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Tag Archives: French verse forms
I Cannot Speak: rondeau
I cannot speak of what I’ve seen: the smell of bleach is on those scenes, and faintly, on each memory’s breath, a subtle scent of loss and death, with hints of joy and hope between. I hear the dripping fat, … Continue reading
Posted in Poems
Tagged #BookofForms, death, French verse forms, gardens, poetic forms, rebirth, rondeau, silence, speech, spring
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Closing Time: rime couée
Down at the bar we sit and wait, as if our glory days, so great, still might return anon. We act younger throughout the night, so we forget, while we get tight, that halcyon is gone. And all the girls … Continue reading
Posted in Poems
Tagged #BookofForms, age, drinking, French verse forms, glory days, illusion, poetic forms, rime couée
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Good Grief: rimas dissolutas
Good grief! What else did you expect? A world set suddenly to rights, some glibly promised golden dawn, rough places sanded down to plain, and milk and honey handed out to both devout and infidel? Instead, you got a fresh … Continue reading
Posted in Poems
Tagged #BookofForms, blindness, French verse forms, grief, hypocrisy, lies, poetic forms, rimas dissolutas
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Blank Canvas: kyrielle
Believe it: in a moment’s time, what plans you’ve made can all unwind and with a splash of turpentine your canvas is again a blank. No matter the expense and time in pigment, brushes, sweat and wine, no other act … Continue reading
Posted in Poems
Tagged #BookofForms, death, French verse forms, futility, illusion, kyrielle, life, mortality, painting, poetic forms, tabla rasa
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Cut the Crap: descort
You seek for “truth”: for the origin of being, the thing in itself, but either don’t look hard enough, or waste time looking in the wrong spot. It’s right here: the meaning is no recipe, it is not the history … Continue reading
Posted in Poems
Tagged #BookofForms, descort, French verse forms, illusion, imagination, perception, philosophy, poetic forms, vanity
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Lines from Our Epitaph: chant royal
’Tis morning, for the cock at dawn has crowed; and in the bustle of the waking day each wipes away the sleep and takes their load from where it slept – and moves along their way. Some burdens may seem … Continue reading
Posted in Poems
Tagged #BookofForms, chant royal, daily poems, French verse forms, futility, hope, passion, poetic forms, regret
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