On forgiveness

Just to be cussed, taking the contre-pied to Frank’s poem. A rubaiyat (ever so slightly tongue in cheek) for the dverse prompt.

 

Forgiveness is a quality I lack,

When it’s given it can never be got back,

The hurt that’s done is whited-washed clean for you,

The injury to me is just as black.

 

Forgiveness I reserve for those the few

Whose love I wish to keep my whole life through,

The rest can go to hell their sins intact,

For absolution they can take a pew.

 

They say that we feel better to retract

The harsh words said, the hurt, indignant act,

But why waste time on people you dislike?

Life’s full of better people, that’s a fact.

I walked beneath the trees 2

The observation Kim made about the last four syllables of the line being like an echo niggled and badgered me until I had a different version, incorporating Kim’s idea, but using it in every line.

 

I walked beneath the trees today beneath the sky,

And listened to the songbirds sing the spring awake,

With dappled, dimpled, warbled notes and watched them fly

Into the frost-pinched winter air; I heard them cry.

 

I walked beneath the sun today down to the lake,

Brim full and dark from winter rain the streams ran high,

I tossed a pebble, ripples wrote the wish I’d make,

If birdlike you’d fly back with spring to ease this ache.

I walked beneath the trees

For the dverse open link I tried a rubaiyat in iambic hexametre because that was how the first line fell out. I only managed two stanzas. I found this a very hard form to use. Next time I’ll ignore it and stick to pentametre.

 

I walked beneath the trees today beneath the sky

And listened to the songbirds sing the spring awake

With dappled, dimpled notes. Each one took wing to fly

Into the frost-pinched air and winter’s grip defy.

 

I walked beneath the sun today down to the lake,

Brim full and dark from winter rain the streams ran high,

I tossed a pebble, ripples wrote the wish I’d make

If wishing stones were hearts—then they would never break.

Rubaiyat for a spring morning

Yesterday’s dverse prompt about privilege inspired this rubaiyat.

 

When morning fills the meadow with gold light,

And birdshapes flash and dart, their feathers bright

As jewels, glowing in a spray-hung cave,

The memories still gleam of silver night.

 

I walk a green cathedral’s woody nave,

Feet tread the soft earth, shooting with new leaf

And wonder, is this really all I crave,

This beauty, ebb and flow, the endless wave?

 

The tender season’s space is all too brief,

And winter cold still lingers in the shade,

I’ll find joy in the birthing, the belief

That happiness springs from cold winter’s grief.

Morning of no frost

For the dverse prompt, using imagery in a rubaiyat style poem. This is an adaptation of a poem I posted this morning.

 

I wake to sun this morning of no frost,

No boughs and grassy banks with rime embossed;

The tree tops echo with the thrushes’ song,

That golden sound so many months we’d lost.

 

I take your hand, we step into the throng

Of darting jewels, fragile yet so strong,

That winter’s into murky memory tossed,

And bird-spun spring will last our whole lives long.

Thrush in a winter hedge

A revised version of last night’s rubaiyat for the dverse prompt. This one is in strict iambic pentametre rather than my usual rambling tetrametre. The second stanza inverts the stress for variety.

 

The frost that lingers furs the hedge where bird sings

At raindrops, snowflakes, all that winter cold brings;

His song, his soul fills our dark days with sunlight,

His heart too full too hear how distant bell rings.

 

Cold cracks the stone that gleams in moon-pale light,

Stills placid water with ice, silver bright;

The thrush is silent as mice in the hedge,

Hopes in the spring and bitter winter’s flight.

Bird in a winter hedge

A rubaiyat for the dverse prompt.

 

Lingering frost furs the hedge, a bird singing

At raindrops and snowflakes, winter cold bringing.

His song is his soul, fills the dark day with sunlight;

His heart is too full to hear distant bells ringing.

 

Cold cracks the stone that gleams in the moonlight,

Stilling lake water with ice silver starbright.

Songbird now silent as mice in the hedgerow,

Hopes spring will come soon to put winter to flight.