A little bit of poetry
I’ve been inspired in the last few weeks by the antics of everyone involved in the Month of Poetry over at Kat Apel’s blog. I love writing poetry but I don’t do it very often and I usually stick to the rollicking ballads that tell a story for some family function. Through Month of Poetry I’ve been exposed to a few different forms of poetry that I have never tried or never knew existed. Today, for something different, I thought I’d post my efforts. I have no idea if they are any good but they’ve certainly been a fun way to hone my word skills. I figure anything that enhances my control over language is going to be a good thing for my writing across the board.
First up, here’s a sonnet I wrote that happened to fit in with the daily theme over at my other blog, The Fruity Tales.
A Mother’s Love
A mother’s love aglow and fiercely bright
It renders her a lioness, sharp and taut
A warrior, sword in hand, a fearsome sight
She strikes, the battle of love is fought
For none who dare to cross her precious child
Should come with notions grand and victory won
Be underwhelmed by one so timid, meek and mild
For ‘neath the doe-eyed stare there lurks a gun
The woman who in all her life and days
Would never hurt or maim or kill or strike
When placed between her child and dangerous ways
Thinks not a second, hour or minute or the like
The arms that held, caressed a child so dear
Are they the weapons one should so greatly fear
And thanks to the lovely Anna Ryan-Punch here’s today’s attempt at a sestina. Sestina’s don’t always rhyme but I saw an example with rhyme and I decided to give it a go.
The Blossoming of Power
In the midst of mighty power
In the dark and death of night
I resist the urge to cower
Resist the urge to fight
And so my soul will flower
As I stay the path of right
I am reminded of the right
To not rescind my veil of power
To be treasured as a flower
That only blossoms in the night
But if and when I’m forced to fight
I will never, ever cower
As I crouch and hide and cower
I don’t look left, I don’t look right
Anticipate the fight
In desperate need of help and power
I call into the night
Wait, wait, a wilting flower
Petals beaten from the flower
My leaves, my stem, they cower
Storms blowing in the night
Righting wrong and wronging right
A bright flicker from the power
From the lightning strike of fight
And in the bright I find the fight
Hibernating in the flower
Unseen strength and unseen power
Borne of wilt and death and cower
For what is good and what is right
Even in the midst of night
And at the breaking of the night
Victorious the fight
Not drifting left but staying right
The deadly limbs begin to flower
And my enemy will cower
From the blossoming of power
As the night dawns and as buds flower
No need to fight, no need to cower
I am right and I am power
