Rules of Sevenling

What is a sevenling?   A very good question and one which I should have addressed before posting my attempt.  A sevenling is a poetic form composed of seven lines with certain specific rules.  I just found this description which is much better than the definition I followed in my attempt.  As you can see below, I didn't follow the rules exactly ----- oh, well, maybe I'll try again someday.


"Sevenlings by RODDY LUMSDEN

The rules of the sevenling are thus:

The first three lines should contain an element of three - three connected or contrasting statements, or a list of three details, names or possibilities. This can take up all of the three lines or be contained anywhere within them. Then, lines four to six should similarly contain an element of three, connected directly or indirectly or not at all. The seventh line should act as a narrative summary or punchline or as an unusual juxtaposition. There are no set metrical rules, but being such as short form, some rhythm, metre or rhyme is desirable. To give the form a recognisable shape, it should be set out in two stanzas of three lines, with a solitary seventh, last line. Titles are not required. A sevenling should be titled Sevenling followed by the first few words in parentheses The tone of the sevenling should be mysterious, offbeat or disturbing, giving a feeling that only part of the story is being told. The poem should have a certain ambience which invites guesswork from the reader. "

http://home.comcast.net/~jpdancingbear/apj_sevenling.html

Read more...

Too Much Information

Feminine products, erectile dysfunction, overactive bladders.
Subjects of endless commercials about things
that really shouldn’t be discussed in public.

Religion, politics, familial dirty laundry.
More topics that always seem to be the subject
of never-ending reality programming.

Don’t you wonder whatever happened to reading?



(This is my first attempt at the sevenling form.)

Read more...

Update

Sorry for the long hiatus - I had to take some time to help my family.  My stepfather had surgery and some problems and is still recovering.  He's finally home - but it's been a long road with a great distance yet to go to recovery.

Hope everyone is still doing well, and I thank everyone for their wonderful comments.  I also hope you will continue to read and enjoy my efforts.

Thank you again, LisaB.

Read more...

Sixteen

Sixteen, sweet sixteen
by then she’d learned more than she ever wanted to know
more than any child-woman should

of words hard as fists leaving blotches
where only the heart can see

of eyes blinded by compromise, overlooking
bruises polka-dotting flesh

of male bonding rituals, fathers and sons ogling
budding breasts

of painted appearance being more important
that substance and knowledge

of gropes and grabs, hands slid under skirts,
of lost dreams and broken hearts,
of self-worth residing
in peer acceptance that never came

and little red pills that ease the pain
and fog the mind,

the knowledge that she can never escape
her own eyes looking back
from the mirror hanging on the wall
while she still exists,

and the realization that self-respect
predicates all respect
and nothing, and no one
is more important than that;

and while she breathes, life goes on
another day, another year - -
now sixteen is just a lingering nightmare.

Read more...

Morning Coffee

Alarm clock blared, didn’t hear it,
running late,
rushing, rushing,
shower and dress,
running, rushing
no time, no time –
I’m late, I’m late -
white rabbit has nothing on me.

To work I go
traffic caging inside
near-death duel,
vehicle sputters, nearly stalling,
idiot drivers texting as they go,
hit the parking lot sprinting,
at the time clock
punching in – barely made it.

Scowling, growling,
traipsing toward the coffee pot.
oh. my. god.
THERE’S NO COFFEE.

Place the paper,
dump the grind,
tapping feet, dancing
in place until brew
is complete,
pour the cup,
mouth watering,
brain awakening,
ahhhh, saturating cells,
widening eyes, calming temper,
almost human - got my morning caffeine fix.

Read more...

Finding Poetry Within

Each word struggles
to be discovered,
birthed into a world
sometimes harsh,
sometimes lost.

Pieces of my soul
courtesy of the muse
within, searching for acceptance
beyond the fences of my heart,
the constraints of the internal critics.

Fledglings taking wing
on the thermals
of uncertainty and reality,
shyly exposing themselves
to all the world.

Read more...

Springtime on the Plains

Each spring we put away our winter
woolens, unearth our cottons and shorts,
begin the time-honored tradition
of sky-watching; a regional past-time,

searching the skies for approaching
grey and black clouds, towering
anvils above the grassy seas
flowing across the plains;

listening for the bulletins blaring
“seek shelter NOW”, hoping, praying
the National Weather Service is wrong,
this time, please, God, let them be wrong;

imploring the deity that the fifteen
minute advance notice is enough,
that you don’t hear that freight-train roar,
nor gaze into the eye of the abyss;

that time elapses and the tornado
skips your house, that those icy fingers
of fear are not a premonition of what’s
to come, that the ‘all-clear’ is heard soon;

that your friends and loved-ones are safe,
and you tell yourself, over and over
that it will never happen to you . . .
until it does.


(NOTE:  Although I've lived in Oklahoma for the majority of my life, I have never suffered the loss of a loved one or even property to a tornado - I've been very fortunate in that respect.  I remember many times in my childhood that someone would tuck me into a closet or bathtub covered with blankets and pillows to wait out a storm.  There's nothing you can do but shelter, wait, and pray.)

Read more...