Resignation – A QUATERN

My attempt at  … A QUATERN

Definition … 

A Quatern is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. A quatern has four stresses per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme. 

”Ocean Waves’ … Pen & Wash – WHB . May 2017

In Resignation’

I wish the tide to swallow me whole
As though a thief had from me stole
My life, but then in guilt forgone
His gains, paused, and then moved on.

I’ve had enough of body and soul
I wish the tide to swallow me whole
For now I see, I realise,
Life is too short to compromise.

Decisions hurt but must be made,
And so, before my debts are paid
I wish the tide to swallow me whole;
I’m ready now, I’ve  lost  control.

No longer can I bear the pain,
Resigned to never feel again,
Towards the waves I edge my stroll
I wish the tide to swallow me whole.

‘The Seashore’ … Pen &  Wash – Photoshopped  with edge effect … WHB – April 2017

Murder In The Cathedral – Two-Word Tale #14

‘The Cathedral’ (detail): WHB – Pen & Wash

Murder In The Cathedral

Agog
With awe
And gripped
With fright
How can
I last
For one
More night

My awe
My fear
Hold me
In thrall
A lasting
Longing
Curtain call

I sleep
I dream
I know
My place
‘Tis full
Of pain
With-out
God’s grace

For all
My sins
I can’t
A-tone
I’m lost
I’m gone
I am
Mere bone

Des-pair
And dread
Are my
Mill-stone
Worn as
Penance
On my
Head-stone

——–

To you
Who now
Will hear
My story
I pray
You will
My fate
Be-moan 

——–

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History generally lays the blame for the murder of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, on his former close friend, King Henry II, who, in 1174, did penance at Becket’s tomb in Canterbury Cathedral. 

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Love Lost

Photo by Wedding Organizer on Pexels.com

Soft words
Kindly spoken
Ended our affair
Harsh words
Roughly spoken
Captured my despair

How could I
All this time passed
Not bring myself to care?
Be expected silently,
The hurt, the pain, to bear?

Was it not her
Who from the start
Had always said she cared,
Whilst I, blasé, had many times
Devalued what we shared?

But now we’ve parted,
Untied the knot,
And gone our separate ways,
I feel the hurt
Each passing day
Left only with this vile malaise.

 

Life is made of Memories

As the morning warms its shoes
As the dark gives way to dawn
So new day begins its tale
Yet another story born.

Every moment, every day,
Bring new memories again;
Similar but none the same
Some of joy, others of pain.

Life is made of memories
When each life has been and gone
Let us all remember this
Memories are what live on.

A November Tanka

Photo by Matt Hardy on Pexels.com

 

Dark the days are now

Winter bites as we look on

In November’s clothes

Breeding hope and dulling pain

Will we see this month again?

 

Tanka is a genre of classical Japanese poetry meaning a short poem, and one of the major genres of Japanese literature.

A Tanka consist of five units (often treated as separate lines when romanized or translated) usually with the pattern of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables per unit or line). Wikipedia.

I have here ended my Tanka with a rhyming couplet

 

 

 

No Regrets

 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Let me kick my regrets into the long grass,
Let me mark an end to my sorrow.
The pain that I bore
Let it fade away,
Bring back my life from tomorrow.

The love that we shared it still will remain,
The times we were close will not wither.
The hopes that we had,
The love that we shared,
The pains that we bore together.

Our dreams may have faded without being fulfilled,
Along with the hopes that we cherished,
But what has remained
Has carried us through,
It’s our dreams not our love that have perished.

Before I Go

 

Hit me, hurt me, kiss me quick, 
Time is rushing by;
I want to feel both joy and pain, 
To lust, to pant, to sigh. 

To run barefoot in morning dew
To roll in new mown grass
To drench my dreams in churning rain
Let all these come to pass

For when I sigh my final sigh
I want the world to know
I loved the life God gave to me
And await its afterglow. 

 

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A Glimpse of Paradise

Photo:  WHB – 2019

I paused as I passed
Just a glimpse
in a miniscule
slice of time
Held in a bubble 
About to burst
A sense of the bizarre
The freaky
Outré and offbeat
Unreal yet lurid enough
As though I’d seen what I should not see
Felt what I had never felt

That entranced moment brought
Mirabile dictu
An exotic pain
That carried with it 
All meaning
The key to my existence 
The reason I was here
And nowhere else
Why I would live forever 
In the collective memory
Of the universe
An imprint
On the Tablet of Time

‘Return Me To My Youth

Followers of Roland’s Ragbag will know that, on occasion, I enjoy attempting a, for me, unaccustomed poetic form.  I was again encouraged to do so earlier today by a post on Linda Luna’s blog: ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’ .   Please do take a look at her description of the Decastitch and, in particular at her outline of a particular variation of this many-faceted form named the ‘Ravenfly’.  Her blog contains a clear outline of the form, which I quote as follows:

  In summary, the Ravenfly is:

• A decastich (10-line poem) written in 3 stanzas: 2 quatrains and 1 couplet.
• Syllabic count: 8-7-8-7, 8-7-8-7, 10-10
• Rhyme scheme: abab cdcd ee
• Meter is optional

RETURN ME TO MY YOUTH

Return me to when I was young 

And life had not yet happened; 

The loves I’ve had, the songs I’ve sung,  

 But now I’m truly saddened, 

For life has bitten me so hard, 

Removing joy and pleasure, 

Leaving my swollen heart so scarred

The pain I cannot measure.

My memories of youth are dear,

The future – still obscure, unclear. 

 

A full account of the Decastich and its many different guises can be read on the Poet’s Garret website   (q.v.).

I have posted my above attempt at ‘The Raven’ to the ‘Dark Side Of The Moon’ Challenge.

Love and Wisdom

Bust portrait of Robert Herrick, 17th century English poet,  from a rare print by W Marshal

 

One of the great love poems in the English language is Robert Herrick’s (1591 – 1674) poem ‘To Sylvia , to Wed’.   The poem was published in 1674 in a collection of Herrick’s poems called ‘Hesperides’.  You will find a transcription of it at:  poets.org   The last line of this extremely short poem is . . .

“No Man can at one time be wise and love.” 

The truth of these words by Herrick have often struck me, and I have been led to compose the following poem to amplify my thoughts on the beauty of the words and the wisdom which they hold . . .

Great truth lies here
For love consumes the soul
Drives out the rational
In favour of those headstrong thoughts
Those unconsidered deeds
Which couple love with lust
And joy with pain
Breaching reason
As a burst dam
Floods life’s valleys
As the wildfire strips life’s undergrowth
Devouring what it most values
In the thoughtless rush and swell
Of its inflamed ardour