thanks BV, I've made a note of all that and will check it out.

H

[Mfdoom]

For this fleet creature’s habit of the night,
Immortal life confers with just one bite.

Loved this part mostly. So well written and defines in the simplest line a very powerful ability. I enjoyed the poem overall! :)

[Hawkman]

Thanks Mfdoom, glad you liked it - H

[Bar22do]

There was so much to read in this thread - your poem: funny, well written and I have a weakness for archaic verse (especially here, where werewolf takes us back to previous Centuries) though I see the point in Blank Verse's reminder re contemporary diction!
My only hesitation would be about a shade of redundancy in "with luck perchance", apart from which reading this one was sheer enjoyment! Thanks!

[Hawkman]

Hi Bar, and thanks for your comments. I must say that I do prefer archaic usage especially in the classical forms.

I can see why you might think that, 'with luck perchance', is tortological. although, it isn't. Perchance actually means, 'perhaps' although the chance element might be confused with luck. As I'd already used perhaps in an earlier line I used the alternative to prevent repetition. As 'perhaps' is a 'maybe', using it in conjunction with luck seems fine to me.

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it. - H