Form Poem Contest

[PrinceMyshkin]

Congratulations, Prince!

I believe you cited the Snodgrass poem to me before, and I can't remember if I ever found the name of the form, but I'll keep looking.

So far I found this:
http://www.enotes.com/april-inventor...pril-inventory

which states that the poem consists of ten 6-line stanzas, in iambic tetrameter with the rhyme scheme ababcc. At first I thought it was a Burns' stanza (a la Robert) but Robbie alternates two meters. To me, the stanza is very much like a "sestet," the second half of an Italian or Petrarchian sonnet.

My question is -- surely you don't want all of us to write a full 60 lines, do ya? (I know what you're going to say "Don't call me 'Shirley.")

No, I don't expect or require 60 lines...And I'm grateful you didn't write "Don't call me, 'Shirley."

[qimissung]

Yeah, cause I don't think I can write ten six line stanzas!

[blank|verse]

Well done Prince for being judged the winner; they were all good entries though. An enjoyable competition.

[Pendragon]

Congrads, Jer! I look forward to the next form!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Congrads, Jer! I look forward to the next form!

Thanks, Pen, do please note that I posted info re the next form at message #715 and elaborated at #721

[Virgil]

I'm afraid I've been way too busy to participate. When is the deadline?

Edit: Never mind. I found it, March 21st. I might be able to sneak one in by the deadline. We'll see.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I'm afraid I've been way too busy to participate. When is the deadline?

Edit: Never mind. I found it, March 21st. I might be able to sneak one in by the deadline. We'll see.

I started to answer before I saw that you had edited, but given the paucity of replies thus far, I might choose to extend it.

[Virgil]

I started to answer before I saw that you had edited, but given the paucity of replies thus far, I might choose to extend it.

We had such a good turnout for the previous round. I guess the output comes in cycles. [ That last sentence sounds like engineering talk.]

[Pendragon]

Song of New Hope

When March comes in like a soft, fleecy lamb
Does it have to go out like a Lion on the prowl?
Weary of the snow and the bitter cold I am,
Ready for the North Wind to blow it’s last howl
Ready for the birdsong and flowers of Spring
I dream of their beauty when night falls each eve
Not that snow in itself is not a beautiful thing
But warmer weather will release my depression I believe
Looking each day for the buds on the trees
And trusting that Spring is coming no matter what one sees…

Time to give back clothing to the poor naked trees,
And let daisies and violets wink in the grass
Let’s trade in the cold for the warm Spring breeze
Tell Old Man Winter to cease and desist and just pass!
Already there are signs but the Lion cannot be far away
This period of sunshine may yet give way to snow
I’m thanking God for such a beautiful, lovely day
And find that new plants are beginning to show
Cheers for the passing of Winter, and the debut of Spring
Joy for new beginnings and the happiness the sun brings!

Pendragon
© March 7, 2010

[PrinceMyshkin]

Welcome to this first, graceful submission!

[krymsonkyng]

The days grow faster than the weeds
Rivulets reveal bulbs below
The sun glazed crystal water leads
the raft's retreat, fading spring snow,
dirt packed hard by months' frozen mass
sports shoots of flowers, despite glass

Mens' thoughts turn to forgotten love
from winter's daily drag, and grind
Romance hits thawing wits in droves
bittersweet blossoms of a bitter mind
As time melts veldt back to surface,
heart and soul take man's whole purpose.


Note: I may have laced in too much trochee... Expect a revision.
Note Note: I think that should fix the balance I was going for. Good luck everyone!
Note Note Note: I misread the requirements. I've got to shave the lines back to tetrameter... Bugger.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Thanks, krymsonking, this makes it a real contest!

[AuntShecky]

Hindsight

This strange myopia of mine
weakens my view in prisms of ways.
It strains my eyes when hours shine,
with its focus on the darkest days.
I can't see my way clear enough to shake
the sight of every dumb mistake.

I see more flaws than I can count.
The list gets longer. Wrongs arrange
themselves into a steep amount.
I'm blind to faults that I could change.
And I have felt at my heart’s core
a thousand needles, maybe more.

Past peers misread Marcuse off the shelves.
Aloof, I looked at them askance.
Now wealth has claimed their former selves,
while failure long since has seized my stance.
No doubt those folks have pity to share.
(Of that, this self has plenty to spare.)

The times I squandered, wasted, spent
chasing silly dreams or foolish men!
No dough, a deadbeat with the rent:
the same old me I've always been.
I could patch my wounds with duct tape and string,
or open my eyes and look at spring.

The blackbird with his rosy stripe,
the waking frogs down in the mud,
the forsythia so eagerly ripe
to welcome its early golden bud
all show that stale old winds have blown.
I'll force an April of my own,

and with each green spear that pokes its head
up through the ground that’s soft at last,
I'll soundly spank and send to bed
all the bad winters of my past.
For spring gives me another chance
to live -– without a backward glance.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Make it hard for me, why don'tcha!

[qimissung]

the purple crocus in their velvet coats
enfold each other tenderly as they
await the coming night, its icy notes;
spring turns its back on winter's wordplay
while my brush wordlessly conspires
to trace their downy deep desires

fingers trace the newborn baby's back; fires
that had lain dormant stir; the earth, primed for
your rebirth, makes ready loamy soil, requires
the earth stop its weary toil; the purple martin savior
is come home; sound loud the bright refrain!
that which was lost is found again.

Qimissung