“My Hero’s – Olde Foole” – Shadorma and Double Tetractys – May17, 2015

My hero’s
not a superman
a wizard
or a mage
he says he’s just an olde foole …
like a sphinx I think!

bard
poet
song writer
a sweet sweet voice
and with a heart as big as Alaska
he was born an Air Force brat just like me
so I tell you
my hero’s
Olde Foole –
friend!

I’ve never been a hero worshipper – and I’m not now, but if I had to choose a hero, and it seems I do for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Tale Weaver prompt I could do worse than choosing my dear friend, Ye Olde Foole.

Also written for B&P’s Shadorma and Beyond – shadorma (a non-rhyming six-line poem in 3/5/3/3/7/5) – Tetractys 1, 2, 3, 4, 10 syllables (total of 20)

Life’s Door – Sestina

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I

Thinking that life was just a picnic,
I lived my days never worrying about tomorrow.
Then old age began to knock upon my door,
Bending my knees and weighing my back.
And though the party is far from over,
I contemplate a old woman’s destiny.

II

I played at life and thought I knew my destiny.
I know it wasn’t always a sunny country picnic.
I drank in the sunshine, played, now it’s nearly over.
I wait for the knock, the last tomorrow,
I’m reminded that to dust, I’ll have to go back,
I’ll walk beyond the veil and close the door.

III

Death hides behind a battered door,
And each of us has our special day and destiny.
We’ll travel forward then and never look back.
No loving, singing, no bright picnic.
There’ll be no new tomorrow,
We’ll reach the final Game Over!

IV

But now I’m still here and the game’s not over!
The only passages are through my front door,
I have a today, there’s still a tomorrow!
I know nothing of fate or destiny.
I still think of life as a party or picnic,
Harder to enjoy though with a bad back…

V

Wonder strikes me as I look back.
I think of my younth when love was over.
Wailing, that I’d never have another picnic,
Thinking life was over, and closed the door
Thinking I’d lived a star-crossed destiny,
All was lost,  there was no tomorrow.

VI

Yet what does youth know of tomorrow?
There’s no past upon which to look back!
Youth knows not that they’ve yet to make their destiny,
They’d give up the game before it’s over!
They’d run too quickly to cross the door!
From which there will never be another picnic.

VII

One day there’ll be no tomorrow, live fully before it’s over.
Youth, get  back from somber death’s door.
Choose your destiny, choose a sunny picnic!

@)—>—>—

This morning I came across this complicated poem, the sestina over at Ye Olde Foole’s place.

I have to admit I like the challenge of some of these older forms.  This one was created in the twelfth century and was used by the French troubadours of that era.  I had to do it in Word, it was too complicated to do here directly.  I color coded the end words of the first line in order to write the verses that followed.

First stanza, 1 ..2 ..3 ..4 ..5 ..6
Second stanza, ..6 ..1 ..5 .. 2 ..4 ..3
Third stanza, ..3 ..6 ..4 ..1 ..2 ..5
Fourth stanza, ..5 ..3 ..2 ..6 ..1 ..4
Fifth stanza, ..4 ..5 ..1 ..3 ..6 ..2
Sixth stanza, ..2 ..4 ..6 ..5 ..3 ..1

Concluding tercet:
middle of first line ..2, end of first line ..5
middle of second line ..4, end of second line..3
middle if third line ..6, end of third line ..1

If you’d like to try the form…please link here so I can read them!

Poetic Experiment…

Yesterday, Gary Matthews, better known as Ye Olde Foole, put this up on my post:

living
with
volcanoes from
your childhood, well,
you learn
to
listen-

always
an
awareness of
the slightest shifts,
your breath
kept
shallow.

life
spent
struggling to
stay awake for
that inevitable
next
eruption.

It’s a poem with 11 words per stanza.  I’m going to try using the form. and challenge anyone else to do the same!

running
away
slipping along
tumbled down hillsides
getting muddy
isn’t
fun

shouting
bravo!
opera like
at squeaking mice:
that’s enough
highbrow
music

pitter
patter
little feet
slimy spider’s paws
trampling you
tenderly
nightly

Uhm…not much of a poem.  The form is harder than one would expect…

She,
Longing
For fulfillment,
Has tried everything
To insure
Daily
Carresses.

But
When
There’s nothing
Left for her
What can
She
Try?

Constant
Hounding
Stalking calls
Until the other
Runs away
Seeking
Peace?

Her
Anxiety,
Drove him
To break up
The affair
And
Left.

A little better…and you, what can you come up with?  If you feel inspired, write a post or put your poem in the comments below-

Tomorrow, as today,  I’ll be out of town, so I probably won’t be doing much reading or posting.  Ciao, Bastet.

Reflections: Valentine’s Day

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAPart I

they say that love is peace
the bliss of kisses, a release
yet when my rationality awakes,
I wonder at the price I pay:
a chain – a leash – a bond
around my soul it has become!
the silvery thorn that’s embedded here,
a sliver of you, inside my heart.
alas, empty would be my life without
our lover’s battle,  our daily bouts,
as we put together what was once two
into a being that’s now me and you.

Part II

is it odd that I would seek serenity,
am I less in love with you?
am I a traitor, a deserter?
love wills out Oh Beauty’s servant,
butterfly qualities are part of you.
I,  but a single flower look on and sigh,
as others in the garden call to you,
they seek you out, with endless siren songs!
that cupid, who would pull you away,
my enemy, now, so I fight your nature!
behold!  I’m the anchor and you the ship
come now, pull into this gentle port
give up the Odyssey, lay down your sword
grey haired Ulysses, at last stay home.

I read A Sonnet for Valentine’s Day yesterday and thought I’d write a brief poetic comment…the more I wrote trying to hook back to the original poem and the more articulated and complicated it became taking on a life of it’s own…so I decided to post it here.

Foolish Friend (renegade Tanka)

like a dervish
round a subject he twirls
weaving new worlds
with pictures or without
delightful sights

my friend creates
worlds around fries and clouds
parking lots
sometimes snow or rainfall
they’re an inspiration

a dance of veils
some grits in the clouds
drizzled whispers
reminiscing in his “fall”
he calls himself an olde foole.

Inspired by Ye Olde Foole…click the link to read his poetry!

 

 

 

For a Joyous Foole (tankas)

For a Joyous Foole

I never listened
‘Sauce’ got me into trouble
I had attitude
No respect –  just a smart ass
Their lessons bored me to tears

Travelled, saw the world
Wasn’t really too impressed
L-C-D: power
How  to wield that potent stuff
How to be a great big boss

Discipline of joy
Now that’s a study worth while
All the rest’s a waste
‘Cause you’re gonna die, and how!
What’d you do with what’ve learned?

For:  Ye Olde Fool’s Graduation

Reflections: Defeat

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Youth had its way
somehow true, that back then, each day
was longer, more complete,
and I never thought about defeat.

Years passed days grew shorter
then my mind contemplated
the meanings of fear and experience
and I began to have thoughts of defeat.

Ah! To be a child of wonder again,
to look upon the world with new eyes,
that knew no answers and indeed had no questions…
but now, half my day slips by in memory of defeat

When once my coffin is prepared,
will my days of eternal silence be shorter still:
no questions, no answers no fears will I know
and defeat will have been just an illusion.

 

I’ve been reading Gary’s poems of the past two days…from wizard training to Deliverance…so inspiring.

Ye Olde Foole

Monday Poetry Prompt #16: Introduce a Poet

Prompt: Pick a poet!  What does that mean?  That means, of all the poets that you follow, or all the poets that follow you, choose one and highlight one piece of theirs on your own blog!  There’s a little bit more to this prompt than just sharing.  The point of highlighting is to stretch your thoughts.  When you’ve chosen the piece you wish to highlight, tell us a little bit about the piece.  Why do you like the piece you chose?  What do you think the piece means?  How does the piece make you feel?

@)–>–>—

Tanka (brat)

16 Jul 2013 -Tanka

born an Air Force brat.
moving town to town to town –
the eyes kept open.
letting go with practiced hand,
a different sort of outcast.

I’d already appreciated Ye Olde Foole’s capacity to write Senyru and Tanka. He’s an artist in writing the “essential” in an elegant and moving manner.

This poem however, spoke directly to my heart and memory.  In these 31 syllables he told of his childhood, born into an Air Force family.  I could relate completely with that moving from town to town, always eyes wide open, looking to find a possible connection, having to move on and give up friends and familiar territory, yet again.  The feeling of somehow being an outcast an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere due to the life his parents had chosen to live. Basically, he told in 31 syllables not only of his childhood, but of my own.  I don’t know about Ye Olde Foole, but even now, the feeling of being, well just a little on the outside of things, still follows me.  The memories came back to me in a flood  inspiring a Tanka and a Poem.

Tanka: Simply Water

I read your Tanka…

thoughts as simple as water

ripple through my soul

leaving subtle memories

raw under the morning sun.

Recently Ye Olde Foole has left his comfort zone of the brief gems…working on new forms and experimenting, he has confirmed his talent…he’s a great poet, straight forward poet…go have a look, by clicking on the link: Ye Olde Foole!

To Ride with Ye Olde Foole

Ye Olde Foole wrote: “obsessed with seeing how short I can make the lines and it still end up with something meaningful…”  Here he wrote a Kyrielle Sonnet with two syllables per line!

I thought I’d try this experiment too…but couldn’t get proper sonnet rhyming and still have something meaningful…I take my hat off to the Maestro!

moonlight

To Ride

I swoon
To ride
The moon
With you

Without
Her light
Our dance
is naught

Stars smile
At me
As tears
Flow down

Some day
We’ll ride
Low moon
We two

But now
I wait.

Poem: Love passes w/o class

Love Passes w/o Class
a Three Syllable “Sonnet”
by Bastet

He left me
With two kids…
She, Russian
He, a jerk.

“She loves me!”
So he thought.
Green-card though
Was her goal.

Married her…
She left him,
High and dry
Went State’s-side.

Then says he:
“Come to me!
t’was all wrong
leaving you!”

I just said:
“Drop dead friend!”

My favorite human “sythesiser”, my neologism  for a master in brevity, Ye Olde Foole was trying his hand a writing a sonnet with lines of 3 syllables…I liked the idea so, I wrote the Three Syllable Sonnet! Click the link to see his fantastic Sonnet (in normal form, entitled Where the Desert Ends.)