This month's challenge was to write a "Dizzying" Dizain. This form consists of one 10-line stanza with 10 syllables per line. The rhyme scheme is a/b/a/b/b/c/c/d/c/d. You can read more about the form at Robert Lee Brewer's site at the Writer's Digest.
I'm not sure what dizzying means, but I toyed with writing about vertigo and dizzying love. (Does love make one dizzy?) In the end, I settled on my favorite adrenaline-filled pastime, riding roller coasters. I do feel like I needed another line or two to really describe the ride, but this will have to do. I wrote nearly all of this during our Zoom time on Sunday, so I am pleased that I was able to pull these ideas together.
A Dizzying Ride
This topsy-turvy coaster calls my name
I take a seat, lock in, and close my eyes
you’d think that every ride would be the same
but with each trip I’m daunted by its size
yet thrilled by chains click-clacking as we rise
It dizzies me to look down at the ground
instead I watch the track where we are bound
we rise and fall, turn upside down, suspend
and for those moments, how my heart does pound
too soon we’re speeding breakneck to the end
I went back to writing later that day after spending some time wading through boxes of mementos. I find parting with things difficult to do. (Under different circumstances I might have become a hoarder!) Do I really need the high school graduation cards that have been in a box in the attic since I moved to Virginia nearly 27 years ago? Why is it so hard to part with them? As a mom, why have I saved every piece of artwork my son did? As well as concert programs, notes from teachers, and so much more! There is a part of me that says "SAVE EVERYTHING!" This is the teacher in me that uses my father's old photos, letters, and newspaper clippings to teach about primary sources. But there is another part of me that says "He's a boy, he won't care about these things." I found the internal tug-of-war over these tokens to be dizzying, and just like that, I had an idea for another poem. I broke the rules here because this one has two stanzas, and a dizain is only supposed to have one.
The moving van held boxes from my past
things my mother saved throughout the years
childhood was not designed to last
reminders of my youth that disappeared
sentimental treasures prompting tears
A mother now myself I’ve kept things too
our son’s first tooth, a lock of hair, a shoe
report cards, photos, ticket stubs and more
so many keepsakes, none of them on view
what good are they all locked up in a drawer?
Will my son even want these for his own?
Am I a lousy mom for wanting less?
Why keep a blanket tattered, worn, and sewn?
Old homework, letters, cards, notes from recess
certificates that celebrate success
I cannot seem to part with any thing
despite the good intentions that I bring
to the task of holding each in hand
Marie's my guide, as I clean house in spring
Does it bring joy? I hope you understand.
Poems ©Tricia Stohr-Hunt, 2021. All rights reserved.