Dear Poets:
Originally, I was planning on a different form for today. However, considering today’s In-form Poet arrives on an unutterably terrible day filled with much sadness and pain, I felt the form I was going to use lacked the necessary gravitas and stillness. So, instead, for today, our plan is to write the Goethe Stanza and next week, we’ll get to something which at least some of you might find a little lighter in spirit.
What gave me the idea for today’s form, as you will note, are the two columns lying [horizontally] in the middle of the stanza. While not intentionally designed for that specific purpose obviously, it can lend itself to work which is more able to contain sentiment and reminiscence for that particular day. If you so choose. As always, you are not being directed at In-form Poet to write to a particular theme.
If you visit Terry Clitheroe’s wonderful The Poets Garret, you will find a marvelous catalog of poetic forms. For today, we are going to work on one of the forms found there: the Goethe Stanza. Here’s the link for this particular form, if you want to see more examples of it: http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/2008Challenge/form11.html.
As Mr. Clitheroe states:
Goethe Stanza … a very different poetry form than most poets are used to… With this one, each stanza comprises a single line, a couplet and a single line. Each single line rhymes with a line from the couplet: one starting and one completing the stanza. Here is the suggested pattern (and yes, there is no set meter):
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x b
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x x x b
Here’s an example of a Goethe Stanza I wrote a few years ago, which actually seems a bit apt right now:
The Phoenix Arises (by RJ Clarken)
There sits a dull grey pile of ash
created from a blazing fire
which sprung forth from a brilliant flash.
How many times can he expire
and then somehow be born again?
Still, we watch for his bright plumage.
The question is not how, but when
he’ll arise from cindered tomb-age.
###
As you can tell from my poem, I still have hope within me.
That having been said, I’m really looking forward to seeing what you write today.
Ready…set…start poeming! ~RJ
MARIE ELENA’S GOETHE STANZA
FREEDOM
Concrete and steel may be reduced
Eternally to scrap and ash
By those whose souls would be seduced
To fashion madness, unabashed.
But hatred cannot silence love
Nor quell a hero’s bravery,
And would procure the freedom of
The heart ensnared in slavery.
© copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013
… and while we are poeming, Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides prompt for today is to write an appointment poem: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-236
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Hope no one minds if I break the rules and post something I wrote just a few days after 9-11-01. Considering the day and date, I feel it’s appropriate.
Floor 105
As I look from my window on floor 105
I have a wonderful view of the city.
The sky is cloudless and amazingly blue.
There’s an uneasiness to all of this beauty.
Then I see from my window on floor 105
On a course that seems not of the norm
What looks like an airplane, a jet, very large.
T’was the beginning of a terrorists storm.
I look out with horror from floor 105
As the airliner held firm it’s course.
And I swear I could see the lone pilot smile
Then I felt an indescribable force.
As the plane disappeared below floor 105,
The shake that ensued threw me down.
Explosions and screams broke the morning calm
These were foreign and unwelcome sounds.
Then outside my window on floor 105
A ball of fire blazed by in a flash.
My office went dark as black smoke filled the air
Then reality hit me at last
The reality was that soon floor 105
Might be the last place that I see.
But I want to live so that I may mourn
For those already dead below me.
But I can find no escape from floor 105,
All the stairwells are engulfed in fire.
The elevators are gone, cut off by the blast,
Can’t get down, and can’t go any higher.
It seems that I’m trapped on floor 105.
So I’ll wait for the rescuers to arrive.
I’ll try and call home, just in case they don’t come,
Say “I love you” while I’m still alive.
That done, I reach out to floor 105
And the many who’s fates are the same.
We gather together as smoke fills the room
And call on God’s wonderful name.
Salvation occurred on floor 105
As the saved led the lost to the Lord.
The blood of Jesus gave them eternal life,
While the fires of death nearby roared.
Then we all realize that floor 105
Will serve as our final resting place.
I pray everyone who’s about to die
Will soon look upon Jesus’ face.
With flames coming near us on floor 105
We all saw the angels gather ‘round.
They stood over us as the inferno raged
And took us up as the tower came down.
(c) 2001 Earl Parsons
I too have often thought about what would be going through my mind if I had been trapped up there. Even now, for me, it’s still so incomprehensible.
Earl, I believe I’ve read this before. Still grabs me. As RJ says, it’s incomprehensible. Thank you for posting.
Terrifying. Captured vividly, Earl.
Terrifying, as Hannah said. But so well written…
RESOLUTION
“The truth,” he said, “is written grey
and not the black and white
that comforts minds that wish and pray.”
I found that he was right:
for when my heart was full of pain
and you were nowhere near
to calm me, much as sun dries rain,
another eased my fear.
copyright 2013, William Preston
This is meaningful on so many levels. And yes, I completely agree that it is rarely things are black and white, but rather, in a whole array of grays.
“Not the black and white that comforts minds” strikes me. I never thought of black and white as playing that role. Much like drawing lines, I suppose. Well done, Bill.
Hope finds a way to salve…I enjoy the image of rain being dried by sun here. 🙂
William…this is beautiful! And so full of hope.
QUEST
I looked for love around the world.
I thought it surely would be where
the earth and sky together curled
upon each other, lurking there.
/
But I had searched the globe in vain;
there was no love on land or sea,
and so, despair, in waves of pain,
came laughing in cacophony.
/
But then I felt a whispered glow.
A silence rising through the din
spoke soothingly: “You ought to know
that love must always start within.”
copyright 2013, William Preston
How wonderful, juxtaposing cacophony and whispering. I love the voice in this poem.
Your second stanza is reminiscent of “And in despair I bowed my head. There is no peace on earth, I said.” “Came laughing in cacophony” is a powerful phrase all in its own. Another well-penned piece.
Thanks, Marie and RJ. Marie, it’s interesting that you mention that stanza from I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day. That’s one of my favorite Christmas songs, and it stems from a Civil War poem by Longfellow. It reminds me of a story. When Bing Crosby was approached by a composer (I’ve forgotten who; it might’ve been Johnny Marks) to record the song, Bing told him, “Finally got yourself a good lyricist, I see.”
😃
This is what happens when you post emoticons from your phone. Unreadability. It was supposed to be this: 😀
Thanks, RJ. I got it, though; your phony emoticon actually looks a bit like a gargoyle to me, and I imagine it grinning from the side of a Gothic cathedral.
Indeed. Love that image!
what, the phone-y emoticon?
For those who might not know of the Civil War origins of that carol, I thought this link might be of interest:
http://www.potw.org/archive/potw118.html
This is just wonderful!! I love this:
“where
the earth and sky together curled”
the idea that love lurks there…
Your closing line…perfect wisdom there.
So true. ♥
I love this!!
The example for this form are magnificent, in my mind. Marie, as I read yours I felt a beat arising, almost a march, which fits the tone of your words, I think. The closest parallel that came to mind was Battle Hymn of the Republic. RJ, yours was almost all image for me, up to and including “tomb-age.” Wonderful play on words and pictures.
– ♥ –
Ditto. 😉
Overcome
Smoke hangs thickly above the place
Where terror has been aroused,
Where fear is raw in every face,
And the flames are not yet doused;
Smoke and ashes coloring grey
A nation shocked, a land appalled,
And all the innocent this day,
Their bodies lying as they fall;
Smoke hangs thickly above this place,
But we’ll rebuild and overcome:
Determination in each face,
And hope arising with the sun…
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Wow, Erin Kay! This is powerful. I’m glad you found some home, too.
That should have been hope, not home – oops!
Thanks, RJ! ❤
“Where terror has been aroused” … yes. Perfect way to describe it. “And hope arising with the sun” is a wonderful positive way to end, but even better … you did not end there. You indicate that it goes on.
Poignant, smart, and lovely.
Amen to that. (Or those, I should say.)
Thanks, Will! 🙂
Oh thank you, Marie! As I was only four at the time, I actually do not remember this day twelve years ago. So I have drawn and gleaned anything I know about it from stories I’ve been told, and shows about it on TV. But still, it always makes me cry.
Oh I love the repetition and alteration of lines one and three…truly emotive scene setting here, Erin. Nicely done indeed. 🙂
Thanks so much, Hannah! I always think that repetition makes a poem stronger…
This is a brilliant piece, Erin. So powerful!!
Thank you, Susan! So glad you like it! 🙂
RJ and Marie, both of your examples were stunning! I got shivers reading them.
Thanks you so much for your kind words.
(But would that these poems wouldn’t have had to be written in the first place. Sigh.)
Ditto again.
Marie – your poem is eloquent and beautiful. And while it’s terribly sad, the final words punctuation your thoughts thoroughly.
Thanks so much, RJ.
Yours is powerful, and creatively penned (as always). I believe the most powerful line in your piece is “The question is not how, but when.” It nails the thought and begs more. Brilliant.
Can I hop on the praise train!!?
I did!
Rj…perfect example…magical deliverance of the Phoenix.
And Marie! Powerful writing… “But hatred cannot silence love” thank God. ♥
TRIALS OF A MONARCH
A butterfly flew by.
She seemed an orange flivver
careening in the sky;
it left my heart a-quiver
/
to know that, as she flew,
strong winds could come, and render
her journey all askew.
I had no aid to lend her.
/
But still she fluttered on,
meandering to and fro
and sampling pro and con.
I wept, and watched her go.
copyright 2013, William Preston
Something so Beautiful… on such a sad day… Thank you, William!
This must be one of the loneliest poems I ever read. And yet, it is breathtaking.
*sigh* the compassion and heart of this just breaks my heart and also brings to mind the relationship of a parent and child…older child-adult testing the waters of the world. Beautiful Bill.
Oh beautiful…this is so touching, Will!
It never ceases to amaze me how words, sewn together in just the right way, can touch the heart so deeply. This is one of those reminders.
I’d like to throw out a question for discussion. What’s the point of the Goethe stanza, with its line separations? Am I missing something? I feel like the poems I submitted would read and sound the same if the lines were closed up and the stanzas separated conventionally; that is, no line separations within the stanzas but maintained between stanzas. As I wrote my examples I gradually tried to make those intra-stanza separations meaningful, mainly by not punctuating within the couplet, but I still felt like I missed the point somewhere. What do you folks think?
Here’s another website which contains the Goethe Stanza, but eschews the eight syllables, instead having 4-4-4-5
http://thepoetrypress.blogspot.com/2011/03/goethe-stanza-bronte-sisters.html
but my experience is that most poets use the eight-syllable line stanza.
I say ‘stanza’ because I noted that on several websites, the first line, the middle two and the third line are each considered separate stanzas. If you write an additional four (or more) lines to make up additional sections of the poem, they actually become a Double Goethe Stanza, Treble, etc.
But regarding your question, William, the only explanation I could find (and it’s not really an explanation of the form) is from this website:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yIjph1wj8p7hSTmVd1c04FMSoaC4HiEK3XurIt2ce8o/preview?pli=1
“FAUST: PARTS I AND II: STYLE
The great variety of styles in Faust reflects the range of the
poem’s characters and settings. Some readers have said that Faust
contains more poetic meters (measured, patterned arrangement of
syllables) and forms than any other single work. Others think that
it is stylistically too exuberant, that its large number of styles
sometimes interferes with communicating a clear message.
The styles include a sixteenth-century German form called
Knuttelvers or Knittelvers (doggerel), which is irregular, though
rhymed; ballads and songs, often as simple as folk songs; the
trimeter (a line of verse with three measured feet) of classical
tragedy, as well as the strophes (stanzas of the chorus as it moves
to the right or the left of the stage) of the choruses;
Shakespeare’s blank verse; the Alexandrines (iambic line of twelve
syllables) used by the seventeenth-century French playwright Jean-
Baptiste Racine; and prose (for one memorable scene). Gretchen
expresses her feelings in a series of ballads and lyrics, which
convey the folk simplicity of her character.” -excerpt from the posted paper.
So, I don’t think I answered your question very well, unfortunately, but my personal take on this is the format of the form is more about the ‘staging’ of the poem, as opposed to simply the words of the piece.
Which may be entirely wrong. 😀
Your take makes sense to me, especially given the connection with the stage. I wasn’t even thinking of that aspect. For me, though, the clarifying note is that what I have been considering one “stanza” is actually three. Makes a lot of sense now.
So glad you brought up the question, Bill. I hope everyone feels free to do so here.
Thanks so much for taking the time to address this, RJ. You’re the best!
Heart of Hate
Bullies and haters in our midst,
It’s difficult to understand
how so much evil can exist
in the heart and beliefs of man.
There you go: the heart of the matter. Well done.
Absolutely. Well done.
Thanks, William and RJ
I wonder the same…great brevity on this matter. 🙂
It is difficult. In fact, it’s impossible. Well done, Debi!
Indeed. 😦
STOPS
At beguiling times in life when everything seems fine:
Sunday in Pearl Harbor, at a quarter to eight;
Tuesday in New York, at a quarter to nine;
one wonders: what provokes the squeaky wheel of fate?
copyright 2013, William Preston
I only wish I knew.
Definitely puts a nation on edge…especially considering the news of late and the address last night. Timely…eve of such an important date… hmm
Yes…
I find it interesting that yours follows Debi’s so closely. Both beg a question for which we have no answer. Both are excellently posed.
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33 NIV)
Take Heart
An evil lurks within our midst.
We wonder when we’ll win release.
In fervent prayer we dare insist
that God would grant this whole world peace.
True peace is only found in Christ.
Trouble innately fills the earth.
He overcame. He paid the price.
Yes, take heart in the second birth.
You state that clearly, succinctly, and well.
A great light shines in the darkness..well done, Connie!
Connie – will you be reading this in church? I think maybe you should.
Yes. Great idea.
Wonderful, Connie! So true and so well said!
[…] IN-FORM POET WEDNESDAY WITH RJ CLARKEN – GOETHE STANZA […]
Strange…my link to the blog post I posted didn’t show up here…
~
Is it a Bird? Is it a Plane? Where’s Superman?
~
She wished it was just the sky-sighting of a Rose-Breasted Grosbeak
on that eleventh September morning-just this bird’s calculated call,
rather than the shrieks, crimson streaked…news-wire so black and bleak.
She remembers as she listens to its song this uncertain sunrise, expert rise and fall-
crisp and bewitched its voice trills, punctuating the stark and still autumn air.
She feels the underlying pain associated with today-its insidious crawl;
slow and cruel-time does not alleviate the weight of tragedy-despair,
loss, grief and dashed hope hang heavily where towers once stood tall.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
~
Process Note:
After checking in @ my favorite poeming places I realized what day it was…it startled me that I didn’t think of it immediately.
The last time that I looked at my bird of the day daily calendar was the first of September…so I stripped away ten days of negligence and discovered the Rose-Breasted Grosbeak.
I read about this bird…it struck me funny that they described its song like this, “resembles the American Robin’s song, but given with more feeling (as if a robin had taken voice lessons).”
I started thinking about this bird flying through the air and then immediately thought of the planes that terrorized the skies that day…and so my poem was born.
Oh, there it is…the pingback…didn’t see that before.
I like the new look! Smiles. 🙂
Wonderful work, as usual. I’m told that the robin’s song sounds something like cheer-up. If that’s so, and the grosbeak’s has more feeling, than it’s the perfect song to sing on this day, in my view.
Yes, I love your thoughts on this Bill!! And now that you mention Robin’s song…that IS what they sound like! Thank you for sharing this with me. 🙂
Oh gosh, Hannah – I am in tears reading your poem. (Actually, I was pretty good until the last line – that did me in,) You make words take flight – and soar – and that is so needed today.
wow…RJ I’m so humbled by your tears…thank you for your heart…that is also what is needed. ♥
Oh Hannah…you’ve captured the pain and horror and confusion so well! Tears…
Most certainly … and most beautifully.
Words for September 11. 2001
When the bodies dropped as if from heaven
No, not from heaven, hell has changed its place –
On that frightful morn called nine eleven
The sun shone on and did not hide its face.
What terrible fury could produce such grievous pain
On these ordinary pavements where multitudes have trod
The buildings disassembled but what agonies remain
Tumultuous before the eyes of God.
I can feel agony, and yet, resolution, in this piece. Excellent, in my view.
I think William summed it up quite well. The one image still gives me nightmares, and you’re right about heaven and hell changing place then.
Marian, this is just excellent. “No, not from heaven, hell has changed its place” … brilliant.
Wow…the pain is so real in this poem, Marian. Well done!
TWENTY-TWO MINUTES
In twenty-two minutes they chose
what their final moments would be.
When the call for action arose,
it took shape on Flight Ninety-three.
Informed of events taking place,
they took charge of their destiny.
A plan they were quick to embrace
sealed the fate of Flight Ninety-three.
The passing of years cannot fade
this inspiring memory.
Heroes, their courage well displayed,
were aboard that Flight Ninety-three.
© Susan Schoeffield
I think this is great, and could be a folk song.
Thank you, William. I struggled with the 9/11 theme. So much to say, but hard to find the words. Even after a dozen years, it still feels like yesterday.
It does, doesn’t it? I agree (once again) with William. This does sound like a folk song – a very moving folk song.
Thank you, RJ. I appreciate that!
Wonderful tribute piece, Susan. And yes, it IS hard to find the words.
Thank you, Marie Elena!
Excellent, Susan!
CLOTHED IN DUST
A cloud of dust we can’t outrun
becomes the clothes we are wearing.
From falling debris they are spun
while eyes filled with hate are staring.
© Susan Schoeffield
Okay – now I just got a shiver. The kind that lurks around the edges. Well done.
Oh, yes, well done indeed. The last line is cold and menacing.
Thanks, William!
Thanks, RJ. It was supposed to be longer, but after I wrote the last line, there wasn’t anything I could add.
Wow. Susan …
wow …
This needs to be published or posted publicly somehow.
What a lovely compliment! Thank you for saying that!!
Oh my gosh….Susan! This is haunting, and so sad. But beautifully written…
Weathering Patterns
Dusty August wind displaces
topsoil powdery as chalk dust.
Where is the rain that erases
visions of brick hard clay’s cracked crust?
Such rains fell summer through like grace
as greening sprang from soil and seed.
How quickly have we lost its trace
to look at brittle ground in need.
Perhaps earth’s warming plays a trick
on people slow to grasp the cause,
who see summer as kiln for brick
and obfuscate all Nature’s laws.
What a sere landscape you paint with ocher and brownish tints. With that small bit of green. You are so lyrical, Jane!
Your last line is a keeper. Well, the whole poem is, but that last line; Greenpeace might want to buy it.
I don’t think Jane can pen less than excellence. Ever.
You said it!
You, Jane, are one incredibly talented poet. And this poem proves it. Gorgeous!!!!
Grieving, Healing
(a 9/11 poem)
I don’t avoid a memory
Even if pain is how it’s made
Even when sadness stretches me
Even if I’d hoped it might fade.
I know depravity and wrong
Even as I so long for joy
Even as darkness has its song
Whispering to dark souls, destroy.
I can’t imagine how despair
Can seek a path to devastate
Can send its howls into the air
Can rip holes in our common fate.
But I remember just the same
The planes, the shock, the crushing loss
The wars that came, assigning blame
As we all wear our albatross.
What a superb end line! And yes, we do all wear our albatross. Beautiful. Sad, but beautiful.
Amen, and amen. I especially love the phrase, “rip holes in our common fate.” Years ago I recall hearing a song called, I think, The Brotherhood of Man. Human history, though, seems to obfuscate that idea.
“I don’t avoid a memory, even if pain is how it’s made.”
“The wars that came, assigning blame as we all wear our albatross.”
You begin and end with power and presence.
Excellent tribute, Jane!
The Lesson
Alone we find it hard to stand
And balance what we can’t remember.
How much greater the demand
What happened in that fell September.
Together, when we stand as one,
Collective memory beseeches,
That we all learn what can be done
When hatred bound in hatred reaches.
Ellen Knight 9.11.13
write a ‘Goethe Stanza’ for Poetic Bloomings
And let us hope that hatred bound can reach no more. Ellen – this is amazing. How affecting, in just a few words.
That it is. For me, it draws special; power from the archaic but apropos “beseeches.”
“Hatred bound in hatred” says so very much. Excellent, Ellen.
Yes, RJ summed it up perfectly. Very affective!
Sorry, the last stanza was stuck in my head and I couldn’t get it out.
Here is the way it wanted to be:
The Lesson
Alone we find it hard to stand
And balance what we can’t remember.
How much greater the demand
What happened in that fell September.
Together, when we stand as one,
Collective memory beseeches,
That we all learn what can be done
When hatred bound in hatred reaches.
But each other we must also teach
as we help each other grieve
How we stand together in the breech
what strength of spirit can achieve.
Ellen Knight 9.11.13
write a ‘Goethe Stanza’ for Poetic Bloomings
Ending with hope. 🙂
I like both versions of your poem. I think the first is a powerful statement, full of sound and fury (so to speak) but the second is kinder and gentler – and if there is a way out of all the bad things that can happen.
Again I agree. And again, I find special power on one word, “breech,” partly for the parallel with “beseeches.”
Thank you both for the specificity of your responses.
Definitely agree with RJ here. Superb, Ellen!
Fortitude
Some friends fade away,
new ones come and go.
Some friends forever stay,
some we hardly know.
Some friends get taken before their time
in ways we could not foresee.
Many bells began to chime
the day you left them and me.
Memory fades and muffles the fear,
your image smooth and soft.
But do not worry our path is clear
we will never forget, even though you reside aloft.
“Memory fades and muffles the fear” is a great way to express what tends to happen. I suppose we need to not live in fear, yet there must be a balance someplace between living in fear, and learning to be mindful of the fallen state of our home and its inhabitants.
Nice work, Michelle.
The last line is the longest one, and underscores, I think, the “we will not forget” essence of this piece. I read it several times, and felt a rising quality, sort of like determination. Nice job.
Gosh, William – you and are are both literally and figuratively on the same page once again. I agree – nice work, Michelle.
Thank you very much Marie, William and RJ. This form is beautiful in it’s simplicity. Loved it and I’m enjoying being exposed to new forms every week!
– ♥ –
This strikes so close to home… I’m crying… Beautifully penned, Michelle! ❤
Twelve Years Ago
I watched my building crumble to ash
like a child’s sand castle in a wave of wind.
Inside my head I heard a crash
Flames split the building in a horrid grin.
As a Dali painting, it seemed surreal
‘til evening when I stared, dazed at a screen.
For weeks I sleep-walked through the ordeal
Then saw names of the dead, and knew what it meant to keel.
That last line, the last part of it, really, sticks with me. A ship keeled over is no longer a ship; can no longer be one unless righted. Wow, what mental picture you provide.
Thanks so much, William.
Sara, I was thinking about you, and wondering if we would hear from you. Sometimes I wonder if it is just too painful to keep writing about.
Thoughts, prayers, hugs…
Thanks, Marie. Actually, it is always hard, but more so around that infamous date.
It did have a Dali-esque quality about it, but far less benign. Keel is the right word.
Thanks, RJ.
I can feel the agony in this. Vividly. Strong piece, Sara!
Thanks Erin. I appreciate it.
DELUGE
A thunderstorm came tumbling through,
as though to make up for a week
of dryness, lacking even dew.
Its anger was not for the meek.
copyright 2013, William Preston
Yikes. Title to end comes through quite clear.
Yeah…that does indeed describe a bad thunderstorm. Not for the meek.
Great descriptions. Love this, Will!
“In Remembrance of Nine Eleven”
The face denies emotion with a smile;
the years of suffered loss bring less relief.
Today reminds of gas mask worn awhile
by firemen-stunned below the Tower’s grief.
Our smile defies that memory recalled
that day we ran, white-faced, the panic stings
our skin and hair turned ashen, ag`ed all,
that day we flew, white-haired, our feet had wings.
(Goethe form)
The picture you draw recalls the television images, which seemed to show running ghosts. So effective,
Absolutely. I was thinking exactly the same thing.
Isn’t that odd – I thought of ghosts too. Which is, I suppose, quite apropos since I think they still haunt.
Very poignant and clear. Lovely job, Jackie!
FIRST CONSIDER THIS
I still believe that peace will come
Despite the way the world appears
Where tyrants brandish hate and guns.
I think one day we’ll cast off fears
But first we must consider this:
Rejecting God, we walk alone.
Without Him we full short of bliss
We cannot right wrongs on our own.
#
Short, simple, with everyday words, conveying your belief clearly. The last line is the crux of the poem for me.
Thank you for this reminder, Sal. Excellent write.
I too believe that peace will come.
I echo Marie’s comment. Thank you for this!
Shells
Walking on the shifting sand,
My heart full of grief and woe;
Stooping on the wind-swept strand,
Perfect white shell speaks of hope.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
I love this, especially the image of that shell.
It is a perfect metaphor. Truly.
Thank you, RJ! I appreciate it. 🙂
Thanks, William! We’re staying at a beach house right now, so have had many opportunities to find these precious little shells.
Oh, so Precious… !!! A lovely stay near the beach… Wonderful… (oh, does that mean that you will miss my SF 49er and your Seattle Seahawks game on Sunday night, my friend?— I’ll be wearing my SF 49er number 7 Jersey, after work until game time :D!! )
Oh no, wouldn’t miss that game for the world! 😉 We’re going home today, and will be watching the game from home on Sunday. Go Hawks!!
And thank you for your feedback on my poem, my friend. ❤
!! Wonderful!! 😀 !!
Interesting form, RJ. Thanks for adding it to the toolbox