Because the Byron’s Sonnet brought up a little discussion of sestets and octaves, I thought it might be interesting – and challenging – to try another form of the six-line sestet. The description and rules of the Mirror Sestet are shown below, but the explanation and further examples can be found at Shadow Poetry .
What is kind of cool is that this form can be rhymed, or not – whichever you prefer. And, as no metrics were mentioned, you can use whatever sort of metrics that please you.
The Mirror Sestet, created by Shelley A. Cephas, is a poem that can be written in one or more stanzas of 6 lines each. The specific guidelines for this form are as follows:
The first word of line 1 rhymes with the last word of line 1.
The first word of line 2 is the last word of line 1
and the last word of line 2 is the 1st word of line 1.
The first word of line 3 rhymes with the last word of line 3.
The first word of line 4 is the last word of line 3
and the last word of line 4 is the 1st word of line 3.
The first word of line 5 rhymes with the last word of line 5.
The first word of line 6 is the last word of line 5
and the last word of line 6 is the 1st word of line 5.
The Mirror Sestet can also be written in non-rhyme. All rules must be followed except there is no 1st and last word rhyming.
All right? Write, all!
And on that note, here’s my mirror(ish) attempt:
Reflections
“You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul.” ~George Bernard Shaw
O glass which shows my face, you know…
…know that you’re my reflection. O
glass, o mirror, there’s impasse…
…impasse because you are just glass
and not a work of art, first hand…
…hand that paints a masterpiece, and
I long to see my soul. My eye…
…eye is only human, so I
attempt beyond, but I’m exempt…
…exempt from that which I’d attempt.
Still, I can gaze. It’s what I will…
…will I find me? I’m searching still.
###
MARIE ELENA’S ATTEMPT
Online Dating Service
You got a call from God-knows-who
Who may be playing tricks on you.
He said he’d meet you here at three.
Three came and went without a he.
There may be cause for pause. Beware.
Beware! There are some creeps out there.
© copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good
(Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Albert_Roosenboom_Two_children_playing_dress_up.jpg; 19th Century)
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Last Leaf
See the leaves swirling around me,
Me and the tree, there goes one, see?
Turning and tumbling and spinning,
Spinning while different hues turning:
Gold and red for us to catch; hold,
Hold this last leaf of red and gold.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
I love reading this. Hereabouts the maples are done but the oaks are still flaming.
Oh, I Love “…the oaks are still flaming.” !!
Thanks, William. 🙂 Some of our trees are still flaming as well, but we had a terrific windstorm the other day that stripped most of them and caused a power outage.
What a lovely palette – and what a lovely paean to autumn last hurrah.
Thanks, RJ – and what a lovely comment! 🙂
You paint a pretty scene
Thank you, Debi!
Erin!! I just love how you and I touch upon similar topics from time to time and time again! 🙂
Beautiful poem my friend!!
So do I! I haven’t read yours yet, but I will shortly.
Thank you, my friend. ❤
You’re welcome!! ♥
Tender, a bit sad – beautiful.
Thanks, Sasha!
Wonderful images, beautiful poem!
Thank you so much, Susan! 🙂
Oh, Love this!!
Thanks, Hen! ❤
I see your well-earned, long list of compliments. 🙂 BEAUTIFUL, Erin Kay!
Trying to hold…onto the pleasantries of fall but its not working
WONDERING AMONGST THE WARBLERS
Birds are too marvellous for words;
words are too limiting for birds,
for a bird is life, and so much more,
more than mere words can bargain for.
Write I must, though, and my words take flight;
flight that a bird limns, if a bird could write.
copyright 2013, William Preston
Love this – and you have a point: I wonder what a bird would say if he or she could write (and by this, I don’t mean ‘sky-writing.’) 😀
Maybe, they Skype.
I would’ve thought they’d tweet.
Touché!
Aww.. :)!!
Heh!
!! 🙂
Lovely poem and thoughts
Yes…
An interesting question, but birds probably just communicate with other birds.
Ooo…this one I LOVE! I agree with your first line and still your words express this marvel well!
William, this is delightful. Love it!
Words are powerful after all. Birds have to admit that.
I think they do, when hunting for bookworms.
This is so lovely, and it is better to imagine whT the chirps, caws, and tweets might Meagan. Some things should be left to the mind.
Sorry for all the typos!
Nice! I mentioned out at PA that I’ve been loving your bird poetry this month. Add this to the “loves.”
TEACHERS
Two by two, they go marching through,
through song and story, the intrepid two.
They do great deeds without fuss or dismay;
dismay never occurs to blokes such as they,
for they teach the young, and they know the score.
Score one for teachers and what they live for.
copyright 2013, William Preston
My mom was a teacher (and I did a student teaching stint a bazillion years ago) so this poem truly resonates.
I think you still are.
♥
Yep :)!!
Thank God for those that are so passionate-compassionate…they’re a blessing and a gift. Nicely done, Bill!
Absolutely!!
Devoted, inspired teachers are a treasure.
Great poem , Marie, and spot on, too.
Marie – this is brilliant. (Both funny and scary – all at the same time.)
Yes. I know people who have dated this way and even ended up marrying (though there was one that was scary). I guess I am just too old fashioned, I don’t think that would ever appeal to me.
I, too, shall stay “old-fashioned” 🙂 !!
I agree!
RJ, your poem has that light touch I associate with you, but it strikes deeper than the usual fun. I think it’s most impressive and thoughtful.
Thanks!
It is, William, I agree. My thoughts were on the same order last night when I wrote for a prompt elsewhere.
I love the last line especially.
SILLINESS
Alas, my friends, I’m not that lass,
That lass that stole poor hearts…alas,
No more. I’m nothing like before.
Before I knew it all. No more.
Now I’m as happy as a cow,
A cow in gorgeous pastures. Now
I say, “My youthful wisdom, bye.
Bye, silly. Forties – sweet!” say I.
Sorry, got carried away – it’s 8 lines..I might add a couple more to make it 12 🙂
MORE SILLINESS
Alas, my friends, I’m not that lass,
That lass that’d steal poor hearts…alas.
No more. I’m nothing like before.
Before I knew it all. No more.
Now I’m as happy as a cow,
A cow in gorgeous pastures. Now
My wits are gone, but I don’t cry,
Cry out not, “Help! Old age! Oh my!”
Instead I hum and bob my head,
Head toward the silliness instead.
I say, “My youthful wisdom, bye.
Bye, silly. Forties – hi!” say I.
Should be “sweet” in the last line. And this is the last post from me, I promise.
I hope not. 😀
Thank you. I keep making mistakes today. Meant to write “stole”, too, not even sure if “that’d” may be used for “that would”?..
OMG! This is marvelous! And silly! Love it!!!
Now I’m as happy as a cow,
A cow in gorgeous pastures. Now… : )
ha, ha, ha… :D!!
Ha-ha!! Laughter thwarts disaster!! Just kidding…forty is a spry age!! You have a whole lotta life to be silly-living, you spring chicken you!! 🙂 I love this and I’m not too far behind…in the blink of a five year eye! 😉
Thank you all! Spring chicken you say, Hannah?..hmm…I still envision a cow..but a happy one 🙂
ha, ha, ha… Oh Happy :D!!
!! 😀 !!
Hen, looks like you got a good long laugh out of my cow sestet, I’m so glad!
I love this one!
These are songs! Good ones, too. Could be a take-off on Greensleeves.
Grandpa’s Lessons
So long ago when just a child
Child-like ways ruled me so
My Grandpa tried to teach me right
Right up until he died, oh, my
He left me when he was far too young
Young men need mentors such as he
Now I’m in the shoes of my grandpa
Grandpa’s lessons so important now
To be alive to pass them on
On to grandchildren destined to
Learn them and apply them well
Well they will be if well learned
Man, to be like my Grandpa
Grandpa was a Godly man
Walked the walk and talked the talk
Talk was pure wherever he walked
One day we will meet once more
More time to spend one-on-one
© 2103 Earl Parsons
Your grandpa must’ve been quite a guy!
Greatest man I ever knew.
I agree with Rj and I think he fulfilled his job well…kudos and enjoy!!
Beautiful, Earl… I’ll bet you are a Great Grandpa !!
Escape?
Night the right time for the flight
Flight might be right for that night
Bright the light that shined so bright
Bright the night the light made bright
Fright took light as light shined bright
Bright light might end flight in fright
© 2013 Earl Parsons
What a … delight!
Very!
Mighty good.
Oh! There you go!! 🙂
Fear Not
Fear not, for I, your Messiah, am here
Here to calm and quench your fear
I was sent down from My Father on high
High on His Heavenly throne where I
Will once again on My own throne fulfill
Fulfill the eternal blessings of His will
© 2013 Earl Parsons
🙂 !! …Thank you for this little reminder, Earl…
Rainy Day
Same sky of gray with dripping rain;
Rain drops gathering on the window pane
Same old rain keeps falling all day long
Long wait today, but I’ll play along.
Maybe rain is good for a flower bed,
Bed looks so comfy, I’ll just rest my head.
I love the twist in the end, Marian! So apropos!!
Yes, and I was singing this one too. Privately, of course.
…”Privately, of course…” I hear ya!! :)!!
Oh yes!
This has a dreamy feeling to it. Loved reading it.
RJ and Marie, your poems are works of genius. You blew me away. I wanted desperately to use rhyming words rather than the same words, but being forced otherwise made for some puns I might have missed. Interesting form, RJ.
We Are What We See
I gaze through haze up at the sky,
sky patched with blues that hurt the I,
so deep and crisp is it, you know
know blues can grow too deep and so
we keep them overhead to see.
See, sunlit blue’s warmer than we.
“blues can grow too deep”
Perfectly placed truth…well done, Jane!
Yes…
I too love that line. Wow!
I love this. I’ll bet it’d work as a blues.
A New Beau
Oh she went to town and found a new beau,
beau wasn’t his name but OH!
He was handsome and smart, she couldn’t believe he was free,
free to be with her and he
just treated her well, being a gentleman a must!
Must keep this one, she thinks she’s just.
Bingo!
🙂 !!
♥
First Snow
It snowed overnight, just a little bit
bit by bit snow covered the ground, it was painted by it.
Frosting covers the leaves and branches too, must have been exhausting,
exhausting for you know who – she must be licking the frosting
still from her finger tips, gave me a chill,
chill from my nose and down to my toes, I’m chilled still.
Rising this morning to this wonderful sight, some are despising,
despising last night, but not me, I love each flake – rising
this morning put a smile on my face, such bliss,
bliss is the beauty the morning brings, this
world is amazing, each tiny new thing, snowflakes whirled –
whirled while we were sleeping and covered the world.
This poem has a fantastical snow-globe feeling to it, Michelle! Much enjoyed…makes me look forward to the first snow-flakes. 🙂
Oh, I soo agree!! Can’t wait for the snow!!
Isn’t that funny? I thought the same thing. (Great minds…) 😀
Anyway, this is lovely.
:)!!
The images in this poem are so vivid, I feel like I should grab a cocoa and my fleece blanket … and it’s 63 degrees here! Lovely piece.
So pretty. I haven’t seen snow in such a long time. Had a little dusting last year, that was all.
It’s hard to know what to say, this is so good.
Thank you very much everyone! I’m glad you guys all loved it. I love snow! Winter is my second favorite season, right behind Autumn. 🙂 Hannah – I love that it made you think of a snow globe – I just love that connection! Thanks!
Michelle, this is so dreamy and sleepy like a child’s wonderland.
Paperweight
~
Contemplating this oblong rock, its weight,
weight in my hand as I carry it home contemplating.
Ruminating all these loose leaves-
leaves and seasons of life ruminating.
Thoughts swirl and one persistent leaf’s worry-fraught.
Fraught with too much attention. Shh, thought.
~
Symbolic stone’s placed, negating this inner-rhetoric.
Rhetoric that’s negative in nature can be symbolic,
characteristic of one who’s living out of balance.
Balance can become one’s new ideal characteristic!
Golden foliage finds the sky, spun-alive and beholden,
beholden and mentally accountable for creating a future-golden.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
http://wordrustling.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/photo-13.jpg?w=451&h=439
Hmm…after reading this aloud I decided to make a few changes, as if this hadn’t taken me the better part of the afternoon already!! 😉
Line five: “Leaf’s” became “leaf is” it’s easier to read that way, I think.
I got rid of the exclamation point, (that seemed kind of out of place), in line ten.
I guess that’s all I changed…
I love this, Hannah! The last line is stunning.
That it is, and I love this work also.
Lovely truths, Hannah…
Hannah – this is both elegant and eloquent. The language you use is as rich as the color palette of the season. Beautiful – and thought-provoking.
Wow. Thank you so very much, Rj for such a nice comment!
Rj thank you for this form and I enjoy the idea that the mirror reflection is but a shade of gray compared to what an artist might portray in a portrait of the person…great example.
And Marie…indeed! It’s a scary creepo-filled world out there. Ugh. Nicely done.
EMOTIONAL ILLUSIONS
Tears were concealed throughout the years,
years that only enhanced the tears.
Flames burned the heart with foolish games,
games that were played to strengthen the flames.
Lies that you used as a means for disguise
disguise what I’m feeling with my own lies.
© Susan Schoeffield
This hurts to read; you captured a despair that almost feels like anomie.
…yes…
Okay. I had to look up “anomie”. Now that I have, I agree.
I agree with this too. Well-penned, and poignant.
Thanks, RJ. And thanks for giving us so many challenging form prompts!
So sad and beautifully descriptive.
Thanks, Sarah!
Splashing Clouds
The waves in sky, a rolling sea
Sea thunders ’round and covers the
Blue depths upon our gaze, a clue
Clue to the heart of that most blue
Yet heals the soul, if we’ll just let
Let splashes mist our faces yet.
This is so nice to read, and the last line feels like a poem all its own.
Why, Thank you, William!
I think this should be in a book of gentle contemplations. This somehow makes me happy to read it. Maybe the ‘blue’ (my favorite color) or maybe the ‘mist’ but it’s really soothing to me.
Thank you, so much, RJ!!
KRISTALLNACHT
Broken glass and fire have spoken;
spoken to lives forever broken.
Jews can no longer ignore the news;
news that we Germans hate all Jews
here in our midst. Our hate stems from fear:
fear is the engine that brought us to here.
copyright 2013, William Preston
One word: Wow!
This is such a great poem for such a horrible, horrible event.
My Season
Show of scattered leaves are more alluring than snow
Snow falls are wet, their beauty a white show
Bold collage of brilliant colors unfold
Unfold like lush carpeting in shades so bold
You might enjoy hush of blanketed white
White soon becomes grey, no lovely hues for you.
(RJ, you outdid yourself on this form. I had to read it over three times!)
RJ will know better, but I think you aced it here.
I agree… I could almost see a patchwork quilt of color, tho, I must admit, I LOVE the initial blanket of snow… it is so peaceful and calming… Lovely, Sara.
Thanks, Hen for being able to see what you did in this poem.
!! 🙂 … and thank you for writing it, my Portland friend!!
My pleasure.
Thanks, William!
This is really something special. Every read makes it stronger.
Thanks so much, Susan!
Thank you so much. I love the contrasts you sketched with this poem. The drama of seasonal changes!
Thanks, RJ!
LOOKING OUTSIDE
When cardinals come to feeders now and then,
then my mind flies to the homestead, when
life was simpler. Then, there was no strife,
strife that, nowadays, seems part of life.
Dreams come easily these days, it seems.
Seems like TV news calls for yet more dreams.
copyright 2013, William Preston
Indeed it does. Sigh.
Yes, William… it is a struggle to lead a “simpler” life, but, by golly, I am GOING TO CONTINUE TO DO SO… :)!!
Hardship
Fishing for King salmon is what I’m wishing.
Wishing for creatures as big as my boat for fishing.
So I venture forth, in the early morning I go.
Go out in the ocean, ten nautical miles or so.
Ship bears down on me, I hear my boat rip—
rip just like paper. That’s a hard ship!
Uh-oh; hope that’s not a true story.
… but, with a miracle, will feed many…
I think you are running a theme with many of your poems here – aren’t you? Nicely done!
Ketchikan, Alaska (the setting for my nano novel)
HYMNS ANGELIC
Birds communicate without words.
Words fall short of the songs of birds.
We say so much, but in the tree,
Tree of the robin, what do we
Behold? Those hymns angelic –– gold,
Gold melodies sweet to behold.
Today’s the time to not delay.
Delay and wave goodbye. Today’s
One more wake-up call till life’s done.
Done the last breath that everyone
Must take. Hear the birdsong? Go rush,
Rush right now to nature. You must!
#
In my case, you’re preaching to the choir, but doing it very well. Thanks for posting this.
Ab…so…lutely!!!
I like your rushing to nature imperative. So good and so right.
“We named the pumpkin Circle”
Dark mold begins to color brilliant orange eyes.
Eyes that, days past, blazed in the dark.
Children ran up, unafraid of the night.
Night ghouls and goblins, dressed up like children.
Return to the earth holding these memories strong.
Strong food you provide for next years return.
Oh! Yes!!
One word: Amazing. An anthem for pumpkins…and nature.
The Circle of life. Well done!
Publication of drama was left, along with much of the poetry and the popular literature , to publishers who were not members of the Stationers’ Company and to the outright pirates, who scrambled for what they could get and but for whom much would never have been printed. To join this fringe, the would-be publisher had only to get hold of a manuscript, by fair means or foul, enter it as his copy (or dispense with the formality), and have it printed. Just such a man was Thomas Thorpe , the publisher of Shakespeare ’s sonnets (1609); the mysterious “Mr. W.H.” in the dedication is thought by some to be the person who procured him his copy. The first Shakespeare play to be published ( Titus Andronicus , 1594) was printed by a notorious pirate, John Danter, who also brought out, anonymously, a defective Romeo and Juliet (1597), largely from shorthand notes made during performance. Eighteen of the plays appeared in “good” and “bad” quartos before the great First Folio in 1623. A typical imprint of the time, of the “good” second quarto of Hamlet (1604), reads: “Printed by I.R. for N.L. and are to be sold at his shoppe under Saint Dunston’s Church in Fleetstreet”; i.e., printed by James Roberts for Nicholas Ling. For the First Folio, a large undertaking of more than 900 pages, a syndicate of five was formed, headed by Edward Blount and William Jaggard; the Folio was printed, none too well, by William’s son, Isaac.