Saturday, 20 April 2013

#20 - When Inspiration Strikes

Hey!  One of my poems is famous!  Okay, probably not. But my brother reposted "To Play the Classics" over at his blog (the link is on the right- hand side of this page under "My Blog List") and he does have a much bigger cult following than I.  So it's almost like being famous! :) 

For what its worth, my brother is a very good sport and would never have a game inspired tantrum resulting in him knocking over the table to avoid losing.  But writing about that wouldn't be funny at all.  Besides, I can probably count on one hand the number of times we played Monopoly.  He hates that game (not sure if you can tell from his blog).  So I embellished the truth a bit.  I think that's called poetic license! :)

But since I'm not clever enough to know how to link back to his page, you'll have to go snoop yourself.  Anyway, he made a couple of sweet comments.  He called me a "writer", which I guess I didn't really consider myself.  I mean, sitting in front of a computer in the late hours of the night writing a bunch of fluff that never sees paper, well, it doesn't exactly pay the bills, does it?  Still, I have loved writing since I was really young.  Grade 5 was the earliest I can remember receiving a bit of school related praise for something I had written... and I did earn 40 bucks in Grade 7 for a poem I submitted to the Legion for Remembrance Day. So, maybe I can, tentatively call myself a writer.  Unpublished, but hopeful. I like the sound of that! 

And then he said that he didn't know where I found the time. Which is funny, cause, ummm I don't have time to play board games! :)  Po-tay-to, po-tat-o... Martins like to keep busy. But that comment is the basis for my inspiration today! :)  Hey, give me a break... it's the 20th of April and I'm running out of ideas.
A "Triolet"...
One handed while her infant feeds,
In quiet hours, she chooses to write,
A stolen moment meets her needs.
One handed while her infant feeds,
Or when children, in sleepiness, recede,
She stays up far too late at night.
One handed while her infant feeds,
In quiet hours, she chooses to write.
- Laura Freeman -
April 20, 2013

From - "The triolet is a short poem of eight lines with only two rhymes used throughout. The requirements of this fixed form are straightforward: the first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh lines; the second line is repeated in the final line; and only the first two end-words are used to complete the tight rhyme scheme. Thus, the poet writes only five original lines, giving the triolet a deceptively simple appearance: ABaAabAB, where capital letters indicate repeated lines.

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