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Monday, October 03, 2016

Monday Poetry Stretch - Magic 9

The Magic 9 is a relatively new 9-line poetic form. Here's what the Poets Garret has to say about it's inception.
Typing too fast is often the cause of spelling mistakes and one day Abracadabra was typed as abacadaba and right away a poetry form appeared. 
So that's it. This week the challenge is to write a 9-line poem with a rhyme scheme of:
a. b. a. c. a. d. a. b. a.

I hope you'll join me this week in writing a Magic 9. Please share a link to your poem or the poem itself in the comments.

5 comments:

  1. What fun. I think I nailed it!


    An Autumn Magic Nine

    Autumn is about the Fall:
    Eve in her nakedness finding leaf
    Covering slightly, but not all,
    With red or gold serrated cloth.
    Meadows dappled with downfall:
    Fig and maple, walnut, birch,
    That grand and ever-falling haul
    Enough to make an instant brief,
    Though not, alas, autumnal shawl.

    ©2016 Jane Yolen all rights reserved

    ReplyDelete
  2. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.

    He’d given me the key
    drawing dashes ‘cross the page.
    Too dense to see
    until he said, “My name is Juan,”
    impatient tapping on the line above,“aqui!”
    Ah…got it! Printed what he’d said.
    Juan neatly copied me.
    Seems letters sit on dashes at his age.
    Tutoring’s so good for me.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Apples as a bunch
    so juicy, so sweet
    Good eats for lunch
    Crispness
    as we munch
    Delectable
    for brunch
    Such a treat
    apples to crunch

    © jone rush macculloch

    ReplyDelete
  4. Astounded by the bursting of the grape
    (Concord, he learned), he fixed it in his mind—
    or tried—and sat in silence, eyes agape.
    We were discussing memory. He thought
    he might record the taste on gustotape
    and play it back one day when parched or sad,
    but as he planned, the juice made its escape.
    Sweet was it? Sour? He tried to press rewind,
    but even the machine had fled its shape.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Astounded by the bursting of the grape
    (Concord, he learned), he fixed it in his mind—
    or tried—and sat in silence, eyes agape.
    We were discussing memory. He thought
    he might record the taste on gustotape
    and play it back one day when parched or sad,
    but as he planned, the juice made its escape.
    Sweet was it? Sour? He tried to press rewind,
    but even the machine had fled its shape.

    ReplyDelete