C'est fini!

And now for our final (yet still optional!) prompt. Today, as befits the final poem of NaPoWriMo, I challenge you to write a poem of farewell. It doesn’t have to be goodbye forever — like I said, NaPoWriMo will be back again next year. If you need a little inspiration, you might find some in perusing this selection of goodbye-and-good-luck poems from the Poetry Foundation website.

Happy writing, everyone, and good-bye, and see you next year!

The terzanelle is a modified villanelle. It uses the terza rima's interlocked rhyme pattern, but fits the villanelle form of five triplets and a quatrain. In addition, the middle line of the 1st stanza becomes the third line of the next stanza, and so on, such that the terzanelle is a huge pain, but worth the effort and determination to finish.

A Farewell to April

It is difficult word to say

When one must summon an honest farewell

Farewell to April, welcome sweet May

It does not pay to consistently dwell

On the sodden grass and cool damp air

When one must summon an honest farewell

April rolls out quietly, brown and bare

Signs of life emerge, so tentative

On the sodden grass and cool damp air

The birds return and the flowers live

As the month comes to a final close

Signs of life emerge, so tentative

There's poetry in spring, sweeter than prose

Ceasing with the last of winter's remains

As the month comes to a final close

Farewell dank earth, farewell melting rains

It is a difficult word to say

Ceasing with the last of winter's remains

Farewell to April, welcome sweet May

-Laura Freeman-

April 30, 2014

WTF kind of a prompt is that?????

A Tanka

Today's prompt scares me

Twenty challenges, one poem

No one can do that

At least not without more time

Tonight I would rather sleep.

... aww, what the hell, I'll give it a whirl...

I'm a little too tired tonight to attempt the prompt:

Sleep is an elusive mistress

I haven't slept in eighteen days

My bed beckons, it smells of fresh laundry

It is soft, colourful, tastes like lint, and rustles

The blankets smell blue and fuzzy.

Laura doesn't understand synesthesia

When she's in Vanderhoof

Last night while I slept,

I dreamed that I was flying

I'm flying to Newfoundland in July

For a wedding

I am practicing my Newfinese

If I'm not well versed in the local slang,

The lobster won't taste as sweet

And I won't be able to wish the newlyweds

A hearty "Long may your jib draw."

The province, it beckons with its

Salty air of friendship

I had to google abstract noun

on my typewriter

Which I immediately dismantled

and put back together in

alphabetical order

Mommy doesn't have a nickname,

Just a title.

Mommy will be amazed by all the sights that

She will see in Newfoundland

The land surrounded by the

Uncoordinated Atlantic

C'est la vie

While the airplane laughs in the sky

And I sleep.

-Laura Freeman-

April 29th

1. Begin the poem with a metaphor.
2. Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
3. Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
4. Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
5. Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
6. Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
7. Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
8. Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
9. Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
10. Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
11. Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
12. Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
13. Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
14. Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
15. Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
16. Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
17. Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
18. Use a phrase from a language other than English.
19. Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
20. Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.

Status

I took a lot of poetic license interpreting today's prompt: "Today I challenge you to find a news article, and to write a poem using (mostly, if not only) words from the article! You can repeat them, splice them, and rearrange them however you like. Although the vocabulary may be “just the facts,” your poem doesn’t have to be — it doesn’t even have to be about the subject of the news article itself. Happy writing!"  Since I rarely watch the news anymore, I glean most of my current events from my "news feed", which is, arguably, mostly rubbish. So, here is a snippet of what my "friends" have to say, today.

Today on Facebook
No one announced their pregnancy
Or bad-mouthed their boyfriend

No one posted a funny quip
about their children's quirkiness,
Or slung offensive thoughts
About abortion or gay rights.

Instead, I learned that:

Your chocolate shell is a vessel
In search of music
To my fetal family,
Celebrate
Pickled ram testicles
Does anyone else's skin crawl?
This has got to stop,
It's only been twenty-four years
For a long time
I didn't even notice.
Blame your sister!
I always enjoy those afternoons
Supported instead of judged.
Time to get a move on'
Love is louder.
If you want to interrupt, feel free,
What's the worst that can happen?

It was a slow day on my wall.
Time to socialize with real people.
Alas, they're all sitting front of their screens

Knackered now

From their status updates!

-Laura Freeman-
April 28, 2014

When I Was Your Age

When I was your age,
We watched tv in black and white,
Cartoons on Saturday morning,
And occasionally Disney
On Sunday night.

When I was your age,
I knew how to dial a phone,
And I had my conversations
Attached to the wall,
Not wandering cordless through the home.

When I was your age,
My teacher wrote with chalk,
And when we wanted to chat
With one another,
We actually had to talk.

When I was your age,
My running shoes had laces,
My bicycle had three speeds,
And we didn't own a helmet,
To protect our precious faces.

When I was your age,
We passed notes folded elaborately,
Skyping was a thing of science fiction,
And my pen pal 
Actually wrote to me.

When I was your age,
Tweeting was something 
Only birds would know,
A face book was my High School year book,
And pinning was something
You did before you sew.

When I was your age,
There were prizes in our cereal,
Restaurants were for special treats,
And we washed with ordinary soap 
Not labelled anti-bacterial.

When I was your age,
I had to pay a quarter
To use a phone that wasn't mine,
But heck, it could have been worse,
Your father had a party line!

When I was your age,
Thirty seven was practically geriatric,
I never imagined youth would leave me,
And that Father Time would play
This rather dirty trick.

When I was your age,
Life was a little less convenient,
And yet we still survived.
I used to dream about the wonders of the future,
And, my children, that future has arrived!

-Laura Freeman-
April 27, 2014

A Curtel Sonnet

Now for our prompt (optional, as always). Today’s prompt comes to us from Vince Gotera, who wrote his “family member” poem for Day 20 in the form of a curtal sonnet. As Vince explains, the curtal sonnet is shorter than the normal, fourteen line sonnet. Instead it has a first stanza of six lines, followed by a second stanza of four, and then closes with a half-line. The form was invented in the 1800s by Gerard Manley Hopkins, who used it in his famous poem “Pied Beauty”. So for today, I challenge you to give the curtal sonnet a whirl. It doesn’t need to rhyme — though it can if you like — and feel free to branch out beyond iambic pentameter. Happy writing!

April Showers

The air stagnates, heavy before the rain,
Dark crowds roll in obscuring my vision,
Of the sun, so welcome in April morn.
I find myself wishing for light again
And we scurry to complete our mission
Intent to beat out the impending storm.
Before the clouds release on us their wrath,
Swirling, and gathering; We quicken our pace,
And race for home taking the shortest path,
A spring walk cut short; Droplets tease my face,
Before the rain.

Laura Freeman
April 26, 2014

Error

Error, Error, Error

I stared at the screen, my brain in a haze,
It's easy, they'd said, it's online these days!

Error, Error, Error

Just fill in a few details, point and click,
But when I try it, I'm missing a trick.

Error, Error, Error

Login failed... do a password reset,
A jumble of numbers and letters, and yet...

Error, Error, Error

What?  I'm sure that's the password, that's got to be it!
I just finished resetting, you piece of shit!

Error, Error, Error

Now the wheel keeps endlessly spinning,
The webpage is frozen, the computer is winning!

Error, Error, Error

Information is missing? Are you kidding me?
What field did I miss? Why are you screwing with me?

Error, Error, Error

Email support then wait days for a useless reply,
Or go back to the office and tear a strip off the guy!

Error, Error, Error

Aah, customer service, in English, back in the day,
Meant speaking to someone who knew what to say

Error, Error, Error

Now everything is online and the assumption is that,
Wifi is in every house and in every flat

Error, Error, Error

Instead of standing in line for the next available clerk
I sit on my phone, at my screen, like a jerk!

Error, Error, Error

Technology is the way of the future? Bullshit!
Oh, how I miss carbon paper in triplicate!

A Sonnet - of sorts

Watch and Learn

The mirror is my enemy, it reflects,
An aging woman where once a girl stood,
Flabby and greying, the image infects,
And they watch and they learn, as they know they should.
"I can't eat that," I say, "it's not on my plan."
They nod in agreement and take it in.
I poke at my stomach, adjust my waistband,
Count calories by day and by night I binge.
So many flaws, and so much to detest,
A constant struggle to love what I see,
To ensure the generational bequest,
Is what I want them to inherit from me.
I need to see beauty, regardless my size,
When I see myself through my daughters' eyes.

-Laura Freeman-
April 24, 2014

It's sidewalk chalk season again!!!

There once were some children, all four,
Who liked to create art out of doors,
They took sidewalk chalk,
And marked up the walk,
Which was preferable than marking the floor.

-Laura Freeman-
April 23, 2014

I'm ever so thankful that my children are receiving a quality education in the public school system! ;)

On Earth Day...

To Our Children We Bequeath

Listen children to the story I share,
Pay attention as I tell you my tale,
We've entrusted you with the task to repair,
What we've abysmally failed.

The earth was ours for the taking,
The fruits of her garden were grand,
Once rich with life in the making,
Unspoiled and pristine was the land.

Children, are you listening to me?
This is important, take heed,
Take a breath and a moment to see,
We have to stop all this greed.

The planet used to be healthy,
Lush, green and freely growing.
We harvested her and grew wealthy,
Reaped the rewards she was sowing.

But, alas, we took her for granted,
Grew self assured and arrogant,
We developed more than we planted,
Ignored the dire warnings she sent,

Filled her air with soot and debris,
Culled her species to extinction,
Poured our waste products into her seas,
Children, I speak with distinction.

Its unfair, to be sure, what we ask,
Your generation has debts to be paid,
We bequeath you the challenging task,
To clean up the mess that we made.

-Laura Freeman-
April 22, 2014

A Rondeau

Sidebar before I share my poem for the day: 

I've always admired people's craft rooms.  When I was growing up, my Mom had the neatest sewing room (not neat in "tidy" but neat in colourful and welcoming) and she spent a lot of time there creating beautiful works of arts like quilts and clothing and ultimately my wedding dress. She tried teaching me to sew, but I wasn't very good at it. But I did learn to love crafts from an early age and she's still my best crafting buddy (we're a bad influence on one another). We discovered scrapbooking back in '98 after Mom and I went to a workshop, my freshly developed wedding photos in hand. I've guess I've been trying to subconsciously replicate that 'sewing room' mentality ever since.  It started out with a closet in our apartment, then a bedroom in our house which shifted to a shared computer room when Alex was born and my craft space became his baby room. Then we moved to Vanderhoof (to a smaller house) and my craft supplies shared the computer room again.  Then Connor joined our family, and then shortly after, Kirstin.  After that my space became a closet, then some shelves in the living room, then finally the storage room in the basement, which served me well but I avoided the dark, dinginess regardless. After Brooklynn was born and we (belatedly) realized that our house was too small to raise four children in, we moved to this bigger, brighter house and now I have the most wonderful space to call mine.  It is a constant work in progress.  I don't craft and create nearly as often as I would like to, and sometimes I just don't have the energy to do so at all and go months on end avoiding it.  But when I do come in here, late at night, in the quiet bedtime hours, I sit down and feel this immense, indescribable peace fill me.  And then I stay up way too late indulging my creative side.  And in this upstairs, brightly lit, colourful, cluttered, inviting, inspirational space, I know that I love this house.

So, here's my poem, a "rondeau"  {A very famous rondeau, btw, is Flander's Fields]

"The rondeau’s form is not difficult to recognize: as it is known and practiced today, it is composed of fifteen lines, eight to ten syllables each, divided stanzaically into a quintet, a quatrain, and a sestet. The rentrement consists of the first few words or the entire first line of the first stanza, and it recurs as the last line of both the second and third stanzas. Two rhymes guide the music of the rondeau, whose rhyme scheme is as follows (R representing the refrain): aabba aabR aabbaR."

My Craft Room

Within my home, there exists a place
Where quietly slows life's chaotic pace
A place that brings me great tranquility
When I lose myself in creativity
Peace overwhelms me with her calming grace



As I cut and paste in my crafting space
Or when I write my stories, and lose the race
Lost in the fiction that lulls with reverie
Within my home there exists a place

An organized mind is a shameful waste
If imagination has no space
To blossom and create such grand beauty
A room with no walls for my children and me
Where quietly slows life's chaotic pace

Within my home there exists a place

-Laura Freeman-
April 21, 2014

Lily's Tanka

Happy Easter!  I hope your day was a nice as ours.  As a result of the company we had all day, its 11:00 and I'm just sitting down to write my daily poem... so, it's going to be another short one again!

"And now for our (optional) prompt. Today I challenge you to write a poem in the voice of a member of your family. This can be a good way to try to distance yourself from your own experience, without reaching so far away from your own life that it’s hard to come up with specific, realistic details. But watch out! This type of exercise can also dredge up a lot of feelings. So if you think writing in the voice of your grandfather will be too heavy, maybe try the voice of your four-year-old niece. Four-year-old problems might be a little lighter in scope."

Lily's Tanka

They keep me captive
Feed me dry food and water
Call me abject names
But I will tolerate them
Cats will someday rule the world

-Laura Freeman-
April 20, 2014

She Sells Seashells

Whilst out on the board walk, and facing the shore,
With her strawberry top and Peruvian hat,
She calls to the men, invites them to adore,
Her snout otter clam, what do they think of that?



She stretches out on the beach, with her leather donax,
They come in droves at her profession of love,
For the incised moon; Her patrons stop in their tracks,
When she bats her eyes, innocent as the sparse dove.



They stroke her shuttlecock volva, sun-warmed and kept neat,
Her false cups and saucers, entice them further,
Her heavy bonnet on display, she smiles so sweet,
For she knows it makes the sale worthier.



They fondle her prized striped engina, and meet
Her Lazarus jewel box which is tempting and open,
They greedily handle her unequal bittersweet,
No piece of hers is off limits to them.



After a day at the sea, peddling pleasures,
For a dollar or two, in exchange for herself
What eventually becomes of her priceless treasures?
Forgotten trinkets on some sun-seeker's shelf.



-Laura Freeman -

April 19, 2014


The prompt for today is a bit of a spoiler, so I decided to post it after the poem.  This one was fun to write!  Much more fun that my usual Saturday laundry regimen... :)

And now for today’s (optional) prmpt. This is a bit silly, but it’s Saturday. I recently got a large illustrated guide to sea shells. There are some pretty wild names for sea shells. Today I challenge you to take a look at the list of actual sea shell names below, and to use one or more of them to write a poem. You poem doesn’t have to be about sea shells at all — just inspired by one or more of the names.

Peruvian Hat
Snout Otter Clam
Strawberry Top
Incised Moon
Sparse Dove
False Cup-and-Saucer
Leather Donax
Shuttlecock Volva
Striped Engina
Tricolor Niso
Triangular Nutmeg
Shoulderblade Sea Cat
Woody Canoebubble
Ghastly Miter
Heavy Bonnet
Tuberculate Emarginula
Lazarus Jewel Box
Unequal Bittersweet
Atlantic Turkey Wing

Happy writing!

A Ruba'i

"And now for our prompt (optional, as always). Today I challenge you to write a ruba’i. What’s that? Well, it’s a Persian form — multiple stanzas in the ruba’i form are a rubaiyat, as in The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Basically, a ruba’i is a four-line stanza, with a rhyme scheme of AABA. Robert Frost’s famous poem Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening uses this rhyme scheme. You can write a poem composed of one ruba’i, or try your hand at more, for a rubaiyat. Happy writing!"

[Although one could argue this is also almost a limerick, here is my attempt to write a ruba'i stanza]

Good Friday

Why do they call it Good Friday today?

My curious children want me to say,

So I tell them why, today Jesus died,

Instead, they decide to call it Bad Friday.

-Laura Freeman-

April 18, 2014

Lights out - some Senryus

a quiet humming
bisects the silence rudely
the computer sings

whispers down the hall
interrupt concentration
children still awake

the fridge murmurs
steadily it's icy tune
the kitchen buzzes

a cough, a hush
the artificial silence
disturbing the peace

she craves the quiet
but gets instead night time noise
the house is alive

-Laura Freeman-
April 17, 2014

Mommy Lies

"And now for today’s prompt (optional, as always). After yesterday’s form-based prompt, today’s will hopefully be somewhat easier to get into. This prompt is from Daisy Fried, and the basic idea is to write a ten-line poem in which each line is a lie. "

Mommy Lies

Yes, that tutu looks good atop your pants,
Yes, I would like to see your made-up dance,

I like the lovely mug you made with clay,
I'll take it to work and use it every day,

I'm not annoyed,, that stain will wash right out,
It barely shows, I didn't mean to shout,

Yes, I would love to read that book once more,
And play with your toys for hours on the floor

Yes, of course Santa brought you that teddy bear,
Yes, he also brought the socks and underwear!

It isn't gross, it's special, just try it please,
It's orange and white because it's giraffe cheese,

The tooth fairy didn't forget to come last night,
She couldn't break a twenty, give it up, alright?

Don't sit so close to the t.v. or you'll go blind,
Too many video games will rot your growing mind,

I don't know how that baby got in my tummy,
She just decided that I would be her Mommy,

You ask so many questions, and that's not bad,
But Mommy doesn't know, so please go ask your Dad!

-Laura Freeman-
April 16, 2014

Terza Rima

Four Reasons to Brag - a Terza Rima poem

Our oldest son is sensitive and bright,
With a sense of humour that makes me grin,
Creative, loyal, and gaining in height.

Our second son has a spark from within,
He's ever trusting, though stubborn a bit,
Poky in the mornings, but genuine.

My third, sweet and loving, a kind spirit,
Chatty, we have quite the conversations,
Feminine, charming, yet wild, I'll admit.

 Then there's our baby, full of elation,
An explorer, a climber, half monkey,
Keeps us going until day's cessation.

Our children  make us a great family!

- Laura Freeman -
April 15, 2014

An Acrostic Poem

The Road Trip

Racing the clock in the morning,

Organizing them to get out the gate,

Actively bribing and warning,

Don't turn on the t.v., we'll be late!

The highway, it stretches ahead,

Rocky and dusty, but dry and bare,

I reach back, hand out snacks, keep them fed,

Pass back toys, trade books, make them share.

When will we get there? It's cacophony,

I'm bored. How much further? Not much more!

That one's thirsty; That one's hungry; She's looking at me!

Have to go to pee! ... but I didn't have to before!

Feet down, keep them off of my stuff!

Or, mister, you can get out and walk!

Unfortunately, he sees through my bluff,

Really? I can? Nah, Mom's all talk.

Keep quiet, the baby just started to nap,

I feel sick, hurry, pass me the bucket!

Didn't make it, oops, I threw up in my lap.

So... road trip next weekend? Nah, F---orget it!

-Laura Freeman-

April 14, 2014

A Triolet

Not a Sonnet

I tried to write a sonnet today,
Shakespeare was famous for this brand of rhyme,
I have three solid starts I've cast away, 
I tried to write a sonnet today,
It's getting hard to think of things to say, 
Not to mention how this consumes my time,
I tried to write a sonnet today,
Shakespeare was famous for this brand of rhyme.


-Laura Freeman-
April 13, 2014

Cinquains!

Just had a great day!  Mom and Dad came for a visit.  We haven't seen them since sometime in February.  A couple weekends were too wintery to drive and then the plague wiped out my children for a couple of weeks.  Now spring is in the air and everyone is feeling great, so it was time for a long overdue visit.

They arrived quite early while we were still doing our 'race around madly and tidy to trick them into thinking we're not slobs' Saturday morning routine (did you know that according to the old party game 'slangteasers' the actual word for that is "scurryfung").  Then Mom, Kirstin and I drove up to Fort St. James to go to a Miche handbag party.  It was awesome! I spent too much money on purses.  Gotta love purses!  Then we drove home via the swans in the farm field and stopped to take a few photos.  Then we all spent the afternoon outside assembling the kids' Christmas gift, a trampoline!  Mom made a delicious dinner and then it was back outside to finish the trampoline before it was too dark.  Then tucking my tired bounced out, fresh air-faced children in, saying farewell to my parents and here it is 11pm and I haven't even thought about my poem for the day.

So... in an effort to be brief, here is a "Cinquain", one of my least favourite poems, next to 'free verse'.  So easy I must be cheating!!!

I'll try harder tomorrow! :)

Late

The hour

Just sat down

No time to write

Cinquains!

Eleven

Good poems

Too tired tonight,

Time for a dud

Cinquains!

Rhymes

Are overrated

These are easier

Poems can be quick

Cinquains!

-Laura Freeman-

-April 12, 2014-

A Tanka

"The Japanese tanka is a thirty-one-syllable poem, traditionally written in a single unbroken line. A form of waka, Japanese song or verse, tanka translates as "short song," and is better known in its five-line, 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count form.  One of the oldest Japanese forms, tanka originated in the seventh century, and quickly became the preferred verse form not only in the Japanese Imperial Court, where nobles competed in tanka contests, but for women and men engaged in courtship. Tanka’s economy and suitability for emotional expression made it ideal for intimate communication; lovers would often, after an evening spent together (often clandestinely), dash off a tanka to give to the other the next morning as a gift of gratitude.  In many ways, the tanka resembles the sonnet, certainly in terms of treatment of subject. Like the sonnet, the tanka employs a turn, known as a pivotal image, which marks the transition from the examination of an image to the examination of the personal response. This turn is located within the third line, connecting the kami-no-ku, or upper poem, with the shimo-no-ku, or lower poem." 

Friday 

A rhythmic ticking

Paints melodies in my head

Marking time’s passage

The weekend draws ever near

Is it only twelve o’clock?

-Laura Freeman-
April 11,2014

#10 -Eight hours of sleep is for pansies

Why I Have Perma-Bags Under My Eyes

I was sound asleep when I heard her cry,

I picked her up, cuddled her to my chest,

Beside me in bed, I was too tired to try,

To put her back in the crib to finish her rest.

We both fell asleep, we both love bed-sharing,

Then,  “Mama” he screamed! I ran to the fright,

“It’s too dark, ” he said, tousled and glaring,

I grumbled and flooded the hallway with light.

My son who is scared of the dark is awake,

Now I have to sleep under floodlights, sigh!

I close my door,give my tired head a shake,

I have to block out the hallway light to get by.

Less than three hours ‘til dawn the clock taunts,

Exhaling slowly I slipped back to dreamland,

Then a familiar sound, my slumber it haunts,

A scritching and scratching relentlessly panned.

Effing cat can’t handle the door not ajar,

She has to get in to sleep on my head,

I threw a book at the door, really quite far,

It thumped and she scattered, yowling with dread.

Finally, I sighed and closed off my brain,

It didn't last long, she wanted my bed,

Just seconds later, she was scratching again,

In my sleep addled state, I swore, “That cat is dead!”

But, I’m a sucker, what can I say?

Little feet in my ribs and a cat on my chest,

Finally I doze fitfull 'til light of day,

The clock reminds me, two hours to rest.

My door opens a crack; in comes another,

“What?” I snarl, as I sit up slowly and glare,

He warily eyes his impatient mother,

A sight with her eye bags and tangle of hair.

“I had to get up now,” the little boy said, 

He exhales slowly, “Mama, I wet the bed.”

-Laura Freeman-

April 10, 2014

A Gwadodyn

"The gwawdodyn is a Welsh poetic form with a couple variations. However, both versions are comprised of quatrains (4-line stanzas) that have a 9/9/10/9 syllable pattern and matching end rhymes on lines 1, 2, and 4. The variations are made in that third line:
·One version has an internal rhyme within the third line. So there’s a rhyme somewhere within the third line with the end rhyme on the third line.
·The other version has an internal rhyme within the third line that rhymes with an internal rhyme in the fourth line.
In both cases, the rhyme starts somewhere in the middle of the third line and it is a unique rhyme to the end rhyme in lines 1, 2, and 4."

My house, My Home

This house is a house full of light,

It's chaotic and noisy and bright,

We've made it our own, we call it our home,

And I'll groan, it's an untidy sight.

-Laura Freeman-
April 9, 2014

Not Writing a Villanelle Tonight

"The highly structured villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. The form is made up of five tercets followed by a quatrain. The first and third lines of the opening tercet are repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem's two concluding lines. Using capitals for the refrains and lowercase letters for the rhymes, the form could be expressed as: A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2." 


Not tonight, I have better things to do,
Then to sit and watch the blank screen taunt me,
I will not have a poem to amuse you.


My mind is blank, I can not follow through,
With clever written creativity,
Not tonight, I have better things to do.


Perhaps, instead, I'll craft with pens and glue,
Or maybe I'd just rather watch tv,
I will not have a poem to amuse you.


After children sleep, my free time is due,
Time for household responsibility,
Not tonight, I have better things to do,


Wash floors, pay bills, or income tax is due,
Or I'll tackle the mountain of laundry,
I will not have a poem to amuse you.


After seven poems, am I really through?
I just don't feel like writing poetry,
Not tonight, I have better things to do,
I will not have a poem to amuse you.


-Laura Freeman-

April 8, 2014

A love poem

You fill my heart with your sultry kiss,

And warm me to my very core,

I gaze at you and feel naught but bliss,

I've missed you so; I've missed you more,

 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,

And mine has ached so long for you,

Each time you leave and cruelly wander,

You leave me to doubt our love is true.

 

Now you wrap me in your warm embrace,

After our chilling time apart,

You plant sweet kisses on my face.

And I forgive you with all my heart.

 

And we go back to the way we were,

A year ago before you went away,

And I fall for you with all that's sure,

You temptress, you are a warm spring day!

 

-Laura Freeman-

April 7, 2014

 

 

"Today’s prompt is to write a love poem . . . but the object of the poem should be inanimate. You can write a love poem to your favorite pen, the teddy bear you had as a child (and maybe still have), or anything else, so long as it’s not alive! Happy writing."

A pantoum - "Good intentions"

"The pantoum originated in Malaysia in the fifteenth-century as a short folk poem, typically made up of two rhyming couplets that were recited or sung. However, as the pantoum spread, and Western writers altered and adapted the form, the importance of rhyming and brevity diminished. The modern pantoum is a poem of any length, composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza. The last line of a pantoum is often the same as the first."


As the weekend comes to a end,
My to-do list remains incomplete,
Two days is not enough time to spend,
There are deadlines that I want to meet.


My to-do list remains incomplete,
They say good intentions “gang aft agley”
There are deadlines that I want to meet,
weekend chores done inefficiently.


They say good intentions “gang aft agley”
Starting the week right is the best way,
Weekend chores done inefficiently,
Leave us scrambling come early Monday.


Starting the week right is the best way,
Lunches have to be prepped the night 'fore,
We're always scrambling come early Monday.
To find backpacks and boots by the door,


Lunches have to be prepped the night 'fore,
Laundry done, floors washed, menu penned,
Backpacks and boots ready by the door,
As the weekend comes to an end.


-Laura Freeman-

April 6, 2014

A "Golden Shovel"

"Today’s prompt is a little complicated, which is why I saved it for a Saturday, in the hopes that you might have a little more time today than during a weekday. I think this is a very rewarding form, though, so I hope you’ll enjoy it! Today I challenge you to write a “golden shovel.” This form was invented by Terrance Hayes in his poem, The Golden Shovel. The last word of each line of Hayes’ poem is a word from Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem We Real Cool. You can read Brooks’ poem by reading the last word of each line of Hayes’ poem! (In fact, you can do so twice, because Hayes, being ultra-ambitious, wrote a two-part golden shovel, repeating Brooks’ poem). Now, the golden shovel is a tricky form, but you can help keep it manageable by picking a short poem to shovel-ize. And there’s no need to double-up the poem you pick, like Hayes did. Here are a few possibilities to work from:" - www.napowrimo.net

The poem I chose is called "Paperwork" and is NaPoWriMo 2014 offering by April Raines. (You can read her poetry here: 


  http://aprilraines.digitalnovelists.com/poetry/napowrimo2014/title)


Here's what I learned ... this is a very fast format for me to write!  Probably because the darn thing won't rhyme.  At all.  Unless I use a poem that rhymes every second or third.  So this kind of seems like free-verse.  Which I am not a fan of.  Unless it's funny.  Anyway, this poem seems like cheating.  Here it is, 10am and my poem for the day is done.  Huh.  Enjoy and see you tomorrow! :)

More Paperwork

Behind a desk I sit, ceasing never

I tackle the to-do list without an ending

I dully fill in the waiting blanks

A chore that, at times, feels meaningless

Staring at the daunting  empty lines

I know its purpose and

I dutifully fill the boxes

Ever planning and ever seeking

To find the efficiencies with which to  

Reduce what seems to be

Just time, waiting to be filled.

-Laura Freeman-

April 5, 2014

Spring is Imminent - a Lune

I went with the prompt for today.  Last night's bout of un-inspiration and lack of kid-free evening time encouraged me to choose something today that I could write on my coffee breaks instead of after the kids go to bed.  As much as I am NOT a fan of the Haiku, I kind of think this works! I'm pretty pleased. 


"Today’s optional prompt is to write a lune. A lune is a sort of English-language variation on the haiku, meant to better render the tone of the Japanese haiku than the standard 5-7-5 format we all learned (and maybe loved) in elementary school. There are a couple of variants on the lune form, but just to keep things simple, let’s try the version developed byJack Collum. His version of the lune involves a three-line stanza. The first line has three words. The second line has five, and the third line has three. You can write a poem that consists of just one stanza, or link many lune-stanzas together into a unified poem. Happy writing!"

Rain splatters pavement

Iceways form as I slumber

Spring is imminent

Sunshine hides behind

Dark and dreary cloud cover

Spring is imminent

Mud puddles pooling

Along roads and on sidewalks

Spring is imminent

Blue sky northerly

The clouds slowly blowing south

Spring is imminent

Brilliant clear overtakes

The clouds dissipate to wisps

Spring is imminent

Coat in morning

Shirt by the midday outing

Spring is imminent

Winter blues lifting

I feel happy and hopeful

Spring is imminent!

-Laura Freeman-

April 4, 2014

Gravity

Okay, this one's a stretch.  But it was a rough evening.  Brooklynn climbed the change table and fell off of it. When I picked her up she vomited all over both of us and then she proceeded to cry in my arms until she fell asleep. I only just put her to bed an hour ago, not wanting to leave her alone in her crib.  She's seems fine, no sign of bumps or bruises but I didn't want to take the chance so we snuggled for two hours.  She's such a tough little dare devil.  But she's also her own worst enemy because she has no clue what the consequences could be of her climbing addiction. Most of the time I catch her in the act before she gets hurt, but this time I didn't. 

Anyway, here's the "inspiration" for my late night writing stint.

 

Gravity

 

Grasping furniture, she climbs with drive,

Relentless in her quest to reach new heights.

At the summit, she waits 'til I arrive,

Very often, to my heart-stopping fright.

I, helpless, do not get there quite on time,

To rescue her from the possibility.

Yes, my baby learned what happens when she climbs...

 

The awful truth about the law of  gravity.

 

-Laura Freeman-

April 3, 2014

The Hurricane

This poem follows the Terza Rima format because... well, because I like rhyming poems, what can I say?

"Definition: 
Terza rima is poetry written in three-line stanzas (or “tercets”) linked by end-rhymes patterned aba, bcb, cdc, ded, efe, etc. There is no specified number of stanzas in the form, but poems written in terza rima usually end with a single line or a couplet rhyming with the middle line of the last tercet.  Dante Alighieri was the first poet to use terza rima, in his Divine Comedy"

The Hurricane


She leaves destruction in her joyous wake,
Spins past them, tossing aside their treasure,
Showing no mercy, nor reprieve, nor break.


Debris cast away with random pleasure,
Chaos reigns in the quaking domicile,
At her will, the damage goes unmeasured.


Once again, they begin a task, futile,
Of cleaning up the gleeful destruction,
Wreaked by a toddler full of cheerful guile,
They've lovingly dubbed, “Hurricane Brooklynn!”


-Laura Freeman-
April 2, 2014

NaPoWriMo anyone?

It's April again.  Which means its National Poetry Writing Month again!  To be honest, I am not sure that my heart is in it this month.  I'm so overwhelmingly busy with work and kids and too many pots in the fire.  But, I want to give it a whirl because I enjoy this and reading back over last year's poetic output, there are actually some gems in there among the rubble.

So, on this, Day 1 of NaPoWriMo, feeling uninspired, I turned to the daily prompt at http://www.napowrimo.net which in turn directed me to a wacky website called the Bibliomancy Oracle which generates random quotes  from literature (unless you actually fall for crap like that, then of course the quotes are divinely inspired.)

My randomly generated quote (okay, it was the fifth time I refreshed the page, the other four quotes were stupid), and the inspiration for today's poem, was:

Something above is showing great indifference.

Something will happen eventually.

From “A Story Meant to Teach” by Lizzie Lee Lenson

My poem is a bit dark, I'll admit, but it's been a crazy two weeks.  My children have been suffering from a nasty virus that apparently is wiping the floor with all sorts of Vanderhoof folk.  Alex has come through the other side a little paler and possibly a little thinner, but otherwise unscathed.  The other three are still in the throes of it, but I am hopeful that we can salvage a little bit of their spring break soon.  Anyway, here's what I am titling: "Ode to the virus that's been kicking my children's butts..." for now.  Should I ever compile an anthology for publication, I'll probably revise it! :)

The gods of pestilence,

Have cast their grievous blow,

Showing great indifference,

To the fateful few below.

A plague, in torrential rain,

Falls down upon their heads,

With despair, inflicting pain,

The infestation spreads.

The weak, downtrodden masses fall,

Succumbing to the plight,

Struck down, the young and small,

In seeming endless night.

Ever slow, the illness wanes,

It lifts then falls again in place,

The elusive end to the torrential rains,

Comes at an agonizing pace.

The weary few, in chorus sing,

Hope comes tentatively,

knowing in their hearts, something,

Will happen eventually.

Laura Freeman

- April 1, 2014 -  

Anyway, that's one down, 29 to go!  Enjoy reading them and I'll see you on the other side of April!