The HexSonnetta, created by Andrea Dietrich, consists of two six-line stanzas and a finishing rhyming couplet with the following set of rules:
Meter: Iambic Trimeter
Rhyme Scheme: a/bb/aa/b c/dd/cc/d ee
Iambic Trimeter means the usual iambic (alternating unstressed/stressed) meter for every line of the poem, but instead of the ten syllables that comprise a typical sonnet’s iambic pentameter, this particular form uses six syllables of iambic trimeter per line. Thus, the name HexSonnetta. The first part of the form’s name refers to the syllable count per line. The second part of the name, Sonnetta, is to show this to be a form similar to the sonnet, yet with its shorter lines and different rhyme scheme, it is not the typical sonnet. Not only does this poem have six syllables per line, it also has a set of two six-line stanzas, giving an extra “hex” to the meaning of HexSonnetta. The rhyme scheme is a bit of a mixture of the two traditional sonnet types, with the two 6-line stanzas having more the rhyme scheme of an Italian sonnet, but with the ending rhyming couplet being the featured rhyme scheme of the English sonnet. The first stanza presents the theme of the poem, with the second stanza serving to change the tone of the poem, to introduce a new aspect of the theme or to give added details. The final couplet, as in an English sonnet, can be either a summary (if the theme is simple) or it could be the resolution to a problem presented in the theme. In any event, it should nicely tie together the whole piece and could even appear as a nice “twist” presented at the end.
MARIE ELENA’S ATTEMPT
WAGING WAR
Her strength is weakly veiled To those who know her well And see the utter hell With which she is assailed In every breath inhaled; Concealed in every cell. Decisions made with grit, That wells from depths unknown To shake her to the bone, And yet she doesn’t quit. To this, I must admit: I place her on a throne. Her angels battle on; Triumphant swords are drawn. © Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013WALT’S HEXSONNETTA:
HEART SHADOWS FALL
Beneath the moonlit sky
two lovers seek repose,
for lovers in the throes
of passion by-and- by,
would bring a fool to cry,
for that’s the way love goes.
These shadows cast at night,
are of the hearts that fall,
they live to hear love’s call
before they drop from sight,
for when the time is right,
two hearts will share it all.
The moon’s bright lights caress
the hearts within their chests.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Yay! Marie is back! The garden wasn’t quite the same without you. 🙂 Your HexSonetta is so powerful. Those last two lines – wow, just wow…
Walt, that is so beautiful!
Amen to those sentiments. It’s good to see you both in tandem again.
Yay! Double yay!
Thanks so much! It’s great to be back!!
Marie Elena
Rhyme, Reason, Faith
She tried to see the rhyme,
The reason of it all,
But couldn’t stop her fall,
Or bring back wasted time,
Or alter the design
Of fate, or heed her call;
She only saw the wrong,
And only felt the pain;
Her tears fell like the rain;
She whispered, “he is gone”,
But saw new morning dawn,
And felt night’s power wane;
Her faith will hold fast still
In Him, it always will.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
You are such a natural, and form never throws you off balance. Beautiful, Erin.
Marie Elena
Thank you so much, Marie! I think that once I get a form in my head, my muse must start working double time trying to figure it out. And then she kind of makes me do or write whatever she wants. 😉
I can’t tell you how good it is to have you back again! You were sorely missed. 🙂
Thanks, sweetie!
Marie Elena
Erin, this is touching!
Thank you, Sal. 🙂
Beautiful, hopeful sentiments. You keep writing out of your pain but I never get the impression you’ve camped out there but have moved into healing. Your words will help heal others, too. Lovely Erin and not only the poem.
Thank you so much, Debi!! Fortunately, I was never able to “camp out there”, as you put it. I have an amazing family, wonderful, supportive friends, and an awesome God. Those make for pretty good healing. 🙂
A truly beautiful poem, Erin. You’ve been through so much at such young age, but you are very strong, and so is your poetry. It’s wonderful that you’re writing.
Thank you, Sasha. It is so good to be able to write what I feel. I don’t know why, but writing about it has helped ease the pain somehow. I just want God’s goodness to shine through whatever I write or say. Thanks again! ❤
Yes… I agree with everyone, Erin!!
Thank you, Hen! You’ve been a constant source of sweetness and sympathy ever since I started posting here. Thanks for being YOU! 🙂
Aww… I couldn’t ask for a greater affirmation of living a good, basic life… Thank you, my friend!! 🙂 !!
SEEN AT THE EDGE OF THE SWAMP
I saw a bird of fire
with gleaming sable wings
whose fresh appearance brings
pulsations to the mire
and ends the winter’s dire
affront to nascent springs.
Its countenance of red
uplifted my hard heart
and set my soul apart
from drear and ancient dread;
it long had lain abed
and needed this new start.
No longer am I numb:
the tanager has come.
copyright 2013, William Preston
William, as a birder and a poet – I love your poem!! The last line made me smile.
Thank you. I don’t think any bird shimmers like a scarlet tanager.
Beautiful visuals, William! I love birds, so this poem definitely spoke to me. Thank you for sharing it with us. 🙂
Very rich in imagery and word choice, William!
Two thumbs up William!
I don’t know this bird 😦 but I have a very vivid fiery image in my mind when reading your poem, very nice, full of life and energy.
Oh, I just think that this is so very beautiful, William!!
Thank you, all of you.
PASSING
I heard the news at noon:
my friend has died today.
I felt acute dismay,
for he had passed too soon
and with him went the boon
of his disarming way.
But then I saw his smile
and heard again his jokes,
that kind that rendered folks
too weak for wit or guile.
His soul lived all the while
he cried, “Avast, dear blokes.”
Death has lost its gaff;
it’s time again to laugh.
copyright 2013, William Preston
Sweet, William! I do know what you mean. Sometimes you remember the strangest things about someone you lost: a particular quirk of theirs, a joke they told… and then you can’t help but smile. 🙂
I agree Erin – one smiles through tears sometimes.
Another great one from William, a poet who makes us love this new form!
“… and heard again his jokes,…” This brings to mind a sweet memory…
Thanks to you all.
It’s hard to lose a loved one. But having great and happy memories helps ease the pain and gives reason to smile. Great job.
Marriage Glue
When marriages grow stale
The heart turns dull and bleak
The spirit’s rendered weak
Begins to taste of hell
Temptation rings a bell
The bored begin to seek
Some struggle with their will
They try to do things right
Put up a fervent fight
But tire in their zeal
Reduced to what they feel
Go off into the night
God’s goodness is the glue
That makes one of the two
Those last two lines are so powerful, Connie! I have never experienced either, but I know from observing my parents that you are absolutely spot on about God’s goodness being the glue.
Connie, this poem of yours flows so well!
Erin started us off brilliantly, followed by another two of my favorites – William and Connie. I love this place. 🙂
Marie Elena
Ok Dorothy. You can quit clicking the heels of those ruby slippers. We get it! 😉
Walt Elena
There’s no place like home! 😀
Waltelena … sounds like a new poetic form …
M.E.
Marie and Walt devised a form;
they called it Waltelena.
Its rhymes were few, its meter short,
but it had omniana.
:D!! This form sounds intriguing.
Two thumbs up!
Marie Elena
Meg… such strength captured… ! Walt… loveliness…
His Love
His love will never fail
Though we fail Him each day
We fail to walk His way
We fail and fail and fail
His love for us prevails
He’ll take our sins away
He loves with love supreme
There is no greater love
A love from God above
A love above extreme
Too much love it would seem
Can there be too much love
He is the only One
God’s love comes through His Son
Yes! Such a good poem, Earl! I like how you repeat the words frequently. 🙂
!!
Caught a little misty-eye while writing this one. I must be getting old.
For My Son
The first time I laid eyes
On such a precious gift
My spirit, it did lift
And I began to cry
Could I believe my eyes?
Could I accept this gift?
The years flew by too fast
What once could only crawl
My precious gift grew tall
Made memories that last
The years flew by too fast
Again I’d do it all
It’s hard to let him go
I’ll always love him so
Aww! This is very touching, Earl. It must be hard for a parent to let their child go.
I am so proud of the wonderful man my son has become. It has been a sweet, difficult, but rewarding journey and like you” the years flew by too fast.” I like your poem.
So sweet…
Lamenting Spring, Aching for Summer
Her arrival is late,
the cold and soggy air
but makes us mad and swear.
Up close to my man, mate –
each night, like a first date,
my soul and body bare.
May, just a lime green haze
with blooms slow to appear
and June barely in gear,
through a drizzle filled daze
look skyward for sun rays,
Summer slowly comes near.
I long for hot, dry heat –
less rain, bare toes, cold treat.
This poem is warm and lovely. I would prefer to cancel summer, but I love this poem.
William – Thank you! Summer is my least favorite season but even I am longing for some warmth and sunshine after a great winter and long, wet, cool Spring!
Hmmmm. I looked at your Web site and saw a picture of a hawk owl, so you must live in or near Canada. Maybe spring was a little later this year.
I am already longing for summer too, Michelle. Lovely poem! It has such a bouncy feel to me.
I love this line: “May, just a lime green haze” brilliant!
Thank you Erin and Debi!!
Summer is my absolute favorite season!!
Child’s Play
With driveway chalk we drew
a hopscotch board of squares:
some single; some in pairs,
and then we got in queue.
A stone, each kid then threw
to mark off ‘ mine’ or ‘theirs.’
We played ‘til Tim got bored.
He tapped someone. “Hey, you
are it!” The game morphed to
Freeze Tag. Our giggling horde
would dash, then freeze, to ward
off being tagged. It’s true.
We only left the street
to go inside to eat.
###
Sounds like fun! 🙂
Fun times indeed. You captured it!
🙂 !!
Unrequited Love
“I tell you I like you all the time. Or at least in my head, I do… “~Unknown
This unrequited crush
is solely in my head:
a constant running thread
about which I could gush
but words are all a-hush.
I wish I could, instead,
say what I truly think.
I’d like to ask you out
but then, I’m filled with doubt.
I’m almost at the brink
when confidences shrink
How long can this drag out?
This unrequited view
must go. “Hey…I like you…”
###
How exactly you summed up what’s going through my head lately! Great poem, RJ!
European Education
“In Paris, you learn wit, in London, you learn to crush your social rivals, in Florence, you learn poise.” ~Virgil Thomson
In Paris, you will learn
to use your clever wit.
In London, you’ll admit,
you’ll crush your foes, in turn,
as social rivals burn.
That’s how you will acquit
yourself with great aplomb.
And then, in Florence, you’ll
be brilliant, oh-so-cool
and hold glam in your palm.
With poise you can be calm
(A guideline – not a rule.)
In travel, you’ll go far
just like a boss rock star.
###
Nice. 🙂
Yes, that’s exactly how it was, right down to the last lines.
Curses! Foiled again! This comment applies to your Child’s Play poem, but the other two are wonderful also. In fact, reading all three, I get the feeling of someone growing up.
Oh, my…great pieces, both, Marie & Walt. Loved them.
GROWING PAINS
It’s painful, when you’re twelve,
When no one understands,
You’re in the borderlands,
Your world – a darkened delve,
When slips away the helve,
Of life from your small hands.
Lift up your troubled face,
I wish I could explain
Or take away the pain,
I’d gladly take your place,
But words don’t leave a trace,
Old wisdom shared in vain.
Still, listen, my tween lass:
And this, this too, shall pass.
there shouldn’t be a comma after “helve” 😦
Oh so true, Sasha! At sixteen I am still just barely leaving that stage behind.
Your writing is so mature, I keep forgetting how impossibly young you are, Erin. Any age is beautiful really, but something about sixteen.. 🙂 Keep writing and be happy.
Thanks, Happy. Sixteen feels good to me. 🙂
“It’s painful, when you’re twelve,
When no one understands,
You’re in the borderlands” so true, I remember it well. Very nice!
Such beautiful poems, Marie and Walt.
Marie, you’re back! 🙂
THANK THE GIVER
The world’s a gift we take
From when the sun ascends
Until the hours end,
A world that for our sake
A loving God did make
And daily He attends.
And how’s this gift repaid?
Some doubt there is a God,
This Earth on which we trod
Appeared without His aid?
Oh hearts of hardened jade,
Look up! There is a God!
Do change your attitude.
Show God some gratitude.
#
Wow…so good! I love your last two lines!
‘hearts of hardened jade” love that!
Marie – Great to see you back! – Awesome Poem.
MISCAST MUSE
A poet, hunched in his abode,
once mused a melancholy ode
about a muse who promised gold
but left instead a loathy load
of limpid lines from days of old,
when underwear was damp and cold.
The poet thought a lot about it,
then thought some more and thought to shout it:
“It seems unfair! I’m sitting here,
no pen in hand, and so, without it,
I cannot write nor play the seer
while fables fly and verses veer.”
Pleased with himself, the poet slept
while, all about him, muses wept.
copyright 2013, William Preston
note: this was inspired by the “hexsonnetta” form; perhaps one could call it an octasonnett
Oh, Wonderful, William! a “loathy load of limpid lines” (lol)
I had a go at it but it didn’t quite work for me and I had to sneak in a few seventh syllables for flow. *sigh*
Nocturne
The twilight is bringing
A stillness, without grace.
No jacket can erase
A shiver that is tingling.
The birds have stopped their singing—
It seemed so out of place.
The light is quickly fading,
The sense is of despair,
A chill hangs in the air,
While shadows are parading,
The sadness is pervading,
It’s more than most can bear.
With the fading of the light,
The darkness of the night.
Hello, J Cosmo, and welcome to Poetic Bloomings! Great poem, great voice, and hoping to hear more from you.
Marie Elena
Box of Hope
She takes a cardboard case
down from the closet shelf
and hugs it to herself,
then staring into space
she takes a breath to brace
the hope within herself.
Slowly she lifts the lid,
regards the tiny shoe
pink, lacy bow, brand new
that lay beneath that lid
where her sweet dreams were hid
in pastel colored hues
Of anticipation
for this new creation.
I can read this one at least two ways, both poignant. Wonderful.
I’m glad you did – that’s what I hoped for.
Well done, Debi! An excellent example of this new form.
I’ll use this to write my “bitter” poem for the Thirty-by-Thirty Challenge. I read a week or so ago that by gradually changing (through selection) the taste and content of our food, we are making it less nourishing. Bitter may be better!
Bitter
How often we complain
whenever we must eat
the bitter with the sweet
and look with such disdain
at herbs that sprout with rain
in tufts along the street
Wise ones who came before
knew bitterness of taste
meant nothing went to waste
to nourish even poor
folks, right outside their door,
plants others missed in haste
to get their sweeter fare,
less nourishing than air.
“less nourishing than air” This puts me in mind of iceberg lettuce, too.
yes…
You have my solemn oath that I will never attempt this form again!
Friends Starting Out
I see you found a friend,
important thing to do.
You each found someone new.
As teens you’ll have to fend
off girls who’ll want to spend,
in ways they’re want to do,
all their precious hours
with you, as a steady beau.
As you will come to know,
first love is like fresh flower
blooming bright, it grows.
Your stomach’s butterflies
will never fly as high.
🙂 !
I’m feeling that way about the Alfred Dorn Sonnet – I may never get an only one done!
Despite your feelings this is a nice poem with a sweet lesson.
I agree.
Thanks, Debi!
They Stand Tall
They stand tall at the gate
Protecting all inside
Alert, eyes open wide
Attentively they wait
They will not hesitate
Their mission cut-and-dried
They answered freedom’s call
Put selfish needs on hold
United, strong and bold
They stand tall for us all
They stand as freedom’s wall
America’s stronghold
They sacrifice for right
They keep lit freedom’s light
© 2013 Earl Parsons
Wonderful. A story as old as Thermopylae.
The Coast
No cloud floats in the sky
Between my toes white sand
Green water laps the land
Sunglasses protect eyes
A cool breeze passes by
The beautiful coastland
A mist of salty air
Infused by water’s stirred
Waves lap at walking birds
On quest for what lay there
When waves leave beach laid bare
On journey back seaward
‘Tis the Emerald Coast
The coast that I love most
© 2013 Earl Parsons
Oh, this one is superb in the way it feels and the pictures it draws.
And later today, my wife and I are gonna feel that salty mist.
Peuplier Faux-Tremble
Here’s something cool, quite right:
the French say, ‘Tremble.’ Same
as ‘aspen.’ (English name.)
This poem I now write
is just to shed some light
on tremble/aspen’s fame.
This aspen is unique.
A different kind of tree:
it clones itself. But see,
although its bark is sleek
it has a strange physique
and trembles where winds be.
I think this narration
got lost in translation.
###
Nonetheless, your work left me quaking. Shaking, too, with laughter at the final lines.
(Hexsonnetta)
Grandmother
Awakened much too soon
so premature that glow
her budding mouth was closed.
So warm but without bloom;
So silent as the tomb,
the sound within her froze
Her marker leaves no joy
though flowers shadow where
her mom has left them there.
A faded, rattled toy
the sun a faithful ploy
as if it somehow cared.
And so my rose is gone
and in my heart; no song.
Lovely and tender. Thanks for posting this.
Thank you, William. I lost this grandchild twenty-five years ago; yet is still as though it happened yesterday.
How terribly sad. I’m so sorry.
Jacqueline, I can’t even imagine the pain. I have one grandchild (Sophia Rose), and I can’t even stand the very thought of ever losing her. My heart goes out to you.
Marie Elena
[…] It is so fun to play with new poetic forms! Today, I learned about a hexsonetta from Poetic Blooming’s weekly prompt. I’m not sure I like the rhyme scheme that splits separates the first and last line of each […]
Heroes Every Day
To idly stand aside,
would tear these ones apart
as if you burned their heart,
and left them there to die.
All risks they will defy,
to simply say they tried.
It’s in their blood to save.
Emergencies will chime
and spouses cry each time –
In love with what they do –
it’s saving me and you,
and yes, the risks are grave.
A hero every day –
The firefighter’s way.
A wonderful tribute to those that rush into a disaster while all others are rushing out. It reminds me of the 28 years my brother spent as a firefighter. And he doesn’t even realize how important his sacrifices were. Great job.
Indeed it is.