|1.||Reena Saxena||10.||Ruth Scribbles||19.||huwanahoy|
|2.||Elizabeth||11.||Cheryl||20.||Vashti Quiroz- Vega|
|3.||Kim||12.||anita dawes||21.||Sally Cronin|
|4.||theindieshe||13.||Goutam Dutta||22.||Ken Gierke / rivrvlogr|
|5.||Linda Lee Lyberg||14.||Sue Vincent||23.||David Ellis / Too Full To Write|
|6.||Padre||15.||D. L. Finn||24.||M J Mallon|
|7.||s. s.||16.||Merril D. Smith||25.||Jane Dougherty|
|8.||Jules||17.||Gwen Plano||26.||Roberta Eaton Cheadle|
|9.||willowdot21||18.||Pat R||27.||Colleen Chesebro|
Congratulations to everyone who joined in this week! You always surprise me with your creativity and clever poetry! I want to share a few of the forms you used and the poetry to go along with it.
Next year, I want to add some new syllabic forms, including a few with rhyming schemes. This is a challenge after all, and we must continue to challenge and expand our poetic knowledge.
Gouttam Dutta shared an interesting form called the Seox, by Anne Byrnes Smith. It is a hexastich, with a syllable count of 3/7/6/5/4/3.
Setting sun; Breath exuding orange hues. Holds fort at horizon. Meanwhile, silent dusk, Spreads a black shroud On Earth’s land.
©2020 Gouttam Dutta
Merril D. Smith shared a Triquain, created by Shelly A. Cephas. This form is a poem with several creative variences and can be a rhyming or non-rhyming verse. The simpliest form is a poem made up of 7 lines with 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, and 3 syllables in this order.” [Misspellings in original.]
A laugh wings– flies through memories and dreams. Sings like a mockingbird, repeats again, imprinted in our minds, within our genes– well, who’s to say? We remember a glance, words said—heart-haunted— we grasp, hold. ©2020 Merril D. Smith
And the last amazing form is created by Jane Dougherty called a Florescence poem. Jane says, “This is a sequence of three Florescence poems, three lines of six, six and nine syllables respectively, with a rhyme on the sixth, twelfth and eighteenth syllables.“
Beneath the bird’s egg blue of sky by rain washed new and clothed in heaven’s hue, all seems clear, though in the darkest night the brashest city light casts shadow black and white—monochrome. Yet take my hand, we’ll run till days and nights are done swept up into the sun, there to sleep. ©2020 Jane Dougherty