Back in 2008 we wrote poems in the form of kyrielle. I'd like to do this again, but think we should try a different definition of the form. This one comes from the book Fly With Poetry: An ABC of Poetry, written and illustrated by Avis Harley.
Kyrielle - a kyrielle is divided into couplets, each pair of lines ending with the same word which acts as the refrain.So, your challenge this week is to write a kyrielle. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
Here is her example.
Birthstones
How is it the salmon know
where to bury ruby roe?
Something signals when to go;
they journey homeward, rich with roe.
To birthstones of so long ago
the fish return to lay their roe.
Under currents, just below,
the jade green streams are jeweled with roe.
Poem ©Avis Harley. All rights reserved.
What Will I Wear
ReplyDeleteWhat will I wear when day is done,
When all my skin and flesh are gone?
How will I know which skills to hone
When brain and heart are also gone?
Who will I speak to, in what tone,
When mouth and ear and throat are gone?
Who will I love when I’m alone
And all I know are dead and gone?
©2010 Jane Yolen all rights reserved
Technically I think this is a ghazal, not a kyrielle. Wikipedia has an example of a ghazal by Agha Shahid Ali-- you can find it at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghazal near the bottom of the page.
ReplyDeleteWell, I'm not in the mood for rhyme, so here's my variation...
ReplyDeleteMaybe
Maybe this is the day to begin.
I can sort of see it, but I hesitate.
Today I will sprout a future
like green wings. Except--I hesitate.
If I can just drop that habit,
life will gleam. I hesitate,
wanting to keep it and drop
a different one. To hesitate
is easy. Should I call you?
Should I write a poem? Hesitate
and all is not lost. But something is,
something isn't born because I hesitate.
--Kate Coombs, 2010
An Artist Mother’s Plea
ReplyDeleteA kyrielle by Nicole Marie Schreiber
I’ve laid the plan, the plot’s in sight,
I think it’s time to sit and write.
But laundry's piled and money’s tight,
With dinner to make, how can I write?
With dishes reaching such a height,
And whiny kids who cry, “Don’t write!”
Whatever it takes, the muse must fight,
For artist mamas to write, write, write!
Tried again. But you know, rhyme in the wrong hands can be a dangerous thing...
ReplyDeleteSomething Fishy
At breakfast, James does not feel well,
staring like a mackerel.
His skin gleams coolly as a shell.
Fetch water for the mackerel!
And then, of course, there is a smell
of ripe and briny mackerel.
Oh, surely someone's cast a spell
To turn James to a mackerel.
Poor boy. I wish that I could tell
just how to care for mackerel.
--Kate Coombs, 2010
I looked up kyrielle and found this: The kyrielle is an old French form used originally by the Troubadors during the Renaissance era. It was named after the kyrie, an aspect of the Christian liturgy. Kyrie is a derivative of kyrios, a Greek word meaning "Oh, Lord." (From http://www.world-class-poetry.com/kyrielle.html)
ReplyDeleteSo, I decided to incorporate a little "Lord, have mercy-ness," too!
WINTER GRAYS
Piercing rain, freezing drizzle, glaze
my vision, blinding me with grays.
Snow falls. It clings, lingers, and stays.
Exhaust and dirt turns white to grays.
Endless nights after cold dank days
intensify these winter grays.
Dear Lord, your name I surely praise,
but please, enough with winter grays.
Here's an alternative form of the kyrielle -- from a collection-in-progress of mine.
ReplyDeleteRIGHT WHALE BONES
Eubalaena glacialis
By Steven Withrow
One day I'll take a whale watch boat
To see your great descendants float
And breach up their enormous girth,
Before they perish from the earth.
That day I'll hear their right whale song,
And I will gladly sing along,
As they intone with mammal mirth,
Before they perish from the earth.
And if I'm lucky, I'll have spied
An infant calf by mother's side,
Who weighs a ton his day of birth,
Before they perish from the earth.
Your skeleton is ghostly white,
But I will join your faithful fight.
If humans learn your precious worth,
You'll never perish from the earth.
Stroke
ReplyDeleteIt wouldn't be a bother
to help take care of Mother,
but she only wants my father
to get her out of bed. So I said, Mother,
you really need another
pair of hands. Well, then my mother
took a fit of temper and she stuttered
I should listen to my mother.
It's easy to misjudge her
even if she is my mother,
so I turn aside and mutter,
the woman is my mother.
Oops. Forgot to type the final couplet.
ReplyDeleteWhat is it now? Oh, brother.
Lord, have mercy on my mother.
Shema
ReplyDeleteBy Liz Korba
Their father said that God was One
Two brothers – each he called his son
But One was not to be their fate.
”Awaiting Easter – God is Great.”
I pray not knowing if I’m heard
Petition, sorrow, praise – Absurd?
Yet I must hope, that is not my fate
“Awaiting Easter – God is Great.”
These words I whisper - this my prayer
To those who hear, to God, to air
The truth I crave, I here create
“Awaiting Easter – God is Great.”
The spring will come, bring life anew
I’ll call this fact. I’ll claim this true.
As real as fear. As real as hate.
“Awaiting Easter – God is Great.”
Here's my contribution: Dowry of the Bride
ReplyDeleteHere's mine:
ReplyDeleteWinter poems, spring poems, poems for today
come along, play along, it’s Poetry Friday
Old favorites, poetry stretch, original word play
Share one, share two it’s Poetry Friday
Some interview what poets have to say
others review the latest on Poetry Friday
Don’t be shy, linger awhile, and enter the fray
I’m rounding them up, it’s Poetry Friday
Leave your link, don’t delay
Will have them up in a blink, it’s Poetry Friday
Nepalese Monsoon
ReplyDeleteSteaming tin roof, sloped and plain
echoes the drumbeat of the rain
waiting beneath for the rumble to wane
while downpours puddle up the rain
my thoughts jumble in my brain
scrambled by a deafening onslaught of rain
a conversation I try to feign
but give up shouting over the rain