Day 18. We are 3/5 of the way through National Poetry Month.
Today was a special poetry day for me: I had the privilege and pleasure of reading some of my poems in a panel of poets at the Popular Culture
Maureen Thorson says, "Today I challenge you to write a ruba’i. What’s that? Well, it’s a Persian form — multipe stanzas in the ruba’i form are a rubaiyat, as in 'The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.' Basically, a ruba’i is a four-line stanza, with a rhyme scheme of AABA" (NaPoWriMo). There's a little more to it than that, at least in the English tradition: not just aaba but also iambic pentameter. Though maybe Maureen didn't want to scare off some NaPoWriMo folks with the dreaded "iambic pentameter" phrase.
Robert Lee Brewer suggests today: "write a weather poem. A weather poem can be a poem about a hurricane or tornado; it can be a poem about the weatherperson; it can be a poem about forgetting an umbrella on a rainy day; it can be big; it can be small; etc." (Poetic Asides).
Okay, you know how I love to make this poem-a-day thing tougher than Maureen and Robert set it up to be. Instead of one ruba'i or a group of rubaiyat, I'm writing a rubaiyat sonnet vis-à-vis weather. Wish me luck!
I'm really upping the ante here. Generally rubaiyat sonnets have this rhyme scheme:
"Folks, I would have written a ruba'i," Alan says today, "but I had another idea instead. However, I have written that form before, mainly to vent while grading a batch of essays. It would have been dishonest to offer it as if I had written it today, however. I just want you to know that I have attempted the form. (That poem is in the P.S. below.) My offering today is a sonnet instead.
God of Kudzu
Speaking of "brilliant"
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Ingat, everyone. ヅ
P.S. Here's the previously written rubaiyat Alan referred to above.
Mopping Up Words as the Day Is Dawning
Alan, this reminds me of a parody an old friend from grad school, Keith Welsh, wrote back in the day. I can't remember it all, but it begins something like this: "Whose shoes these are, I think I know. / His feet are in the village, though. / He will not mind me stopping here / To watch his shoes fill up with snow." ヅ
Eve of Seven Years of Grief
1 hour ago