tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320080607016581524.post5741356933633599020..comments2024-03-29T09:04:58.888-04:00Comments on The Miss Rumphius Effect: Monday Poetry Stretch - Curtal/Curtailed SonnetTriciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18350907653629775293noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320080607016581524.post-55043437556561856742016-12-17T09:33:46.187-05:002016-12-17T09:33:46.187-05:00Wow, Judith--especially the double, even triple me...Wow, Judith--especially the double, even triple mening of that perfect last line.<br /><br />JaneJane Yolenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16614445497209111557noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320080607016581524.post-66815999469894783272016-12-16T14:02:49.354-05:002016-12-16T14:02:49.354-05:00Oh, Jane, if the creation of a mood was your attem...Oh, Jane, if the creation of a mood was your attempt, be assured you did it perfectly. Your choice of words creates an anguished medieval world from which there's drawn that thread of hope. jAnonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03639189488267519417noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320080607016581524.post-77751738459027585442016-12-16T13:54:15.225-05:002016-12-16T13:54:15.225-05:00A Christmas Sonnet
Our family Christmas story star...A Christmas Sonnet<br />Our family Christmas story starts with Fred. Fifty years ago<br />he hauled a tree 'cross town to us on foot 'cause we didn't have one.<br />Said he got it off a lot that surprisingly was open Christmas Eve.<br />Claimed there was no problem lugging it until the snow<br />began, but even then refused to rest until the deed was done.<br />Every Christmas story Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03639189488267519417noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320080607016581524.post-65235113544596918012016-12-13T06:07:39.524-05:002016-12-13T06:07:39.524-05:00Not sure I did it perfectly, but an attempt.
But ...Not sure I did it perfectly, but an attempt.<br /><br />But Not Yet Dead<br /><br /><br />Trouble comes in threes, a triad full<br /> Of woe and weeping, as dark rain on moor.<br /> Loud rilling of a river, over slate grey stones;<br />Ancient moon faces puling, and the pull<br /> Of vixen’s squealing voice calling from tor.<br /> The laying down of cards, throwing of bones.<br /><brJane Yolenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16614445497209111557noreply@blogger.com