Winter will Blossom – Kyrielle Sonnet – October 30, 2014



And so, the morning waxes cold,
Autumn days have now grown old.
The season’s passage we can’t slow,
Winter will blossom with white snow.

Put warm duvets onto your beds,
Buy wooly hats for children’s heads
Sit by the fire, let north winds blow.
Winter will blossom with white snow.

November first ’tis All Saint’s day,
Winter cold won’t be held at bay.
Lovely ’tis the season’s tableau.
Winter will blossom with white snow.

And so,  the morning waxes cold,
Winter will blossom with white snow.

(c) G.s.k. ’14



Just like the traditional Kyrielle poem, the Kyrielle Sonnet
also has a repeating line or phrase as a
refrain (usually appearing  as the last line of each stanza).
Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet consist of only 8 syllables
French poetry forms have a tendency to link back to the beginning
of the poem, so common practice is to use the first and last line
of the first quatrain as the ending  couplet.
This would also re-enforce the refrain within the poem.
Therefore, a good rhyming scheme
for a Kyrielle Sonnet would be:
AabB, ccbB, ddbB, AB -or- AbaB, cbcB, dbdB, AB.



T’is the Night (Samhain) – kyrielle – October 29, 2014

T’is the Night (Samhain)

T’is the night when spirits visit
The djinn and afrits join the fun
We’ll built our bonfires high and dance
Then will come cold Calan Gaeaf



The harvest’s over – the grain’s stored
Now days grow shorter – cold winds blow
For a day spirits walk the earth
Then will come cold  Calan Gaeaf

We’ll go a guising Samhain night
Mix with the spirits with delight
Won’t think of winter’s long cold blight
Then will come cold Calan Gaeaf

T’is the night when spirits visit
The Djinn and afrits join the fun

(c) G.s.k. ’14


Once upon a time, I wrote a poem for a friend’s challenge, it was supposed to be a Kyrielle Sonnet, but though I wrote with the prescribed stanza and syllables (meter) and repeated the first two lines to create the refrain –  I forgot to rhyme the poem.  She kindly suggested we call it a Bastet Kyrielle … so here’s a Bastet Kyrielle with a twist, the last line of the first three stanzas are repeated. This is to honor Samhain  (pronounced /ˈsɑːwɪn/ SAH-win or /ˈs.ɪn/ SOW-in[1] Irish pronunciation: [sˠaunʲ]) and the Welsh first day of winter Calan Gaeaf (pronunciation: sound link, which was this week’s Tale Weaver’s Prompt at Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie






The Octopus and The Eel – Free Verse – October 27, 2014

Under the choppy sea
Among the rocky shoals
Not far from sunny Ischia
In the Golf of Naples
Lays in wait an octopus …

Among the algae he stays
Oozing his ailing slime
His tentacle moves slowly
To catch a briny fish …

The fishermen tell a story
The travelers listen in awe
Of the near ubiquitous creatures
Which lived under the sea nearby …

The octopus has a rival,
An ancient moray eel
They live in neighboring rocks
And though intangible to men,
A battle is daily fought …

Lean and long with dangerous teeth
More rapid than an arrow
The eel can bridge a gap in seconds
Snapping up a wayward fish
Right out of the mollusc‘s grip …

With an expulsion of black ink
The octopus protests …
But the eel’s only reply is
A haunty coruscation
In the pitch black murky gloom.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

The moray eel and the octopus are not in fact rivals at all … this is just a bit of fancy.



Linked to Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie Wordle:

1. Coruscation (a sudden gleam or flash of light) 2. Bridge 3. Expulsion 4. Algae 5. Traveler 6. Ooze 7. Ailing 8. Lean 9. Briny 10. Ubiquitous (omnipresent) 11. Pitch 12. Intangible


Yoga (I Watched Him Stretch) – Rondine and Shadorma – October 26, 2014

Strecccchhhhhhhhh! And Photo Credits.

I watched him stretch his graceful limb
Beautiful – t’was the sight to see
I looked at him then down at me
Knowing I’m just not made like him …

Concentrating and feeling grim
(Thinking it better that I flee …)
I watched him stretch

I went to his course on a whim
A morning workshop which was free
(My shoulders ache, so does my knee …
His yoga took me to the rim)
I watched him stretch

ah yoga
memory of youth
but there’s yoga and yoga
limping, I reflected.

(c) G.s.k. ’14



I went to a yoga workshop yesterday morning and to say the least it was an experience.  I’ve practiced yoga in the past and since the first course I took back in 1976, I’ve practiced it with other yoga masters and have also done Pilates, stretching, tai chi, and Aikido.  I’m a licensed Shatsu therapist, now retired because of arthritis in the knees and I admit, I’m out of shape.

I was expecting a normal yoga course with a little tai chi added (as he said) but what I found was a gauntlet, something that might be called “cross-over yoga”.  Most of the postures were on hands and knees with a lot of shoulder work.  We were 5 women .. average age 55 .. except for a lovely young thing of around 20 who had no problems at all. (Oh I’d told him of my physical problems btw.)The rest of us were stumbling and sweating like fountains, one lady felt nauseated from the efforts.

At the end of the meet, he asked us what we thought.  As usual the Italians (especially Trentini) are very courteous … one lady, a regular (who had had even more problems than I) said that it was easier than usual (I though: OMG!) … the other lady complained of her lack of co-ordination and said she probably shouldn’t have eaten breakfast before coming to the workshop … the third that she’d never practiced yoga in that way and found it delightfully challenging (!) … the young thing talked about her needing to improve her posture.

I, being an American and besides at nearly 63, let’s say a little outspoken, said that I found it far too advanced for me and if it was so easy for the first lady, I shuddered to think what difficult would be. At which point the campaign to convince me that it was a matter of working into the exercises to obtain the benefits of his version of yoga began (I said that if I survived, it would probably be very beneficial).

Afterwards out of earshot, two of the ladies agreed with me (cowards).  Ah to be young again ….


The first poem  is a rondine …  was introduced by Jen on this week’s BJ’s Shadorma and Beyond for Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie.


Bastet’s Origami Boat – free verse – October 25, 2014

Bastet’s Origami Boat

with …
reams of newspaper
blurred and painted
she sits in pink pajamas
on an imaginary rock
clean rhythm of waves
splash her cold feet
then she sets sail
on her origami boat

no destination nor plans
no goals and
no ambition
she just sails onwards
going forward
lazy and free
in a sea of dreams
on her paper boat

(c) G.s.k. ’14




Linked to We Wordle for We Wordle: blurred, paper, rock, wave, pajamas, painted clean



Hurricanes in Tea Cups – Free Verse – October 24, 2014

Pablo Picasso – crying woman – 1937

shouting – smashing objects
in his needy state of rage
his fertile imagination
harvests copious expletives
when the storm is over
slamming doors he leaves

in defensive silence
she contemplates the damage
sweeping up the aftermath –
harvesting guilt feelings
planted by his storms in tea cups
that become hurricanes

© G.s.k. ’14



Needy, Defensive, Fertile (Three Word Wednesday)

From the North, The Wind – Free Verse – October 23, 2014


wind and rainfrom the north, the wind
funnels through this happy valley
raising dust in streets and alleys
howling like a banshee witch …
greetings from winter.

from the north, the wind
creeps into my bones at night
and toss and turn as I might
I wake with aches and I know …
winter is near.

from the north, the wind
bringing polar Siberian cold
pushing into exile –  the last warmth
that kissed this happy valley …
winter has returned.


Murder on the Strand – Kyrielle Sonnet and Shadorma – October 21, 2014

Murder on the Strand (Kyrielle Sonnet and Shadorma)

This Cenotaph of marble bright
Reminds me of her lover’s plight –
Whilst on a slope in a strange land
He met his death at murder’s hand.

He’d gone to feast one evening,
‘T’was with his neighbor, reveling.
From the merry crunch on the Strand
He met his death at murder’s hand.

Invisible – enameled knife sunk
To the hilt into his poor trunk
Though t’was a mistake and unplanned
He met his death at murder’s hand.

Lichen cover this Cenotaph –
He met his death at murder’s hand.

Minstrel call:
“Dismiss not this tale,
Give a coin …
Recede not …
My songs are my currency
And each word is pure gold.”

 (c) G.s.k. ’14

(The wordle words:  1. Cenotaph (a sepulchral monument erected in memory of a deceased person whose body is buried elsewhere.) 2. Currency 3. Neighbor 4. Lichen 5. Feast 6. Crunch 7. Recede 8. Invisible 9. Enamel 10. Slope 11. Murder 12. Dismiss)

Written for Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie ( Monday Wordle)


Melancholy Drizzle – Free Quartine – October 20, 2014

Oscar Wilde


“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”  Oscar Wilde


Under a melancholy drizzle
Damp and cloudy thoughts
Tied my rainbow happiness
Into somber dreary knots …

The grass is always greener
Is surely just a tired cliché but
My musings kept going there
As serenity flowed away …

“Where are all these wonderous stars …
Portents for luck and happiness?
Ah – hidden behind the clouds
Under a melancholy drizzle …”

Then with the morning-tide …
Bright chirping of birds began
And just before the
dawn of light
The clouds opened and I saw …

A smattering of stars
That lifted me from the gutter
Gone, anger and despair – I hailed
The glorious, bright morning.


Written for Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie using the words from OctPoWriMo’s prompt of October 19.


Memories – Haiku Story – October 19, 2014

Sometimes  memories become the world for us…

a late summer walk
around the lake near Nemi
stumbling in the woods

hidden in the woods
late sweet strawberries still grow
– among dead leaves

hand in hand watching
the flight of a falcon high
– searching for a mouse

smell the humid leaves
rain likes to be remembered –
rich earthy perfume

gloaming of the eve
red reflections on the lake
– thirty years ago

(c) ’14


Written for Heeding Haiku with Ha from Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie