Frank Colley
The meadow calls
The meadow calls us with its siren song
To lose ourselves in waving depths of green
Where flower-fish among the tall stalks throng
In silent shoals, and shrill goldfinches preen.
The meadow calls, we wade through golden motes
Of feathered seeds, wing-flutter, flute-bird notes,
A sea of springing summer, powered by
Bee-hum, with hawk wings holding up the sky.
How did it go?
The strambotto apparently originated in France, and in Medieval Italy referred to a short poetic piece, of no great value, popular ballad-type of thing. I chose the iambic pentameter option, and the Tuscan strambotto because the rhyme scheme is more varied, ABABCCDD. I find this kind of poetry easy to write, but hard to make it say anything interesting. To my ear, it remains firmly old-fashioned whatever I do with it, and I don't think it lends itself to a modern reinterpretation. I look at it as a window into slower, more certain times, uncluttered with technology and noise, when people accepted the fact of mystery and didn't have time for agonising over the futilities that get us wound up today.
Jane Dougherty
May
If I die now I would like to go to May
in England, when the sun glides across the sky
and lights up the fields, the trees a fine array
of leaves and blossom, when days are not yet dry
enough to turn the fecund greens to dull brown. Spring
says to Summer, I am done now take my hand
as I must leave but I truly own the crown
with May my bride, in the beauty of this land.
How Did It Go?
The first line was "borrowed" from a lovely prose piece by the gardener Monty Don. I'll dig it out (ha ha) and post it on facebook.
11 syllables feels wrong unless I write iambic pentameter with soft endings. I'll try again with this form and see if it
works better. I converted this one to IP and it worked much better.
Tim Fellows
Rober Frede Kenter
No comments:
Post a Comment