After a long hiatus, the Monday Poetry Stretch is back! I hope a few of you are still out there and ready to take on some new challenges and forms.
The trimeric is a form that was invented by Dr. Charles A. Stone. Here's how he describes it.
Trimeric \tri-(meh)-rik\ n: a four stanza poem in which the first stanza has four lines and the last three stanzas have three lines each, with the first line of each repeating the respective line of the first stanza. The sequence of lines, then, is abcd, b – -, c – -, d – -.
At first I thought this would be relatively easy because the first lines of stanzas 2, 3 and 4 are already written (seeing as how they use lines 2, 3 and 4 of the first stanza). Boy, was I wrong! That first four line stanza is so important! The lines must hang together, but they must also be able to stand on their own as introductions to the other stanzas.
There are many examples on Dr. Stone's trimerics page. Here is one of my favorites.
UNSIGNEDby Dr. Charles A. Stone
I sent her a secret message on her birthday,though she thought it was an ordinary cardin an every day envelopefrom the innocent boy next door.
Though she thought it was an ordinary cardshe taped it to the wall with others she hadreceived in her eleventh year. Then,
in an every day envelope,she mailed a simple thank-you noteback to me, but she forgot to sign it.
From the innocent boy next doorto the man I am today, I’ll never forget how hardI cried because I had forgotten to add I love you.
Published with the author’s permission.
So, your challenge for the week is to write a trimeric. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll share the results on Poetry Friday.
Welcome back, Tricia! Here's my trimeric:
ReplyDeletePoetry
I write poetry, too,
I told the long thin woman in purple.
She wants to start a poetry group.
Now I wish I hadn’t said anything.
I told the long thin woman in purple
I write, but I should have found her
a feather and fed her cookies.
She wants to start a poetry group.
She has burning, frightened eyes—
Emily Dickinson caught outside the house.
Now I wish I hadn’t said anything.
My poems are leaves in baskets and hers
are silver bullets looking for werewolves.
--Kate Coombs, 2012
All rights reserved
Wow, Kate, that ending packs a punch! Great imagery.
DeleteI don't always reply, but have worked to write many of your challenges, & have missed them, Tricia. I'm glad you're back. Thank you for all your ideas!
ReplyDeleteI have been much worried about the drought this summer. We have had the terrible fires in Colorado, & I traveled to visit family in Missouri, & have never seen it look so bad. I tried your trimeric, & again I wrote about the drought.
The Joke
Clouds crowd the sun
out of the picture.
They leak into the evening
I wouldn’t call it rain.
Out of the picture,
this saving of crops by farmers.
Corn droops in sorrow.
They leak into the evening
drop by drop by drop,
offending my ears.
I wouldn’t call it rain
but only teasing tears.
Prayers ignored again.
Here's an attempt at a humorous, rhyming variation-on-a-trimeric.
ReplyDeleteIN WHICH ALL PLANNING COMES TO NAUGHT
Now all through the summer I begged and I whined
In hopes that my parents would make up their mind
But parents have reasons to do what they do
And that's why I sit here and grumble and stew.
In hopes that my parents would make up their mind
I begged and cajoled and I craved and I pined
Until they said, 'Yes, we are almost inclined -
But parents have reasons to do what they do
And that's why we're saying - No! No pup for you!'
And with that they sent all my planning askew
And that's why I sit here and grumble and stew
For now there's no dog who I hoped to have 'chew'
The homework I shirked, which I'll now have to do.
---
Boy, this was hard. If the trimeric wasn't challenging enough on it's own, I think I compounded the problem for myself by trying to rhyme it... :)
Bravo, Vikram! That did make it harder, and I'm impressed that you pulled it off. Linda, how poignant. I really like the line "I wouldn't call it rain." Down-to-earth with a hint of bitterness.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Kate :)
DeleteI resisted this at first, but you three inspired me to give it a try:
ReplyDeleteHow to Play Bass Guitar
By Steven Withrow
Grip with both hands and throttle its throat,
this obstinate and bell-bottomed bird
asleep in your lap, ostrich-brained:
there’s nothing here that’s musical.
This obstinate and bell-bottomed bird,
begin to stroke its fattest string
and hear it bare its baritone.
Asleep in your lap, ostrich-brained,
it thrums a slow and walking blues,
but don’t confuse your fingers yet.
There’s nothing here that’s musical.
Listen for the catch in its breathing
in other birds would pass for singing.
Copyright 2012 Steven Withrow, all rights reserved
I like it, Steven! Especially the way you talk about its non-musicality, awkward as an ostrich, that somehow works.
ReplyDeleteHmmm--I posted this yesterday (Was #3 or 4 I believe), along with comments, and all seems to have disappeared into the ether. Will try again.
ReplyDeleteA Novel Trimaric
I am finishing a novel,
It is not going well.
Perhaps the second time
proves or improves the charm.
It is not going well.
My mind bobbles the ball,
and I struck out the first time.
Perhaps the second time
(and it is time moved back,
fifty years or so)
proves or improves the charm,
had I a bit of magic to use
and not just 40,000 words.
©2012 Jane Yolen All rights reserved
Oops--forgot to post this earlier...
ReplyDeleteHens on holiday? Never!
Was there ever a line quite as sublime as
the one about hens working overtime?
cheeping and peeping on two skinny legs,
they spend all day pumping—pumping out eggs.
The one about hens working overtime?
stuck in the hencoop, clucking away,
preening their feathers, puffing their fluff,
they sit on their buttocks most of the day.
Cheeping and peeping on two skinny legs,
they cackle and crackle whenever an egg—
speckled and brown ones, bluey ones, too—
appears in the hollow beneath where they lay.
They spend all day pumping—pumping out eggs—
who’d ever have thought they’d do nothing but lay?
no one, I’d wager, except Farmer Clay,
who makes a good living from combing the hay.
(c) juliekrantz, 2012
BIRTHDAY PIE
ReplyDeleteHey there Mom I'd like pie today
Since today's my birthday,
For breakfast, lunch and dinner?
Why do you look so sad?
Since today's my birthday
Why not eat whatever I want?
This only happens once a year.
For breakfast, lunch and dinner
I'd never get bored of your pie
warm, sweet, flaky, a daytime/nighttime treat.
Why do you look so sad?
I'm on my knees, begging, PLEASE?
Thank you Mom! Please serve it up, Baby boy is hungry!
(c) Charles Waters 2012 all rights reserved.
Thanks for sharing! I'd not heard of trimerics, but am anxious to work on one now!
ReplyDeleteUsed this poetic form here http://davidlharrison.wordpress.com/adult-word-of-the-month-poem/ for the Word of the Month "Tendril" and found that its harder than it sounds to create a trimeric. Smiles!!
ReplyDelete