INVENTING A NEW POETIC FORM

As a challenge to my micronites over at micro poetry,
I have set a challenge to invent a poetic form.In the
spirit of this epiphany, I submit my form.

It is called: GENESIS – Taking the name of the form from
the musical group, it follows an “ABACAB” rhyme scheme.
Created for micro poetry, it is intended as a ten line poem
(ABACABACAB) repeating the sequence. But, it can go as long
as you’d like following that repetition. I thought I’d share
my example here.

CLARITY

A clearness of mind,
with a sense of objective,
thoughts quite refined,
without trepidation or fear.
Synapses unwind
giving you some perspective.
leaving doubt far behind,
to find your purpose here.
Memories of pasts seem kind,
and your viewpoint is less subjective.

TILTING WINDMILLS

The banner unfurled,
a white knight on his steed,
rapier wit held aloft,
a scimitar of colloquialism
puncturing his page with each
pare and thrust of
his time honored rhyme.
Don Quixote, stirring up his windmills
and setting his muse loose
in their subsequent churning,
a lone rider into the
forest of thought
emerges on the other side,
weary and anxious, but
charged with an army,
voluntary, not conscripted,
to wage this war of words.
No prisoners taken,
a band of poetic compatriots
at the ready, awaiting
for the next raid Into
rhythmic and lyrical verse,
none the worse for wear.
Blindly, they join him,
trusting his lead, not knowing,
not caring, but sure
the journey will end
in a secure sanctuary,
drawing out the best
they can offer. Showing
that no one follows.
Everyone leads,
Sancho Panza smiles
at the ready;
with windmills
of their own to tilt.

A PRISONER OF MY MEMORY

In the silence of the night,
the darkness envelops me with a longing,
an emptiness wrought by the absence of light
and you, a mystic melody fills my ears,
our song sung in our hearts and minds;
stirring a slow dance of eternity’s making.

My steps are calculated and my awkwardness is making
me stumble; I have nothing this night
but these desperate thoughts inside my mind,
and they trigger a sense of longing,
for the sound that has vacated my ears
will still not appear with the coming of morning’s light.

An illumination of thought sends a signal: a beacon; a light
of knowledge that has flavored my being, making
me who I am, and driving the ambition that rings in my ears
like an alarm, purging my sleepless nights
where dreams are not welcome, lost visions are longing
to find a place where love resides in my vacuous mind.

I would lie if I said I really don’t mind
being a victim of this broken heart, in light
of all that has transpired, and erasing this longing
your departure has dictated, making
more sense to let your spirit rest through your eternal night,
and hold your loving words in my hungered ears.

I find myself sequestered in my private jail, with my ear
pressed to the cold stone that bears your name. I am of a mind
to send your memory from my perception, but this night
is empty and this time I have keeps you close at heart, lightening
my spirit for the moment, making
a sorrowful soul continue its longing,

A longing
that places you always here to influence thoughts that enter my ears
within this exile of my own making,
and the essence of your beauty lacing my mind
with the forbearance that your light
shines upon the blackness of my night.

In this night, my prison is my longing.
A distant light that brightens my path, and whispers in my ears,
all that my mind can see, serving a sentence of my own making.

DAMN THE TORPEDOES

(Full Steam Ahead)

egg shell walkers
and quiet talkers,
folks too demure and genteel.

passive people
who cram the steeple,
trying to keep thing real.

we’ve built a nation
of no confrontation,
afraid to step on some toes,

hands raised in submission
assume the position
and why, only God truly knows.

but, the sky is the limit
if we would get with it,
you have to let loose and advance,

don’t shy from the challenge,
this life’s avalanche,
stand firm and give it a chance.

steel your resolve
there’s problems to solve
and you can’t do it with head in the sand,

step up to the plate,
it isn’t too late,
to find your scruples and take a stand.

there’s no honor in hiding,
these things are providing
the tools to complete every chore,

gird your loins, strap it in,
now’s the time to begin,
opportunity knocks at your door.

so, damn the torpedoes,
it’s full steam ahead,
the target is clearly defined,

set your sights, take your aim
in this survival game,
your success will be easy to find.

give it your best,
wear it proud on your chest,
and be all that you see in your heart,

for tomorrow’s a dream
and as strange as it seems,
today is a good day to start.

WALT’S NEW ALTERNATE BLOG SITE

I’ve been concentrating on the poetry aspect of my writing, but have expanded my efforts in Flash Fiction and Short Stories. So I’ve started a new Blog page to highlight those. Visit my other site, “WALLEGORY AND OTHER STORIES” at http://wallegorystories.blogspot.com Hopefully I can keep my work organized if I keep them separate. Please let me know how it suits you.