challenge – Page 8 – Monty’s Blahg

Nonce Poetry: Running Repitition

In celebration of National Poetry Month @murisopsis from A Different Perspective is once again hosting a poetic scavenger hunt. This year’s theme is “nonce” form poetry. What is nonce form poetry? Well, it’s basically a form that was created by a poet for their own use. What’s interesting about a nonce form is that if it is adopted by other poets and used more often it will no longer be considered a nonce form, but rather become recognized as a “valid” poetical form.

The scavenger hunt features thirteen nonce form challenges all to be completed within the month of April. I highly encourage you to check out the prompts and participate here.

Ok, now onto the seventh challenge…Running Repitition

Running Repetition

A poem of minimum 2 stanzas of 7 lines each (the stanzas can be written as 7 lines or broken into a quatrain followed by a tercet for emphasis). Rhyme scheme: x/a/a/a/b/b/C where C is the same phrase repeated as a refrain in all following stanzas. The refrain is broken into 2 parts separated by a dash to indicate a catch in breath.

Bonus: use some aspect of running or repetition.
murisopsis

Phew! I need to catch my breath just from reading that! This seems complicated, but let’s see how difficult it is to actually write.

I Hadn’t Seen It a-Comin’

She leapt gracefully
Across the wispy fields of hay
Late in the hot summer day
Light of foot and full of play
Under the bright blue sky
So young and lovely — too soon to die.
I hadn’t seen it a—comin’

Out of nowhere suddenly
A doe-y light brown flash
I turn the wheel so rash
To avoid a nasty crash
But it was too too late
I hadn’t seen it a-comin’

I saw her dash away quickly
Behind a shaded tree
And into the field to flee
Her early death not to be
When I suddenly struck
An oncoming truck
I hadn’t seen it a-comin’

I sat there impatiently
In the waiting room
Full of dread and gloom
I got there way to soon
At the empty desk, I rang the little bell
Suddenly appeared an angel or a devil, I couldn’t tell
I hadn’t seen it a-comin’

My life too short flashing through my eyes
I see my loved ones one by one
I see all the good and bad I’d done
I try to calculate the total sum
Stop counting at negative eighty-three
That was when I hit the truck (or was it the tree?)
I hadn’t seen it a-comin’

To hell I went with no ceremony
But I couldn’t complain about it
I’d earned my way to that pit
And if I’m honest with that company I did fit
But my number wasn’t that high
After all I was quick to die
I hadn’t seen it a-comin’

Soon my number was called
Maybe a decade or two
Or perhaps more than a few
Hell-time is different, so I’ve really not a clue
It’s not when that really matters, it’s more the fact
That I’ve come back to life as a sewer rat
I hadn’t seen it a-comin’

Well all I can say about that one is “I hadn’t seen it a-comin’”. Haha.

Be well,

Monty

My First A to Z Challenge Anniversary: G is for ‘George, Curious George’

On this anniversary of my first A to Z challenge, I’m posting each of the illustrated “seriously silly poems” from my book Apples Eating Zebras and other seriously silly poetry — a carefully edited and polished compilation of my A to Z posts from last year. Enjoy!

G is for ‘George, Curious George’

Stay tuned for more silly poetry from A to Z!

Pick up a copy of this silly collection dedicated to the child in all of us and enjoy with a loved one. Or stick around as I’ll continue posting each illustrated poem one letter at a time throughout the month of April. Have fun and stay silly!

Be well,

Monty

F is for Fiction (#AtoZ 2023)

Fiction encompasses stories that are created, invented, and made-up by the writer.
literarydevices.net

I was an avid creative writer of fiction when I first started writing in grade school. I specifically remember what I probably inaccurately describe as my first story being about a magic pebble. However, since coming back to writing as an adult (or sorts), I’ve been strongly pulled in the direction of memoir/autobiography. But I greatly admire the ability to develop characters and weave a compelling story from pure imagination. So let’s give it a go!

The Village Stone

The towering carved stone stood at the center of the village. Moss covered and ancient looking, it had been the source of wonderment for generations. What was this stone for? Who carved it? How did it get here (there were no stones of it’s nature within 1000’s of miles)?

The village grandmas’ used the stones mysteriousness to weave tales of spirits that lived under the stone and would come out to punish misbehaving children. A convenient misdirection that depending on the grandma’s story telling skills either terrified the children into obedience or was to no effect and dismissed as lame.

At the tavern, talk of the stone was a regular pastime. Conspiracies abounded from alien technology to government surveillance (and of course the requisite theory that aliens had take over the government and were surveilling the village folk). As with most bar talk it wasn’t that long into the night before the tone of the discussion turned from conspiratorial to confrontational with the right-wingers accusing the lefties of being stone worshiping pagans and the lefties accusing the righties of being idiotic wing-nuts. The lefties had a point, but as usual they acted way to superior about it all. But as the beer and whiskey continued to flow the lefties and righties were soon standing side-by-side pissing on the stone before going home. Some said it was for good luck. Other’s said it was to ward off evil. The village sherif said it was public indecency but held a blind eye on the nightly ritual.

Alexis had grown up hearing the stories. Her Grandma was one of the more skilled story weavers and often had her on the edge of her seat in horror as spirits bit off the toes of naughty children or worse, told Santa on them. But that was over a year ago when she was little. She wasn’t little anymore. She was going on ten and would be in fifth-grade, the top of her school, in the fall. And she had big plans for this summer. Plans that would definitely put her on the naughty list. But she wasn’t scared. She didn’t believe in toe-eating spirits. And she was pretty sure Santa wasn’t real either. She was a scientist and this summer was going to be her big discovery. A breakthrough that would make her famous and, certainly, win her the first place prize in the fifth-grade science fair.

– – –

“Hey, where are you going?”, whispered Eli from the other side of the bedroom.

“Shh!”, Alexis whispered back with an internal groan. She was ten years old. Why did she still have to share a room with her baby brother? He is only seven and so annoying.

She saw his little chubby cheeks glowing in the yellow light of his Winnie-the-Pooh nightlight. Darn-it! She’d thought he was already asleep. Now what should she do? There was no way she was going to be get away to do her experiment if that little brat told their parents on her. Shrugging off the unplanned inconvenience, she grabbed her back-pack from under the bed and told Eli to get dressed because they were going on an adventure together.

“Where are we going?”, he asked excitedly.

“To the Stone”, she whispered equally excited. “There is something I want to show you.

“To the Ssssttttone?” Eli stuttered? “But, I like my toes.”

“Don’t worry! As long as your quiet don’t tell anyone about this I’ll protect you. But if you make a single peep, I’ll let them eat both of your big toes and your little ones too!”

Eli quickly got dressed. Not as quietly as Alexis would have preferred but the house stayed dark. As they snuck out of the room to head downstairs, neither or them noticed Winnie-the-Poohs head swivel as it followed their exit. A dull red light now glowing from his big honey-colored belly. Nor did they, or anyone else in the village, notice the slightest of hums now emanating from the village stone.

To be continued…

That was quite a different write from anything I’ve done before. It was fun to try. There is still a lot more work needed for character development and, of course, the story would need to be fleshed out, but I think I managed to illustrate fiction well enough. What do you think?

Be well,

Nonce Poetry: DoReMiDo

DoReMiDo

A poem of 4 stanzas of 4 lines per stanza and 4 syllables per line, for 16 syllables total per stanza. The four corners #1, 4, 13, 16 must rhyme.

Bonus: include a reference to singing or song
Sangeetha

This looks like a fun one. Simple but I anticipate not easy.

Dim-Sum

Fish on a dish
yum-yum-di-dum
dum-di-dim-sum
fish is delish

Pork on my fork
yum-yum-di-dum
dum-di-dim-sum
dorks got a fork

Goop in my soup
yum-yum-di-dum
dum-di-dim-sum
Sloop down the soup

Yum-yum-di-dum
Gobble Gobble
slurp-diddi-slurp
Some more dim-sum

I had WAY too much fun with that. Hope you enjoyed.

Be well,

Monty

2023 NaPoWriMo #7 (List)

April is here again and that means its National Poetry Writing Month and for my second year I’ll be joining the 30 poems in 30 days challenge hosted by napowrimo.net. For this challenge, a poetry prompt will be provided daily during the month of April and if I can keep on track I’ll achieve the 30 poems in 30 days goal. So enough chatter…let’s go! It’s time for NaPoWriMo!

Write a poem that plays with the idea of a list.
napowrimo.net

Perhaps this may be more of a philosophical point, but I will say it’s a philosophical point made in the form of a concrete poem.

Be well,

Monty

My First A to Z Challenge Anniversary: F is for ‘Fruit Loops’

F is for ‘Fruit Loops’

Stay tuned for more silly poetry from A to Z!

Be well,

Monty

Nonce Poetry: Troiku

Troiku

This form consists of an initial haiku (your own or borrowed) followed by three haiku stanzas featuring the original lines as the first line respectively.

Bonus: use the word cloud
Chevrefeuille

For this prompt I will chose to borrow from the beautiful classic “Over the Wintry” by Natsume Sose.

Wintery Winds
from Natusume Sose’s Over the Wintry

Over the wintry
forest, winds howl in rage
with no leaves to blow

Over the wintry
nights, cold bones shiver and shake
under the bed clothes

Forest winds howl in rage
stoking embers to flames
lighting the night

With no leaves to blow
Under the snow clouds cover
Winter’s winds rage on.

I like the idea behind the Troiku. I often wonder what would come next in a haiku and here is the opportunity to expand on them and find out. If I counted correctly I kept the required 17 syllables per stanza. What do you think?

Be well,

Monty

2023 NaPoWriMo #6 (Teddyberen)

Write a poem inspired by a poem in a language you don’t know based on the sound and shape of the words and the degree to which they remind you of words in your own language.
napowrimo.net

Here is the source poem I used for inspiration as per the prompts guidelines. The original language is Dutch and I did not look at the English translation.

In the Golden Glow of the Night Light

In the golden glow of the night light,
Next to the shelf filled with picture books,
And the pile of clothes refused to be put away,
On the desktop along with crayons and colored pencils,
And a half finished glass of water,
A teddy bear snores softly.

So I picked up “teddyberen” as a near word to English’s teddy bear which gave me a child-like feeling which set the scene. The bounce and rhythm of the words made me feel magical…so therefor the teddy bear is alive (and snores). What do you think of the poem? and the process? I enjoyed being inspired by the sound and rhythm of a language I don’t know.

Be well,

Monty

E is for Elegy (#AtoZ 2023)

Elegy is a form of poetry that reflects on death or loss
literarydevices.net

For those that have been following me regularly, you know that I’ve had the unfortunate opportunity to write a number of elegiacal poems of late with the passing of loved ones. I don’t have the strength to write a new one at this time. We are still in the mourning period for my parents-in-law and the pain remains raw. Here is an elegy I wrote last year, originally published in my book From Here: poems inspired by poetry.

Dancing to the Blues Upon the Morning’s Light

For John and all those that love him

He did not hear the sun set.
Did not see the musical sounds of evening.
Or feel the moon’s light upon his gently shut eyelids.
Or return the touch of love upon his heart.

Or so it would seem to an observer’s eye.

Through the lens of love we witness
Him dancing to the blues upon the morning’s light;
Lifting his face to feel the warmth of a new spring;
Fiercely protecting his loved ones in an eternal embrace;
And smiling while saying “Ho-hum”
To the wonder and beauty of the moment.