The luc bat is a poetry form of Vietnamese origin. Luc-bat means “six-eight”, in that the poem consists of alternating lines of six and eight syllables. In this poem the rhyme scheme presents itself at the end of every eight-syllable line and rhymes on the sixth syllable of both of the next two lines.
Here’s how the first few lines of luc-bat poems appear in rhyme:
XXXXXA
XXXXXAXB
XXXXXB
XXXXXBXC
XXXXXC
XXXXXCXD
XXXXXD
XXXXXDXE…
…
In an example from 2010:
AGAINST THE MUTED SKY
Against the muted sky
shades of gray fill my eye and show
all that I need to know.
The lesson makes me grow surer
that all I ask from her
are thoughts that are as pure as she,
and all she asks from me
is the wisdom to see her soul.
Oh, learned one, control
every step towards the goal I seek,
for I am truly meek,
and I pray for this weak moment
to show me I am bent
on becoming the gent whose heart,
although miles apart,
can offer just the start it needs.
It has planted the seeds
that will grow past the weeds and fly
against the muted sky.
© Walt Wojtanik 2010
WALT’S NEW EXAMPLE:
6/8 BEAT
It started with a beat.
The rhythm moved your feet and you
found yourself lost. It’s true,
with the first “Love Me Do” it seemed
that no one could have dreamed
of four who would have teamed on stage
to perpetrate this rage,
turn a historic page; music,
melodies and lyrics to give
words by which we could live above
all else, words laced with love
and all we need is love, for sure.
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
SHARON’S LUC BAT:
I was so taken by this poem by Sharon, that I rushed to include it for the Sunday prompt. Upon re-reading it, I realized it was Sharon’s example for the Luc-Bat form. Sharon, I apologize for my error. I will include the poem here as it should have been.
LOVE NEVER CEASES
(for Farley, my wolf)
You amble now so slow
and I can see you grow old ‘fore
my eyes, wolf I adore
Moving carefully, you’re on ice
snow’s bad but still quite nice,
soft should a sacrifice be that
last step which lays you flat
Frail, a misstep, a fall splat down
break a bone, oh dear hound
I fear to see your mound, your grave
I fear I know I won’t be brave…
(C) Copyright Sharon Ingraham – 2014
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
DRAT! THAT LUC-BAT!
This luc-bat sure is tough:
it makes my mind feel rough and flat
and puts it on the mat;
my muse, like old dried scat, is through
and leaves, without ado,
and leaves me feeling blue as ice,
for my words won’t suffice
unless I’m feeling nice and warm
and my lines are in form.
But no, they ain’t the norm no more;
instead, they’re worn and sore:
syllables to deplore and luff.
This luc-bat sure is tough.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
The luc-bat is not an easy form at all, though you surely make it seems so.
No worries Walt…I find the oriental forms (I guess that’s what they could be called, yes?) the most challenging of any so have been messing around with the Luc Bat since you first suggested it and come up with several, none that have really made me super happpy but here’s another try…
BAD BOYS
Oh the lure of bad boys
with their tattoos man-toys and risk
and you their odalisque
Ride their hogs as you whisk away
Leather jackets, their forte
Once addicted, you may just find
Bad boys will own your mind
You’ll leave all else behind, you will
To live this life, you’d kill
Your moral compass stilled and gone
No true north to lean on…
Oh the lure of bad boys.
Very nicely done William…in my view, one of the more challenging forms and I think you’ve done ‘er proud, as they say.
Walt, I’ve been looking (as always) for a place to comment on your work…both of your examples are wonderful. I especially like “Against the Muted Sky” … by using the high-lighted words, you’ve really shown well how to write this form and it’s an superb example of how a lengthier version can be done by someone masterful. Very fine.
and yet . . .look how well you managed!
Hello all, I tried this, hope the link works.
It worked, and so did the poem. Thanks for posting.
thanks William, this is a fun new form to play with. I wrote three poems experimenting with this form today and I have enjoyed everyone’s examples posted here.
The link works well Michael and is well worth following. A soulful luc bat to be found there…
Winter Has Outstayed Her Welcome
Mounds, mounds of downy white
upon my world a blight, frozen
condition unchosen
longing for ambrosian season.
Amidst winter’s treason
I lose all sane reason that spring
will splash warm hues and bring
relief from winter’s sting of cold.
Although I like winter, I can empathize, especially when so well penned.
So true for those of us in the Northeast. we are officially on a “low salt diet”, as we are nearly out of they ice they use to treat the roads!.
My head is migraining again. I’ll be back later when light is more tolerable.
Hope that migraine goes away quickly!
Thanks Debi. I slept for several hours, and now I can at least tolerate house lamps. Daylight would be a different matter. Fortunately, I don’t need to fo outside to write!
Very nicely done William…in my view, one of the more challenging forms and I think you’ve done ‘er proud, as they say.
Have no idea why this has double-posted (William’s comment from me)…I apologize….
I agree, winter has outstayed her welcome…nice word choices and well used particularly tricky I would think in this form…
Wonderful, Debi. I love the ‘ambrosian season.’
MEETING A FAMOUS POET
Let me first of all say
how grateful I am to meet you.
Hello. How do you do?
It’s not often one gets to know
someone who’s a real pro
at writing poems that rhyme so well
and may I add, that sell.
I have read all your collections,
chock-full of reflections,
brimming with vivid metaphors,
books I paid plenty for,
but worth every dollar spent.
Your poems are heaven-sent!
You know just how to turn a phrase,
like magic, make pun plays.
What an honor to shake your hand,
laureate of the land!
I will accept what you advise:
“Write daily and grow wise
To the fine art of poetry.”
Sir, you have made my day!
#
I’d like to meet a poet like that. Come to think on it, I have, often, here.
Ditto!
Ditto William’s sentiments Sal…
Well done, Sal!
I see talent isn’t enough. It also takes practice and elbow grease. Nothing I haven’t heard from your poetic mouth before. Good advice.
Cooked Goose
The large Canada goose
runs wildly on the loose, head down,
quickly covering ground. I run.
My hair becomes undone. “Hiss,hiss!”
The goose makes noise like this. I scream.
And leap just like a dream, but land
in a place so unplanned, the pond.
Of mud I am not fond. I sink.
My goose is cooked, I think.
Good rhythm and rhyme Connie…you Luc Batted it out of the park!
Laughing Out Oud. Soooo wonderful! 😀
so busy laughing I couldn’t type!
Uh-huh
Great one Connie, this one really fits the bill. You made it seem so effortless.
😀
Walt – you inspired me (during this wee break from studying!) 😀
Souvenir
He went to the concert
and bought the band’s t-shirt, and then,
he waited with such yen
to see ‘his’ band again. But first,
the warm-up band – they burst
upon the stage. (He cursed.) But they
were cool, as he would say.
“I like some songs they play.” He knew
he’d buy their t-shirt too.
###
Aha – like this…can relate too…have lots of “those” t-shirts…nice one De.
Sorry, just noticed I credited that comment to De when it should have gone to RJ…
This so much fun, and hopeful too.
Good one, RJ.
Have I Told You Lately?
(Taken from Rod Stewart’s song, of course)
Have I told you lately
That I love you? Lately, have I
Told you that you are my
Always, that you are my one?
Have I told you what you’ve done
For my heart – brought the sun back to
My life? Have I told you
That you and I, we two, can’t fail?
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014
This brings back memories of a sweet song and time…thanks Erin.
It brings back memories to me too, but perhaps of an older song of the same (or similar) title.
Oh right, Van Morrison did one similar, or was it Clapton? Now you’ve got me thinking…
I was trying to remember if it was Van Morrison or Rod Stewart. The one I’m thinking of is from ’88 or ’89, I think.
Thank you both for your kind comments. 🙂
I just looked it up, and it was indeed Van Morrison who wrote the song I’m thinking of. Rod Stewart did a cover of it that I really like, though.
The one I’m thinking of was written by someone named Wiseman, I think, in the 1940s.
This reminds me of Janet Jackson’s” what have you done for me lately” which is completely contrary to your poem. Your poem is about love in unity and mutuality. Which is versus the earthly sense of entitlement in a relationship. Good job!
Salute
Freedom is never free
They sacrificed for me and you
Did what they had to do
The volunteers; the few, the brave
The patriots that gave
Our freedoms fore to save for all
They answered freedom’s call
They fought and some gave all they had
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Indeed. Nicely done tribute Ear.
I read that as proudly as you wrote it, Earl.
Bingo!
ROUGH WATERS
Waves pound against his boat.
The need to stay afloat is strong,
well aware his swan song
could be sung before long and be
shared with a callous sea.
He knows he cannot flee or save
this seafarer so brave
from the watery grave that waits.
Yet, still he contemplates
how to deny the fates that clutch
his soul. With Neptune’s touch,
the spirit loses much, and breath
succumbs to looming death.
© Susan Schoeffield
Oh, I really like this Susan! Great use of both difficult form and words, especially love “well aware his swan sung could be sung” …
*song* that would be *song*
Beautiful. It just flows. Not at all contrived the way some rhymes do.
Superb!
Wow! This flowed so smoothly. I never would have guessed it was written in form.
[…] for the prompt Creative Bloomings “Inform Poets” to write a poem in the Luc-Bat […]
Simple Things Bring Joy
Between the winter storms
the sun dances, performs – gives joy
like a first kiss, a boy
or a shiny new toy – a smile
as thoughts take flight in style
with little or no guile, dreams fly!
My head will be held high
as the sun says goodbye, wave now
un-wrinkle your brow,
auf wiedersehen, ciao, farewell!
How splendid! Love particularly that you were able to work two different languages (in addition to English) into the last line…beautiful Luc Bat Michelle, just beautiful.
Amen, amen.
Walt–all we need is love 🙂 And I love your Beatles poem, eight days a week…Sharon, I completely relate to that fear–we had a beautiful black husky mix who looked very wolf-like and was really bonded to me. He has passed, and left wonderful memories/stories for our family that we love to retell and keep him alive in our hearts.
Thanks Sara, it sounds corny maybe, but missing my wolf in advance, it feels sad but almost necessary…
Only
(a luc-bat)
She’s always done her best.
Different from the rest—her needs,
she even supersedes,
to follow all the creeds and codes.
The weight which overloads,
pressure like that erodes so much.
To place the final touch,
there is no other crutch—alone.
Ellen Evans – Copyright (c) 2014
a “luc-bat” poem for PB 2.19.24
Wowl this one almost crushes me as I read it.
You aced this form!
Oh Ellen…this is so poignant…it literally took my breath away…
Kudos to Walt and Sharon. I found this form infuriating.
Of Films and Fans
Old films in black and white
had endings so pure, right, and just.
Filmgoers could feel trust.
Evil fell as it must, good won
out, at times, with a gun,
though villains were more fun on screen.
Endings, often obscene
turn viewer’s faces green these days.
Perhaps it’s just a trend.
If only they would end, ‘All’s well.”
It looks to me as if you channelled your fury well. I like this poem much.
I agree with both you and William…it is an infuriating (challenging) form but you did it proud!
Thanks William and Sharon.
WEST OF BOSTON
Because I could not stop
in Amherst on my shopping trip,
I missed a chance to slip
through Emily’s faux ship of fate;
I realized, too late,
that she was my soulmate of pen
although beyond my ken.
I cursed the road that wended by
the patch of land and sky
where I could rest and vie with her
beneath some lonely fir;
where I might grasp a stirring line
her mind might send to mine:
a jewel with a shining top.
But no, I could not stop.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
William, you sly dog…because you could not stop for death…no, for the belle of Amherst, ED, methinks; how cleverly you have captured her style here without aping it utterly. I am sure she would be delighted with your commitment to this form while remaining true to your admiration for her. A really superb luc bat, in my view.
Thank you, Sharon. There’s some basis for this piece; I drive past Amherst a lot, on the Mass Pike, but have yet to stop there.
Have you had an opportunity to see “The Belle of Amherst”? – Julie Harris’s one woman tour-de-force play of the great Emily Dickinson…I think it’s available on YouTube even now, but if not, certainly on PBS quite regularly and also likely on Netflix and the like…I studied her for the first time during ModPo last fall (free on-line course out of Univ of Penn which I highly recommend and will be taking again this Sept….through “Coursera”) and am a confirmed lover of this poet! Sorry to go off on such a tangent…as you can probably tell, I was moved by your poem…
Thanks for that tip. I was not aware of Harris’s performance. Emily is one of my four or five favorite poets, and the most intriguing.
Seven Gales of Rampant Wind
Seven gales winding sweep
Down the valley who weeps in pain
Pets softly coats of sheep
While holding rhythm neat and trained
Onward march it shall reap
Silence of meadow’s sleep refrain
Prancing hill low and steep
Struggling it’s joys to keep contained
Risen with eagle’s soar
Seven wings o’er earths core escape
Seven gales desire more
Than rampant earthly chores to drape
Contemplate run apace
Rummaging to find grace to mend
Hunting to know their place
With aim without a chase of wind
Change last line to:
“Take aim without a chase of wind”
Well done with much use of slant rhymes…and two stanzas yet…impressive!
Wow!
Whew! That was a tough one folks! Happy poeming!
An attempt—
WARRIOR
She enters with her heart
folded neatly in parts of red
smelling of jasmine threads
as the whole dark world sheds sharp stings
She stumbles as she swings
How does a wounded wing so dear
run, like a jungle deer?
And yet, her wobbly fear and brow
dares to dream, somehow—-
I like the feeling of hope running through here, the stumbles notwithstanding.
Warrior is a lovely poem Priti, had me running with her, hoping she made it…
I’ve “played” with this enough . . . Inspired by one of my most favorite opening from a book
(“Bitter February, within and without,” from Bolt by Dick Francis) and Ralph Waite’s death . . .
DEPTHS OF WINTER
Bitter February
Within, strands of mem’ry dangle
Frayed cords touch and tangle
Plus and minus wrangle to shock
Dreams, words, friends, may mock
Pounding soul against rock to break
Chips fall away and ache.
Love called my heart awake, then left
Ugly truth caused the theft.
Hope hides and I’m bereft, tears shed
And now Ralph Waite is dead.
The sounds you used leave me with a grating, crashing feel, very fitting, I think, for this work.
That’s it. February/March are the “anniversary” months, from My Mom’s birthday on Feb. 12, her death on Feb. 22, my daughter’s death on March 13 and birthday on March 16. so those words describe it well. I’m not always this cold and hurting. I appreciate your comments, William. A huge time commitment on your part.
Good use of the form and of both of your inspirations…I’d forgotten how poetic Dick Francis’s writing could be, it was often so spare. Nicely done Darlene.
Seingraham, Thanks. Again. Dick Francis was long my favorite author, and it had little to do with his horseracing background.
Good one, Darlene!
Oops, should be Dreams, words, and friends may mock
I love this form, but it’s like knitting for me. I don’t know where or when to stop and soon I have the world’s longest headband.
Beachhead
What squall will storm the beach,
fling sand, create a breach in faith?
Ephemera or wraith,
rising in gusty scathing tones
transparent as the bones
of ancient antiphons and psalms
let hope smooth healing balms,
pressing of palms to palms in prayer.
No need to seek repair
for what is lying there, long dead.
A loving word unsaid
becomes a squall instead, a storm
of consciousness we form,
believing thoughts, lukewarm at best,
displace non-deeds. No rest
comes to us now unless we take
up arms, speak true, awake
the notion that words make beachheads.
This is one gracious headband, then.
I know what you mean Jane…there are always just “one more line” feelings with this form…I noticed that myself. This is, as William says, one gracious headband then…and I love the idea that “words make beachheads”…wouldn’t that be grand?
It is obvious that you like this form, Jane. Truly a well written poem.
a loving word unsaid . . .how poignant.
Indeed.
THE BELLE OF ST. MARY’S
The nuns were there to teach
but often did not reach my brain,
and Latin was my bane:
I simply could not train my mind
to utter any form or kind
of words that spelled declining doom
and ended with ah-ooom.
But Sister’s smile would loom above
my desk, her small white dove
wings fluttering with love and grace;
habitually, her face
would brighten up that place. I think
I loved her; every blink
that issued from her crinckled eyes
made Latin but a guise
for staring in surprise as she
made sense of it for me.
She never had to be a screech
but she was there to teach.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
I didn’t actually get the form right the first times, so here’s a second attempt.
Deformed
At times I’m in a rush
and out my words will gush so fast,
but when the surge is past,
I look and o alas, the form
did not come out the norm.
And then my brain will storm anew,
so this is what I do.
Though ideas are few, I try
to set my ideals high,
and out the words will fly again.
Okay, it’s fine so then
I will end the poem when it’s done.
`Nuff said! I enjoyed reading this. Thanks.
I love your humor, Connie!