Haiku for Debbie

short night—
in my dreams her face
awakens me...sleepless

short night: “mijikayo”: Season, Climate: Summer Kigo: The Haiku Handbook. William J. Higginson. P. 272.

Facebook: 07-20-12

NaHaiWriMo July 21 Prompt: recurring dream

http://www.facebook.com/pages/NaHaiWriMo/108107262587697

her cucumber mask 

a refreshing recipe—

the sudden shower 

NaHaiWriMo: 07-22-12

sudden shower: "yudachi": Astronomy: The Haiku Handbook. William J. Higginson, p. 273.

beneath the mask

her true beauty lies...
who dares to look?

NaHaiWriMo: 07-22-12

the paper fan

masks her sly smile—

a street cafe

NaHaiWriMo: 07-22-12

paper fan: "uchiwa / sen": Livelihood, Life:  The Haiku Handbook. William J. Higginson, p. 273.

NaHaiWriMo: July 22 Prompt: mask

http://www.facebook.com/pages/NaHaiWriMo/108107262587697 

  

her absence—
the pain of the unknown
day after day…

NaHaiWriMo: July 23 PROMPT : surprise

http://www.facebook.com/pages/NaHaiWriMo/108107262587697

Haiku for Joshua Gott

summer morning—
after a refresing sleep
smiling in the light

07-20-2012 on facebook

31 Different NaHaiWriMo Prompters in August 2012

http://www.facebook.com/john.daleiden.7#!/notes/nahaiwrimo/31-different-nahaiwrimo-prompters-in-august-2012/387470974651323

FB Haiku Workshop

Topic: Children; Kigo: Current


conquering dragons—
my warrior son thrusts
his wooden sword

William J. Higginson. Haiku Handbook: "kidachi" wooden sword: Observances, p. 273.
07-19-2012: FB: Haiku Workshop
https://www.facebook.com/groups/212799108830670/doc/212824795494768/#!/groups/212799108830670/

Villanelle: The Sounds of Emptiness

She’s gone visiting…to see her sister—     
Strong scents of her presence are everywhere, 
The house is filled with her passing whispers. 

I walk through the rooms like a lost drifter, 
My lonely heart plunged into black despair, 
She’s gone visiting—to see her sister.   

Outside, her meowing cat won’t enter—  
 Inside, cat waits with patience by her chair… 
The house is filled with her passing whispers. 

Each tiny sound makes my heart beat faster—     

Without her here the house seems cold and bare—  

She’s gone visiting—to see her sister.  

I switch on lights to make the house brighter   
then sit alone—at the four walls I stare…

The house is filled with her passing whispers.

I have become as mad as Mad Hatter 
Asking the Queen for tea with the March Hare!  
She’s gone visiting…to see her sister— 
The house is filled with her passing whispers. 

The villanelle has no established meter, although most 19th-century villanelles have used trimeter or  tetrameter and most 20th-century villanelles have used pentameter. The essence of the fixed modern form is its distinctive pattern of rhyme and repetition. The rhyme-and-refrain pattern of the villanelle can be schematized as A¹bA² abA¹ abA² abA¹ abA² abA¹A² where letters ("a" and "b") indicate the two rhyme sounds, upper case indicates a refrain ("A"), and superscript numerals (¹ and ²) indicate Refrain 1 and Refrain 2  (Wikipedia).

Tanka from Fire Pearls

Haitian woman,
spawn of powerful genes—
work your spell
use your voodoo fingers
to enliven this old man

Like the climbing rose
let my arms encircle
your brown torso
whisper in my ear
to make me bloom


electrify me—
spin your youth in a charm,
awaken runes
dormant with age and distance,
ripen once more this old tree


in the morning
we rise and part for work—
each day is full
the chocolate morsel at lunch
swells my thought of your delights


in the mid-day-heat
undesirable plants grow
with great passions
I cultivate our tidy
garden, clipping spent blooms


feed our bodies—
extraordinary cuisine
with delicate skill
your specialties still hunger
and quell our wondering souls


cricket song at dusk
the charcoal smell of salmon
fills my senses
beside you in firelight
all my longings vanish

together we thrash
as though in a rip tide—
clinging to the edge
of being we reach a shore
touching the cooled sands again


spent, side by side—
we watch spilled stars brighten
in velvet blackness
can you ever know the depth
of my love for you?


frayed brown grasses
dormant in the June sun—
the call of a crow
in the stillness at sunrise
I kiss your bare shoulder


when I die
mould an amber amulet
with my ash
wear it around your neck
dangling in your brown breasts


Previously published in Fire Pearls: Short Masterpieces of the Human Heart. M. Kei, Publisher and Editor. Perryville, Maryland, 2006. Lulu Enterprises, Inc.: www.lulu.com. Pages: 20, 21, 24, 46, 47, 48, 68, 106, 112, 131.


mourners assemble
after Joe's funeral—
they come
to pick widow Green's apples
and press out the amber juice


Previously published in Fire Pearls: Short Masterpieces of the Human Heart. M. Kei, Publisher and Editor. Perryville, Maryland, 2006. Lulu Enterprises, Inc.: www.lulu.com. Pages: 20, 21, 24, 46, 47, 48, 68, 106, 112, 131.

Haiku: International Kukai No. 4 July 2012

forget-me-nots
color the garden path—
she waits on a bench


      she cries in her room
      beside his forget-me-nots—
      the phone rings and rings...


            she leaves behind
            her forget-me-not plant—
            his note unread



                  I miss you so…
                  arranging foget-me-nots
                  he kneels at her grave

International Kukai No. 4 July 2012: forget-me-nots:
http://rita-odeh.blogspot.com/

Daily Haiku

her skirts once rustled
through these lovely rooms—
wind in the reeds

Tanka

summer parting…

I’m leaving on the night plane
won’t be back…
on his pillow her last note
in her bold perfect writing

Dectina Mirror Refrain

A Garden

Rose
petals
mark the path
where love faded—
withered blooms scattered
and trampled with careless
neglect mar the pleasant place
where once we loved with high passion,
a green bower now grown rank with weeds.
Rose petals mark the path where love faded.
Are there no words to mend this broken dream?
Once trust and love blossomed where we lived
secure in a tended garden
our desires soothed with care
nurtured with affection
and knowing glances.
Are there no words
to mend this
broken
dream?

Published in May / June 2012 Sketchbook: 7-3-42: A Garden

Found Poem: Pastisched Free Verse Using Three Sources

A Transfiguration With The All

The History of the World is like the moaning
of a vast herd of buffaloes upon an American prairie.
It ricochets through the atmosphere orbiting
beyond our solar system, a dizzying,
exuberant and exhausting flight;
a vast bed seamed and scarred
into a thousand conflicting channels,
bursting into phrensied convulsion --
heaving, boiling, hissing -- gyrating
in gigantic and innumerable vortices,
all whirling and plunging into space.
In a single day these hairs have changed
from a jetty black to white. Epochal tableaus:
female enslavement, Cruciifixion,
religious wars, Columbus sailing past,
the French Revolution, the Internet,
and of course, Occupy Wall Street.
…and what are the easy answers to our
kids’ Most Burning Questions? Why is the moon
sometimes out during the day? Why, oh, Why
is the sky blue? Or, Are there aliens?
How much does Earth weigh? … and…
How do airplanes stay up? Afraid to say,
how should I know? We pretend no one knows!
I tremble at the least exertion,
and am frightened at a shadow.
Suddenly, I am one with the bright sun,
transformed into a vaporized ray
hurtling into vast space becoming one with the stars.
Below, an aging lioness nurtures her cubs
and lets loose a formidable roar.

~John Daleiden, Phoenix, AZ in the Sonoran Desert

                            ~     ~     ~

Color legend to the original source texts:

Edgar Allen Poe: Text 1 Karina History of the World: Text 2 Neal
Easy Answers: Text 3 John
Pastisched: non-highlighted: John used these words to tie the three borrowed texts together to create a new Found Poem

Free Verse: A Transfiruration With The All

The History of the World is like the moaning
of a vast herd of buffaloes upon an American prairie.
It ricochets through the atmosphere orbiting
beyond our solar system, a dizzying,
exuberant and exhausting flight;
a vast bed seamed and scarred
into a thousand conflicting channels,
bursting into phrensied convulsion --
heaving, boiling, hissing -- gyrating
in gigantic and innumerable vortices,
all whirling and plunging into space.In a single day these hairs have changed
from a jetty black to white. Epochal tableaus:
female enslavement, Cruciifixion,
religious wars, Columbus sailing past,
the French Revolution, the Internet,
and of course, Occupy Wall Street.…and what are the easy answers to our
kids’ Most Burning Questions? Why is the moon
sometimes out during the day? Why, oh, Why
is the sky blue? Or, Are there aliens?
How much does Earth weigh? … and…
How do airplanes stay up? Afraid to say,
how should I know? We pretend no one knows!
I tremble at the least exertion,
and am frightened at a shadow.
Suddenly, I am one with the bright sun,
transformed into a vaporized ray
hurtling into vast space becoming one with the stars.
Below, an aging lioness nurtures her cubs
and lets loose a formidable roar.

~John Daleiden, Phoenix, AZ in the Sonoran Desert

Found Poem Using Two Sources

A Night At The Opera

This Found Poem uses a mirrored image for the Incremenatal Line Increase Poem depicted in the right hand side of the Bell Curve.  The Bell Curve image is superimposed over the words. The following items are borrowed from resources:

• the Bell Curve image
• the poem text is borrowed from resources dedicated to defining found poetry
• the McGraw Hill science book defines the Bell Curve
• the Dylan Thomas quotation is from the short story "A Child's Christmas on Wales"
• the final pop culture quotation is generally regarded as a baseball quotion but the source is widly disputed by various authorities

 

Found Poem Senyru

Verbatim "Found Poem" Senyru from a Spam List

Black Lizard*
in the apple orchard
ladies scream

~ ~ ~

breaking news
lists your name on TV--
FBI reward

~ ~ ~

on my iPhone
Amazon ladies photos—
Grassroots Promotions
 

Author Note: All the words or portions of words in these senryu can be found on the Spam List below.

Sources:

Linda Papanicolaou posted a Spam list in the foundpoetrystudio and created haiku / senyru from words found on the list—these words are highlighted in yellow. Linda did not use every word on the list—rather the list was a resource of possible words that might be used in a "found poem". This method of creation is very much like the process of creating a collage. The list is posted below.

John Daleiden used the same Spam list to create the three senryu posted above. John used only words or parts of words on the list to create the senryu.

The Spam List:

Author note on Black Lizard*

The significance of Black Lizard* needs explanation.

Black Lizard was a publisher imprint during the 1980s. A division of the Creative Arts Book Company of Berkeley, California, Black Lizard specialized in presenting rediscovered forgotten classic crime fiction writers and novels from the decades between the 1930s and the 1960s. Creative Arts Book Company was founded by Don Ellis in 1966. Creative Arts filed for bankruptcy protection in 2003 ["Black Lizard": Wikipedia].

A film: Black Lizard (•å'å¡ Kurotokage) is a 1968 Japanese detective film directed by Kinji Fukasaku. The film is based on a 1934 novel by Edogawa Rampo and its theatrical adaptation by Yukio Mishima, who, at the time, was the lover of Akihiro Maruyama, the actor who plays the notorious female criminal "Black Lizard" in drag. The film's protagonist is Kogoro Akechi, a brilliant detective patterned on Sherlock Holmes who appears in several stories by Edogawa Rampo and is a fixture in Japanese popular culture. The film currently has no official DVD release, and copies of the film are extremely difficult to find, but it has gained a cult following and is highly regarded by devotees of "kitsch" and "campy" films ["Black Lizard (film)": Wikipedia].

The novel Black Lizard has been published in English by Kurodahan Press in a dual edition with The Beast in the Shadow (aka Inju)

Spam List poem as a "found poem":

From Poets.org:

Found poems take existing texts and refashion them, reorder them, and present them as poems. The literary equivalent of a collage, found poetry is often made from newspaper articles, street signs, graffiti, speeches, letters, or even other poems.

From Wikipedia:

Found poetry is a type of poetry created by taking words, phrases, and sometimes whole passages from other sources and re-framing them as poetry by making changes in spacing and/or lines (and consequently meaning), or by altering the text by additions and/or deletions. The resulting poem can be defined as either treated: changed in a profound and systematic manner; or untreated: virtually unchanged from the order, syntax and meaning of the original. 

First published in Sketchbook: 7-1, 40: January, February, 2012.
 http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook0-0FoundPoemResources/FP_Exercise_1_John_Daleiden_Senryu_From_A_Spam_List.htm

Found Poem: Free Verse

The Interloper Journeys From Page to Page

Between the lines each poet writes
there is room for my bold new thoughts.
Beneath the bright ballooning moon
she walks quietly through seasons
where even a bare twig trembling
in the bright mid-afternoon sun
bows to the bronze garden Buddha.

Within the walls of my own house
a slumber of tranquility
claims our lives each night as we wait
and watch the ten o’clock world news.
We see bent old men, children and women
in Africa or foreign lands
telling the same stories we tell.
These are the pictures of our souls
like wind blown thistles in a bush—
we marvel at the gray white light
reflected through thinly painted
trees where a dragon lady struts
through bristling silence bearing
a bleeding heart saved in Mama’s
rosebud teacup. No! I do not
have to invent my tales—no one
bangs the drum slowly or scribbles
in a notebook while a painter
hangs his landscape in my blank mind.
I have a hole in my hurt heart…
blown there by gossip one black night.
The future is always empty—
more clouds today than yesterday
obscure my unique odyssey
of discovery—the night comes
with a million stars, a black sky…
my hair so white, my journey long,
I thread my way through the vast space
and the stranger I come to know,
wears my clothes and uses my name.

Were I to see no more beauty
in my life, I have seen enough
to be content with what poets
write between the lines in their books
beneath the bright ballooning moon.


Construction of the Found Poem: The Interloper Journeys From Page to Page

This poem is constructed of mostly random lines selected from poems of poets appearing in the main index of Sketchbook Poets in the November / December 31, 2012 Issue. I opened each page, read the page, selected a line that I liked because of its poetic tenor and then listed it randomly. Once the lines were selected I began to arrange the words into a poem; the original text from the resource is in black and my words and alterations are in blue. About half way through the process the title emerged in my mind. Below are the exact lines excerpted from the texts, the genre and the title of the verse as well as the author. I have also included the link to the web page of the original verse. I spent approximately seven hours completing this process.


Resources:

“threading his way through them” from  Free Verse Found Poem: Adding Insult to Injury by Neal Whitman, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Neal_Whitman_Free_Verse_Found_Poem_Adding_Insult_to_Injury.htm

“the night will come with a million stars” from Ghazal: Before His Eyes by Sunil Uniyal, IN.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Sunil_Uniyal_Ghazal_Before_His_Eyes.htm

“The future / is always empty”  from  Tanka Prose: The Carmody-Blight Dialogues, 1-3 by
Charles D. Tarlton, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Charles_D_Tarlton_Tanka_Prose_The_Carmody-Blight_Dialogues_1-3.htm

“a stranger I came to know,” from “Silver Anniversary” by Brian Strand, UK.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Brian_Strand_Syllabic_Verse_Silver_Anniversary.htm

“An odyssey of discovery”  from Yugen by  Vania Stefanova, BG.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Vania_Stefanova.htm 

“like a wind blown thistle in a bush” from “Area Code” by Zvi A. Sesling, IL.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Zvi_A_Sesling.htm

“You take pictures of my soul”  from “Moon of Sadness” by Iolanda Scripca, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_Ekphrastic_Tanka_Moon_of_Sadness_Iolanda_Scripca.htm

“a dragon lady struts” from Kyoka by Shanna Baldwin Moore, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Shanna_Baldwin_Moore.htm

“and marveled

at the gray white light reflected

through thinly painted

trees… “  from “on the bus ride from Marco Polo Airport to Mestre”   by Norman J. Olson, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Norman_J_Olson_Free_Verse.htm

“Bristling silence”  from Yugen by  Georgi Milev, BG.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Georgi_Milevm.htm

“his hair so white” from Haiga “old man with crutches” by Christina-Monica Moldoveanu, RO.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Cristina-Monica_Moldoveanu_Haiga_old_man_with_crutches.htm
• “I have a hole in my heart…blown there by gossip” from “Malady” by Tracy McPherson, US.http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Tracy_McPherson_Free_Verse.htm

“More clouds today than yesterday” from  “Found Poem: The Modern Day Romeo and Juliet: Ebarrassed To Talk About Love” by Karina Klesko, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Karina_Klesko_Found_Poem.htm

“not a scribble in the notebook” from Haiku by John Kinory, UK (England).

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_John_Kinory_Haiku.htm

“bearing your bleeding heart” from “Concrete Poem: On Your Birthday” by Munia Khan, BD.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Munia_Khan.htm

“in Mama’s rosebud teacup, “  from Rhonwen Cordelia Weatherstone by Elizabeth Howard, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Elizabeth_Howard.htm 

“I have to invent my tales,” from “The Absence of Mind” by Jan Oskar Hansen, PT.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Jan_Oskar_Hansen.htm

“in a slumber of tranquility”  from “Winter Night” by Bernard Gieske, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Bernard_Gieske.htm

“Within the wall of your own house”  from  “Rough Winter” by Joseph Farley, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Joseph_Farley_Free_Verse.htm

“we wait and watch the news,”  from “in between” by Joseph Farley, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Joseph_Farley_Free_Verse.htm

“bent old man”  from  Haiku by Tatjana Debeljacki, CR.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Tatjana_Debeljacki.htm

“telling / the same stories”  from “Cinquain: Christmas Song” by John Daleiden, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_John_Daleiden.htm

“I bow to the Buddha / teaching the Wisdom” from “Five Bows” by  Matthew Caretti, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Matthew_Caretti.htm 

“In the mid-afternoon sun” from Haiga--”close to my house” by Richard Biscayart, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_Haiga_Richard_Biscayart_04_Right_close_to_my_house.htm
• “Between the lines, room for thoughts” from “Sketchbook ~ Acrostic” by Karen O’Leary, US.http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/0_Contents_Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_Index_Sketchbook_Poets.htm

“She walks quietly through the seasons”   from a review of an’ya’s book, Seasons of a hermitess, 101 haiku by an’ya, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook0-0BookFair/Sketchbook_Book_Fair_an_ya_Seasons_of_a_hermitess.htm

 “beneath ballooning moon”  from “Black Lace Netting”  by Karin Anderson, AU.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Karin_Anderson_Ekphrastic_Experimental_Ten_Word_Stanza_Lace_Netting.htm

“she signals him with a glance /ly”   and / or  “the painter hangs his landscape /t”

From Renku ~ Yotsumono*  “A perfect day” by  Tomislav Maretić, CR and Lynette Arden, AU.  Tomislav Maretić, CR and Lynette Arden, AU.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_Tomislav_Maretic_and_Lynette_Arden_Renku_Four_Yotsumono.htm

“No one bangs the drum slowly”  from “The Swirling Dust: A poem for Kell Robertson” by AD Armstrong, US.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_RD_Armstrong.htm   

“Were we to see no more beauty in our lives,” from “The Path to a Village” by Helen Bar-Lev, IL/

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Bar-Lev_Free_Verse.htm

“even a bare twig trembles”  from  “Even a Bare Twig Trembles“  by

Danica Bartulovic, CR.

• http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook6-6NovDec2011/Sketchbook_6-6_NovDec_2011_I_Danica_Bartulovic_Free_Verse_Even_a_Bare_Twig_Trembles.htm

Rondeau

The Guile of A Beleaguered Heart

Her broken heart
conceals its wounds in her coy smiles—
her broken heart
bears up against grief—not one part
of her inner terror defiles
her angelic mask , her high style—
her broken heart.


Her tears are dried—
now that time has had its wild ways
her tears are dried—
in her boudoir she cried and cried…
locked in…isolated for days,
she wept like a lone cast away—
her tears are dried.


Her hardened heart,
locked tighter than a dead man’s chest—
her hardened heart
chained and shackled with martial art,
wracked with fright, an unwelcome guest—
twisted with hurt, she was depressed…
her hardened heart.


Now her calm smile
masks the terrors of abandonment—
now her calm smile
and her beacon bright eyes begile
past harsh and accusing torment…
a new façade…controlled content…
now her calm smile…


Rondelet 01-14-2012
A,b,A,a,b,b,A
4, 8, 4, 8, 8, 8, 4


The Rondelet is a 7 line Syllable counted genre: 4, 8, 4, 8, 8, 8, 4 - the third and seventh lines are a repeat of the first line. The word is the diminutive of rondel, a similar, longer verse form. The rhyme scheme is A,b,A,a,b,b,A. The refrained lines should contain the same words, however, substitution or different use of punctuation on the lines has been common.

Etymology: The term roundelay originates from 1570, from Modern French rondelet, a diminutive of rondel meaning "short poem with a refrain," literally "small circle". From Old French rondel, a diminutive of rond meaning "circle, sphere," originally an adjective from roont. The spelling developed by association with lay (noun) "poem to be sung" (Wikipedia).

Bibliography: Michel Barrucaud, François Besson, Eric Doumerc, Raphaelle Gosta de Beaurregard, Aurélie Guilain, Wendy Harding, Isabelle Keller-Privat, Catherine Lamone, Lesley Lawton et Sylvie Maurel, An introduction to poetry in English, Presses Universtitaires du Mirail, Toulouse (http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=roundelay).

...As Time Goes By...

Our bodies grow old and our hair turns gray;
quickness in our steps is slowed and labored,
but our hearts are filled with joy each new day.
Are we now different? How have we been changed?

Each fine morning I say you have not aged;
we read news and drink tea at the café
I speak of this and that like a graybeard—
our bodies grown old and our hair turned gray.

Once we thought we were made of sterner clay—
rock hard stuff mined from a far mountain range,
then fired in a red hot forge every day—
now, our quickened steps are slowed and labored.

You, my brown beauty shaking your tabor,
singing love songs—such a tasty soufflé—
loving naively in a green arbor—
then our hearts were filled with joy each new day.

This morning, dinning in the cabaret,
you tell me life makes you feel stale and caged—
smoke surrounds you—I call you Lady Day…
Why are we different? Tell me how we changed?

You say, life is a sharp, deadly saber—
I say, time is like everyman’s valet…
a caring mover, a waiting neighbor
bearing an ancient, delicate bouquet
of bodies grown old…

The rondeau redoublé is a complex form written on two rhymes, but in five stanzas of four lines each and one of five lines. Each of the first four lines (stanza 1) get individually repeated in turn once by becoming successively the respective fourth lines of stanzas 2, 3, 4, & 5; and the first part of the first line is repeated as a short fifth line to conclude the sixth stanza. This can be represented as - A1,B1,A2,B2 - b,a,b,A1 - a,b,a,B1 - b,a,b,A2 - a,b,a,B2 - b,a,b,a,(A1).

In “As Time Goes By” John Daleiden has used incremental variation in the refrain lines, thus, marked A1 i, A2 i, B1 i, and B2 i; i indicates the use of incremental variation. The variations are indicators of the passage of time.

Rondeau (poetry) from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Haiku: Spring Poetry Rain in Nicosia, Cyprus

the dove of peace
in free flight above our streets—
unity for all


in brotherhood—
breaking  bread together
this meal unites us


for Spring Poetry Rain in Nicosia, Cyprus
April 30, 2012

Archives Free Verse

Threading The Warp

In the garden
where my son has retreated
he amuses himself.
There are rugs to weave, books to read—
people come and go…
and hours of tedium.
But most of all there is no rain.
No need for umbrellas,
no need for overshoes.
Naked, his flayed nerves
exposed for all to see,
he plays in the garden.


      Lift the heddle—
      thread the yarn—
      beat the beater—


            He says,
            “Yesterday, I kissed her lips.
            Tomorrow she will kiss mine.”


      Lift the heddle—
      thread the yarn—
      beat the beater—


              “My father doesn’t love me
               and I need his love”.

      Lift the heddle—
      thread the yarn—
      beat the beater—
               “I don’t want to live.
                Life is empty”.

       Lift the heddle—
       thread the yarn—
       beat the beater—

And there are books to read…
word after word…
page after page…

At least in this garden
he can sun himself.
And if he finds tedium
it is here he retreats—
It is his choice to come or go.

As for shelter,
his book is umbrella
enough to keep off any rain,
and the carpet he weaves
Is a temporary occupation,
a plain view twill or double weave,
a clear design for all to see,
a scented flower, a healing balm.
No need for overshoes
or sheltering umbrellas
in this kind garden.
from In Michael’s RoomPublished in Cyclamens and Swords on-line
http://www.cyclamensandswords.com/poetry_dec_2011_2.php

Oh, How We’ll Misbehave

I am waiting in the Neiman Marcus dress shop
while my wife tries on expensive gowns
from the sale rack—
I tell her, “Everything is always on sale for some price
or else they wouldn’t be open for business”.

We both laugh.

…and the sales lady smirks
giving us her best Nan dour grimace.
In the distance the string combo
begins to play “All That Jazz”. “Come on babe, why don’t we paint the town?
And all that jazz” “I have that gown in blue…and in your size
if you would like to try it on!” says the clerk.

…and we both begin to sing the chorus
in perfect harmony dancing through the racks: “Skidoo
And all that jazz
Hotcha...Whoopee
And all that jazz” “Oh, my,” she says. “Performers!”

“How much?” I ask.

“Seventy-five!” she replies, hoping we might leave.

In the changing room my wife slips into the strapless blue number,
then she shimmies and shakes through the door singing: “Find a flask, we’re playing fast and loose
And all that jazz “In the foyer a crowd of ladies and gents has gathered,
smiling and clapping, the sting combo playing:

                    Right up here is where I store the juice
                    And all that jazz

The sales witch, her hands on her hips says,
“I think I need to call my manager and security!”

“Oh, honey”, says my wife, “Don’t bother!
“I’ll take two, one in red and this one in blue
I’ll wear to finish the number with the combo.”

I hand the woman two hundreds in cash and say:
“Thanks for your help. Just keep the change.”

We join the combo around the corner for a reprise:

                   “Got my babe, dancing a brand new rave
                   And all that jazz
                   We’re gonna' burn bridges, oh, how we’ll misbehave
                   And all that jazz”
                   Rock the room, we’ll tear up the dance floor
                   A cheering crowd is here, just hear them shout and roar
                   And all… that… jazz

The combo grinds out a great crescendo.
We finish with arms and hands extended.

A uniformed policeman and the saleslady
stand in front of the applauding impromptu queue;
She points her extended, red nailed finger, at us.

“There they are. Those are the ones who disrupted
my dress shop. Arrest them!”

The queue begins to hiss and boo;
the drummer gives an extended drum rol
and ends with a cymbal crash.

“And all that jazz!” I shout.

Escorted by the policeman we leave.

“And don’t come back,” he admonishes.

“Oh, we won’t,” says my wife
as we begin skipping down the Avenue.

We are both laughing…
And all… that… jazz

09-09-2011