Looking at poetry styles

I discovered a different one called Soledad. I love learning new and old styles of poetry writing, it opens one’s mind to different possibilities when writing. My humble attempt is included with Gorder’s, and Smith’s  below.

Soledad: 1. Three 8-syllable lines 2. Written in tercets or triplets alone or in sequence. 3. Rhyme Scheme: a-x-a b-x-b etc. X= unrhymed. 4. Often has internal consonance or assonance. 5. Octosyllabic lines were typical in 12th  Spanish poetry. The majority of the forms were couplets.

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Spring Ahead © Judi Van Gorder

Eyes droop from lack of sleep last night,
late night write, hour hand clicks to twelve,
skip ropes forward, I wake at light.

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Sacrifice Zones © 2012 Linda Varsell Smith

Exploited for profit and greed,

no rules to protect people, land

places disregarded we need.

***

Fuel industry and create blight.

Pollution a catastrophe.

Deplete and decay–people’s plight

***

Remove what stands in machine’s way

leaving dead land, mountain moonscape.

taking clean water, breathe away.

***

Defeated people struggle, shout

renew, recycle, choose for life,

dead, dying zones doing without.

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In a Chaotic Moment ©Lyn Crain

Leaves flutter wildly in the wind

The colors burst upon my soul

 scattered thoughts defiantly pinned

http://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/index.php?/topic/1023-soledad/

Click to access Soledad.pdf

Musings from the Masters

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.
~~ Leonard Cohen~~

Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.

~~Joseph Roux

Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own.

~~Dylan Thomas~~

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry

.~~Emily Dickinson~~

Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.

~~ Carl Sandburg~~

Poetry is that wonderful medium where you can tell of an epic occasion or express a simple truth. It can be flowery, stark, wordy or concise. It is a basket full of words scattered on a page in such an arrangement as to portray emotion or tale.

~~Fyn Dorian~~

Life of a Jack o’ Lantern ©Lyn Crain

Hemingway got his whiskey
Poor Edgar got his nightmares
Jane Austin got Mr. Darby
I got grabbed by strangers

Johnny Cash got called Sue.
Judy Garland got a rainbow.
Elvis has impersonators in Vegas.
My insides were ripped out!

The scarecrow wears cool clothes.
The mighty  raven gets to soar.
The evil witches cackle, not me
I got triangles for my eyes and nose.

Halloween they say is the absolute best.
At least, that’s what all the children say.
Not for me, I got really crooked teeth
and a candle burns my skin.  It’s not fair!

Happy Halloween to you and yours
from a black soot covered jack o lantern
sitting on the stone wall alone
who just wants to go home!

The Titles Spoke to Me #2 ©Lyn Crain

The Titles Spoke to Me #2 ©Lyn Crain

A Gambler’s Anatomy

on the Streets of Laredo

with Wolf Boys and

 Black Lives Imagined

Wild in The Streets

in Blood and Sand

the last Shelter in Place.

 In those Crazy Years

Small Great Things

Just What You Are to Me

The Nonconformist

Leaving The Faith

for a Bohemian Grove

No Place Is Home.

 

If He Writes It, She Will Come

Make A Mess of It

Strangers in Their Own Land

The Ghost in The Machine, Maybe Your Soul

Paint It Black

Pure Adrenaline Utter Ease

Under The Udala Trees

It Stands Alone

in Denial

I Must Be Living Twice

The Hating Game

 

This poem is written with titles found in the Sunday Book Review and the Weekend Arts of the New York Times.  This poetic style is called Found Poetry. The words in Italics are books and review titles. I did not alter them in any way. I simply placed them all on paper and shuffled them until I created a poem.

Who’s Smiling Now © Lyn Crain

My poem is in response to a picture in a poetry contest on Writing.com, the picture is created by Marci Perrine. I’ve included the link below along with the song that inspired me.

Who’s Smiling Now

Let’s see if my plans go as proposed.
How dare those three pumpkins smirk!
He thought I wouldn’t see the gate closed.
That man is such a predictable jerk.

On the surface, I look young and immature
but behind these appealing lavender eyes
there are years of rage barely denied.
I’ve found there are advantages to being demure.

I’ll show him not to take my feelings lightly
He underestimates my ability to take action.
Hmm, I have something to remind him nightly
Ah, this spell will give me immense satisfaction.

On the surface, I look young and immature
but behind these appealing lavender eyes
there are years of rage barely denied.
I’ve found there are advantages to being demure.

My trusty wand glows with delight
ready for work on this pathetic jerk
as his screams of agony fill the night
I noted his pumpkins lost their evil smirk.

Oops, another man done gone…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1eucC-YMLL8

http://marphilhearts.deviantart.com/art/Trick-Or-Treat-640593713

To be a Writer…

His kiss curled my toes… I never knew love could feel like this.
My heart skipped a beat …but my brain began it’s litany of what if’s

Abirami's avatarTHE OBSESSIVE WRITER

All it takes is a feeling. A kiss that sends you reeling. The smell of the rain or the music that momentarily takes away your pain. Every where you look there lies an untold story. So, keep an eye out for the poetry. It’s not always pretty. Not if you want reality. The truth doesn’t have to rhyme. What has to be said, needs to be said when it’s time. Those demons on your shoulder, they will tell you,

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You can’t”

“You won’t”

“Don’t”

Flick them off and keep writing anyway.

© Abirami

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Betrayed©Lyn Crain

 
So many brightly, illuminated
cumulus clouds surround you
on this October evening.
Mr. Moon. Or should I address

you as the Hunter, this fine evening?

I stand before you seeking answers
to those nagging adult questions.

Where do we go from here?

Please, tell me
Mr. Moon.
I need to know.

Why is it,
when I was a child
staring at you
the answers I sought
were right there?

Now that I’m an adult Mr. Moon,
the answers never appear.
Did you abandon me to those
lullaby moments?

I’m so scared.

Being an adult is not what

I thought.

Damn you. Why is it
your beguiling glow now
leaves me chilled
to the bone?

Sigh…

Sadly,  a new
dawning realization
echoes across
my aged soul even

my childhood friends’
glimmering magic
is gone.

Damn you Mr. Moon!

I never expected to be
betrayed by you,
my last childhood friend.