I went to this website, and found a poetry form called the dizain. Here are the basic rules of the dizain:
One 10-line stanza
10 syllables per line
Employs the following rhyme scheme: ababbccdcd
Some have said that to forgive is divine— That each and every human makes mistakes. Seventy times seven, or maybe nine Is the amount to overlook the aches, No matter what caused each of the heartbreaks. You have caused several and I’ve caused a few. We argued, talked, and tried to see it through, But forgiveness doesn’t work by itself. It’s not too difficult to forgive you; The hardest one to forgive is myself.
Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt was to write disliking something it. Today’s VerseLove prompt was to write a poem using antonyms from the line of another poem. I tried to blend the two prompts. I was going to choose one line and evoke a poem from that, but decided, instead, to antonymize the entire poem “Lovesong for Lucinda” by Langston Hughes.
Hate Is a rotting stone Shriveling in a citrine field. Spit it out And the curse of its repulsion Will choke and ensnare you. Hate Is a Black Hole Obscuring light from the depths. Ignore too long And its icy spears Will never heal your heart. Hate Is the nethermost of the ocean Lurking in a motionless abyss. If you Will always exhale your mind Do not fall too low.
And I don’t tell him. He can see that I’m wearing a name tag which suggests that I might be someone—might even hold some authority over the grown up who just yelled at him, Or maybe not. I am sitting by myself, in the Commons composing an email. One of those, where I keep changing my mind on if it should be “reply” or “reply all.” I look up when I hear the voices, one raised. And that’s when I see him, and he see me. The expression on his face asks, Do you see this guy? in reference to the grown-up, the one with the raised voice. I am confident that my facial expression replies—just to him— I do see. He seems really frustrated. Next, my facial expression asks, Did you play a role in that frustration? and follows up with a, Don’t get me wrong. I still see your humanity, guilty or not. I know that he understands everything I am saying without saying anything. I know this because he wears a smirk that is humble, and playful, and friendly, and responsible, all at the same time (if it’s possible for a smirk to do all of those things), as he walks to the office with the grown-up, the one with the raised voice.
Inside me is a bridge— a meeting of two minds, two places, two stories.
Behind me, there are miles of Resilience— forests of fear valleys of hardship, hills of victory.
I do not know how far back it goes, as I can only remember Parts of the journey from this lifetime, and I do not know all of the generations who walked the trail before me.
Inside me is a bridge— a place where Who I Have Become meets Who I Am Yet To Be— a handshake, if you will, a passing of the baton, a nod of understanding between the places I have already grown, and the new victories that stretch ahead.
Inside me is a bridge. It is not a place for me to stop long, just a place for me to reflect, to take a moment, to take a breath, before I move ahead into my next adventure.
He stands at the pulpit to preach the word Schooling us on Greek and Hebrew phrase His self-esteem and status both undeterred While he leads, and he pleads, and he prays.
He holds his head up high, to look upon his flock Speaking of the Lord, with his truth and his ways Scoping and scanning and taking stock Of the folks in the pews, while he prays.
A perceptive shepherd he’s got his eyes on the sheep Monitoring the singing the needs and the praise Especially the young women, who are prone to weep He notices. He nurtures. He preys.
In spirit he’s Peter; in the flesh Cosby, Bill. His desires bigger than his Christian ways. He lures her and offers her a drink, laced with pill. He plans to take her and make sure she stays. He preys.
Going where the climate suits my clothes Might as well travel the elegant way Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own If you get confused just listen to the music play
Crippled but free I was blind the whole time I was learning to see. Heard a voice a callin’, Lord you was comin’ after me.
Well, everybody’s dancing in a ring around the sun And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Sun went down in honey And the moon came up in wine Rising up to paradise, I know I’m gonna shine
I may not have the world to give to you But maybe I have a tune or two ‘Cause when things go wrong, wrong with you It hurts me too Shall we go, you and I, while we can? If mercy’s in business, I wish it for you
But I’ll still sing you love songs Written in the letters of your name Greet the morning air with song I will walk alone by the black muddy river Sing me a song of my own Comic book colors on a violin river Listen to the river sing sweet songs To rock my soul
Once in a while, you get shown the light In the strangest of places if you look at it right Some folks look for answers Others look for fights I have spent my life seeking all that’s still unsung Keep on dancing through to daylight
Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile.
(This is a collage poem—all lyrics from various songs by the Grateful Dead)
Boom-sicle bop-sicle Cherry red popsicle Sparkling new bicycle Swimming pool toys
Tops off convertibles Cookouts and carnivals Parades and festivals Summertime Joys
Today’s #VerseLove prompt was to write a double dactyl poem. “This whimsical form of poetry is made of two quatrains.
Lines four and eight have one dactyl plus a stressed syllable Line one is a pair of nonsense rhyming words Line two introduces the subject of the poem (often a name) Lines one through three and five through seven contain two dactylic metrical feet.” This is my attempt.
The Read-e-ologist 