For OctPoWriMo Day 27, the prompt is about your favorite time of year. The poem type is a Decuain. There are 3 set choices of rhyme scheme: ababbcbcaa,ababbcbcbb, orababbcbccc.
According to Shadowpoetry.com, ” A Jeffreys Sonnet has 8 syllables per line. And includes 2 sestets with a cross rhymed couplet (the cross rhyme is in the 2nd to 4th syllable in each of the two lines of the couplet). Also there is a cross rhyme in the first line of the 2nd sestet (between the 2nd to 4th syllable), tying the 1st sestet to the 2nd. So the rhyme scheme would be: aabccb, (b)ddeffe, (e)g (g)e. The letters in ( ) are the cross rhymes.
For NaPoWriMo Day 12, the Prompt is: to “write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. I have to my surprise, never written in this form, so here’s a definition from Haibun– Poets.org:
“Haibun is a poetic form that allows one to answer some of these questions while providing a fresh perspective through a lens that focuses on nature and landscape. Haibun combines a prose poem with a haiku. The haiku usually ends the poem as a sort of whispery and insightful postscript to the prose of the beginning of the poem. Another way of looking at the form is thinking of haibun as . . . a prose poem ending with a meaningful murmur of sorts: a haiku.”
Also, I’m combining with Paul Scribble’s #dVerse Poet’s Pub, poetic prompt on a quote about poetic arts. The two prompts fit together well.
To write about poetry is to believe that there are answers to some of the questions poets ask of their art, or at least that there are reasons for writing it, writes Michael Weigers, editor of the anthology This Art: Poems about Poetry (Copper Canyon Press, 2003).
Past the ravine, the North Saskatchewan flows; ice on her surface where Spring’s murmuring waters compose. The snow floats, sheets of ice crack, confused, the rivers pull bursts through. Amidst howling winds and bitter nights of chill, Spring waltzes in with lilacs. But old-man winter berates with frost, slippery roads, broken sidewalks. Spring blossoms and explodes, to weave the buds that summon bees. Springs drugged words ignored, no lush greenery bursts. Leaves rot, the ice, the snow, the muck, the refuse mushed, derelict without Spring’s blossoms. She hums her tune, an heals Winter’s hacking cough; she pleads her assurance of poppy fields. The old-man shakes his fist with cantankerous growl — another ‘last’ snowstorm grits. The poet composes in metaphorical bliss, avoiding morn’s beams. The question of, “Why?” No matter. The question of, “How can I not?” Words that enthral.
The trails meander through the river valley park where the city erected unique benches made from verdant trees felled to create park pathways. At night Paul and his four dogs inhabit a particular bench. They rest their tired legs and pant joyfully, cooling off from the hot humid summer days, during the night.
However, in the winter the dogs huddle against Paul, absorbing each other’s heat. Paul doesn’t have much in his tattered backpack. Only a oversized bottle of water, a bag of dog food, a couple of protein bars, and thin blankets for the dogs. But one night the ice creeps up frosting Paul’s beard. It’s -45 degrees Celsius outside and the homeless shelters are full.
Despite layers of clothing Paul trembles and his teeth chatter; he can’t sleep in this miserable blizzard. He’s terrified the dogs will freeze to death — they’re his family and all he values in the world. He covers them, wrapping them in blankets before spreading the sleeping bag across them all. Their fur is frosted over and he keeps rubbing them with his gloved hands to keep their bodies from stiffening.
Suddenly, a light shines, blinding Paul in the treacherous cold, then his body heats as if he were sitting out on a beach in Mexico on the perfect hot day. The dogs peer up at him from the white sand, wagging their tails. Paul and his dogs have moved on and exist in a place beyond words or woofs. They’ve left cruelty behind.
Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge prompt is to write a poem about luck & fortuitousness. The A to Z Challenge GoodReads quote is from an author whose name begins with the letter F.
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Credit: A Mixed Bag
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I think we consider too much the luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm. —Franklin D. Roosevelt
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You can see them swooping from the trees up high, they hope they’ll —
Find a tiny morsel, a scrap of food to eat, to sway —
Nature in their favour to —
Live another busy day through.
Birds hoping to find worms to eat,
Survival filled with such screeching.
Wings drifting on the wind, their tweets now satisfied they ate —
Today was a lucky day, a game of chance they’re sated.
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Fortune favours the brave so they say, but is it the brave —
Who triumph or their prey, having such a terrible bad day?
However, we try, birds diving,
Can’t save the fish from dying.
The birds eat, fish already gone.
Bad luck today, forever they’re gone.
In the cliffs in the distance, I watch birds swiftly fly,
Plunging, gliding higher, for soon they’ll be prey in sky.
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For fortune knows, on certain days we win and on others —
We lose, so the birds they’re a meal ticket too, so discovered,
By bigger birds with talons sharp,
By the ocean’s creature’s smart.
Waiting for the birds to dive low,
Then gulping them down, never slow.
Call it the circle of life but it’s a necessary,
You can see them, so survive while you can, live eagerly.
For Day 5, the NaPoWriMo poetry prompt is ” to write a poem that is based in the natural world: it could be about a particular plant, animal, or a particular landscape. But it should be a slice of the natural world that you have personally experienced and optimally, one that you have experienced often.” The accompanying A to Z Challenge today starts with a GoodRead’s author’s quote, with a name beginning with the letter E.
Thanks to Lorraine of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting FOF. Today’s prompt, a twenty-five word story on a leprechaun for St.Patrick’s Day/Weekend.
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Credit: Lorraine 2017
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He wasn’t wee, but tall. His eyes emeralds, auburn hair thick, and his smile knowing. His Irish accent had women pouncing; his treasure wasn’t gold.
” ‘Created by Emily Romano, the brevette consists of a subject (noun), verb, and object (noun), in this exact order. The verb shows an ongoing action – so the letters in the verb should be spaced out. There are only three words in the poem.
Each of the three words may have any number of syllables, but it is desirable that the poem have balance in the choice of these words. Unlike haiku, there are no other rules to follow.'”
Mandibelle16 
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