SENRYU #1: Freedom

Continuing my own experimentations with a variety of different verse forms, here is attempt at a SENRYU . . .

Senryū is a Japanese form of short poetry similar to haiku in construction: three lines with 17 morae (syllables). Senryū tend to be about human foibles while haiku tend to be about nature, and senryū are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are more serious. Wikipedia

FREEDOM

Longing for release
Knowing how Bonivar felt
I await freedom

N. B. Bonivar was the ‘The Prisoner of Chillon’. ‘The Prisoner of Chillon’ is a 392-line narrative poem by Lord Byron. Written in 1816, it chronicles the imprisonment of a Genevois monk, François Bonivard, from 1532 to 1536. Wikipedia

Telling More Fibs

Fibonacci poetry, or FIB VERSE, was founded by Gregory K. Pincus as a 6-line poem that follows the Fibonacci sequence for syllable count per line.
For the 6-line poem that means:

1 syllable for first line
1 syllable for second line
2 syllables for third
3 syllables for fourth
5 syllables for fifth
8 syllables for sixth


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Here are two more examples of my own attempts to compose FIB VERSE . . .

( I have published previous examples of FIB VERSE which you can find by typing ‘Fibs’ into the SEARCH BAR on this blog’ )

TELLING FIBS … #3. CARPE DIEM
Here
Now
Today
Grasp the chance
Say ‘Carpe Diem’
Seize this new day with fortitude

TELLING FIBS…. #4
Look
Learn
Be wise
Hold to Truth
Never embroider
For the truth will bring you freedom



Some Times

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Some times it snows
Swirling in white
Drifts in the night
Pearls of soft light

Some days it rains.
Wetness unceasing
Clouds are releasing
The heavens above

And some times the wind
Moans through the trees
Only heaven sees
How life will react

For life will go on
Regardless of me
Not till I cease to be
Will the world be set free

But always it shows
How godliness grows
And nobody knows
How all life will end

Cometh The Lockdown

Photo by Nandhu Kumar on Pexels.com

Stop the world I want to get off;
Let’s have a global fire break.
Give me time to recuperate,
To stop this corvid headache.

We’re hoping for some respite now,
A pause in life’s short passage;;
A little rest may well be best,
A chance to send a message,

Let’s tell the world we’ve not gone mad,
Defy cynics and mockers;
Impress upon the populace
We’ve not gone off our rockers.

For every person, young or old,
Still living on this planet,
Has cause to love a life that’s free,
To live a life – not ban it.

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Some will call it Death

Haworth Churchyard . . . Pen & Wash – WHB – 1983

I say
That the day
Will surely come
One bright and sunny day
When all else will  fail to satisfy
And time I find has brought me to an end
Deciding to stop my future in its tracks
And lead me instead on another path
One never trodden by me before
Into an alien foreign land
Of unenvisaged freedom
Of dedicated delights
Free from stress
Which some
Will call
Death

WHB . . . October 2020

Escape From Lockdown

Escape From Lockdown

Where shall I go?
I await inspiration.
Don’t fancy The Broads,
Try a brand new location.

The Weald is too flat,
The Highlands too high,
The Lowlands too low,
I’ll put them on standby.

The Gower is too near,
The Wirral too far,
The Pennines too high,
And too hard on my car.

I like the Welsh Marches,
But they don’t like me;
Of the Wolds and the Marshes
I’m no devotee.

But I do need a break,
An escape from this lockdown.
I’ve a yen for new vistas –
Corfe, Pwllheli or Plockton.

Coast, country or town,
I won’t be prescriptive;
Just find me a bolt-hole
And I’ll get descriptive.

Not foreign this time,
The risk is too great.
To be locked in on return
Is something I’d hate.

So let it be England,
‘The home of the free’,
Though where we get that from
Is a mystery to me.

I haven’t felt FREE
Since restricted in Spring.
I must get away,
Break my bonds, have a fling.

I could try the Dales,
The Downs or The Lakes,
The Peaks or the Fens,
I’ve got just what it takes.

For adventure, for risk,
I’m up for them all
So just hide my face mask
I’m no more in its thrall.

Yes, I’m off to Bognor,
That ‘Bugger’ of a town,
The best place to be
To end my lockdown. 

“Bugger Bognor!” were the alleged last words of King George V in 1936, in response to being told that he would soon be well enough to visit the seaside resort Bognor Regis on the south coast of England.

 

‘The Price of Freedom’

Mini-Saga #4.

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The Price of Freedom

Second-Prize entry in the Daily Telegraph’s 1999 Mini-Saga Competition.


The task set being to compose a story of 50 words exactly – no more!  no less!

 

mini-saga4

 

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