INFORM POETS – NONET
A nonet has nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the second line eight syllables, the third line seven syllables, etc… until line nine finishes with one syllable. It can be on any subject and rhyming is optional.
line 1 – 9 syllables
line 2 – 8 syllables
line 3 – 7 syllables
line 4 – 6 syllables
line 5 – 5 syllables
line 6 – 4 syllables
line 7 – 3 syllables
line 8 – 2 syllables
line 9 – 1 syllables
WALT’S NONET:
EBB AND FLOW
They say time and tide waits for no man,
and things happen in their own time.
But, we find this rule of life
follows the course we’ve set.
As we love and breathe
we will go on.
When we’re gone,
love lives
on.
© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
***
SALVATORE’S NONET:
WHEN LOVE FLIES AWAY
Unrequited love breeds loneliness
A stumbling through life’s darkened rooms
Ice shards through the wounded heart
A hollowness of bone
Glazing of the eye
Unending night
Stone-sharp tears
Shredding
Hope
#
© 2014 Salvatore Buttaci
Pingback: EBB AND FLOW | THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART
Walt, Sal, such Beautiful words!!
Walt-loves lives on, beautiful, full of hope. I’m so glad we have two poem with opposite outcomes to play off each other.
Sal, your imagery “ice shards, hollowness, glazing” leaves me feeling empty and cold” and “Stone-sharp tears” delivers the pain and hopelessness. Oh, my, wonderful piece.
I couldn’t agree more, Debi. These two work together so well. And the sensory overload of Sal’s verse leaves one spent at the end, though seeking to redeem–something.
There can be only one immortal,
so they cut of each other’s heads.
Fighting for supremacy
The head count slowly grows,
as it slowly drops.
With the last blow
there will be
only
one.
Iain
Oh, Iain, a movie lover after my own heart. Conar would be proud of you. One of my absolute faves.
You have in one nonet expressed precisely what war is all about!
I especially like “The head count slowly grows, / as it slowly drops.”
Thank you all 🙂
Perfect, Iain!
Thanks 🙂
Ah, perfection Iain. There’s a quite a story in this one. Nicely told.
Thank you kindly 🙂
Thaw
The muse stroking her harp by the shed
Is slowly sinking into slush
And the row of armed snowmen
Are helpless in the mire
As rain drops turn ice
Into running
Water
Splash.
Spring cometh, I’ve been told. Hurry muse and finish your song. Love this, Marian
Excellent imagery, Marian. We’ve been seeing much the same evolution around here. Love it.
“Armed snowmen”! I love it!
The pictures you draw here are so clear, there’s no need for a camera.
Wonderfully imaginative, Marian.
Tear Down that Wall
He writes ‘something doesn’t love a wall’.
Some spirit maybe tumbles rocks
to open a path between.
Why do we build them, then?
and rebuild again?
What frightens us?
You must ask,
Robert
Frost.
I love Frost’s poetry, and especially this one. Why do we build walls, indeed?
It is hard to pick just one of his but this is right at the top for me, too.
Lovely, Debi, and good questions, all. We seem determined to wall things out, or is it in?
I love the historical allusion as well as the poetic one to Frost’s “Mending Wall.”
Hmmm… how about fences? Love this.
Walt, Sal, so much power in your words. . .the yin and yang of love, did you plan it that way?
Although Sal had sent his to me before I posted mine, I did not read it. So any corrallary between ours was in advertant, Darlene! Thanks all.
Nothing hurts more than unrequited love, perhaps because it’s one-sided and that one side insists on being self-deluded. I wanted words that would cut to the quick.
From Matthew 23:37
America, O, America,
you who abort unborn babies,
imprison the innocent,
and set the guilty free,
how often I long
to embrace you,
like lovers,
yet you
won’t.
Powerful one, Connie, about a difficult subject. Good job.
So much irony in this poem of yours, Connie. Great!
The poem speaks of pain and love, not rhetoric and hate. I love it.
Pingback: Risen One | Metaphors and Smiles
Wonderful examples, Walt and Sal. I’m off to see what I can come up with. I’ll be back.
Okay, so I’m cheating here. This is an older poem to get me started.
A Voice in the Night
Within us all whispers a soft voice,
Sighing just above inner noise,
Telling us stories so grand
Its words flow to paper.
Witness to others
Of thoughts alone
In night’s dark
Hours, Muse
Speaks.
Yes, beautiful…love this idea…
“whispers a soft voice,
Sighing just above inner noise,
Telling us stories”
So true, Claudsy. 🙂
Thanks, Hannah. Glad you like it. And you’re right. We all do it, whether we realize it or not.
Poets understand quite well what you have so excellently laid down here about that “soft voice…”
I think so, too, Sal. Much more than fiction writers. Thanks.
Your second line calls to my mind, tinnitus. Better than Sirens, I guess. I love this, especially “Telling us stories so grand / Its words flow to paper.”
Thanks, William. That’s what it seems like at times, isn’t it?
My problem is that the stories I hear in my head don’t come out so well on paper. LOL. I have learned to trust the process.
🙂 I know what you mean, Darlene. Have you thought about this process? Sit in a darkened room with your eyes closed. Imagine the story that’s running through your head as if you were telling a secret to another person. Use a voice recorder and tell the story aloud. Hear the words and the cadence of the story. Use all the details you want to make the story come alive. Later, you can transcribe it and then edit.
This can also work for poetry, as you practice the lines for the best sound.
Love this one, Claudsy. I will be listening closely tonight.
::) I’ll bet you will, Sara. Glad you liked it.
Yes! You captured it!
Thanks, Ben.
Risen One
I’m beneath this thick moss covering,
ground has become my wise consort.
One might not notice me first…
I’m here, a corner stone-
supporting others.
Ready with strength
bold granite-
elder,
strong.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
Note about the title…
“During the winter as the earth freezes and thaws, rocks rise to the surface of the fields; they must be removed before plowing can proceed. Stacked at the edges of the fields, they are the raw material for all those stone walls.”
Thank you for the form hosts…excellent examples, too. 🙂
Love this, Hannah. Having half my family in Kentucky, I know about rock walls and why they’re there. In many areas, they are a staple of rocky farmland.
What a beautiful visual, Clauds…thank you for this and your kind words.
You’re welcome, Hannah. This poem resonated with me, which is always a plus in my book.
I love how I just read you here…where you say “always a plus,” I immediately saw always A+ and this makes me smile…silly afternoon fun with words…and it’s near the end of the quarter for kiddos…thinking grades here…I know that’s not what you meant, Claudsy. 😉
I see no reason why it shouldn’t apply, Hannah. Fun with words is why we’re here, isn’t it? 🙂
Sure is…thanks for reading my ramble. 😉
I love the way you repeated the notion of strength several times, a great way of stresses the point of your poem.
Thank you so much, Sal, I’m so glad to hear that that worked for this piece.
I’m picking up on a different kind of cornerstone here; I think “elder” does it. Great piece of work, this.
Yes, thank you for saying so, William, that’s just what I’d hoped would happen. 🙂
This is my new one for today. Back later.
Imagination
Shivers slide down backs as ears litsten
To snuffling sounds in darkness dire,
Each with requisite terror
Image flashing behind
Eyes seeking confirmed
Monsters, goblins
Waiting there
To strike
Now.
“Waiting there / to strike” and then that last line’s word “Now.” Powerful!
I was thinking of kids walking outside in the dark, hearing the rustlings and sniffings of the nocturnal ones. I grew up in the country and remember those late night walks across the yard at the edge of the woods. All children recognize monsters when they hear them. 🙂
For kids the imagination drives great predators in the form of mice. 🙂
And thanks, Sal. I always appreciate your evals.
Anchor of the Soul
Thankfully hope does not put to shame, All those who trust it’s sweetest frame.
An anchor of shipwrecked soul;
When broken, battered, cold
Keeps you warm, consoled.
In times of need,
Fear or bold.
We need—
Hope.
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Lovely, Ben. It reads so smoothly and says so much. I love the metaphor, too.
In your poem the soul’s anchor you tell us at the end is hope and we need it. A succinct lesson to the “broken, battered, cold…”
Beautiful, Benjamin.
Phenomena for Groundhogs
The groundhog blamed for false forecasts lies
burrowed, shamed, beneath winter’s ice.
He snoozes and dreams of spring
disturbed as visions sing,
and warns young pups
that men predict
weather as
shadows’
dance.
There you go! Perfect! You should send it to Phil.
Bill, we have a local rodent forecaster, Sir Walter Wally, a sort of satellite of Phil.
Love that name!
My favorite lines, Jane, are these: “burrowed, shamed, beneath winter’s ice./
He snoozes and dreams of spring…”
The Truth
It didn’t make sense—it never did.
If the truth was out there somewhere,
seeking asylum, why did
it cling like the scent of
last night’s lover? She
contemplated
existence
between
words.
I love this, especially “cling like the scent of / last night’s lover”
Thank you! Do you think I should end the poem with lines instead of words? I feel like people have to read between the lines to hear the truth. What is your opinion?
Given what you said, I think “lines” works better.
Truth seeking asylum…an interesting example of personification.
‘truth out there seeking asylum’ – Wonderful.
STANLEY
Stanley the mosquito buzzed and roamed,
Flew the distance away from home.
Foaming at the mouth, for a
Bloody margarita.
He found one on tap.
Then slurped and burped,
Until fat.
Uh-oh…..
SPLAT!!!!
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Ha, a dead mosquito- my favorite kind : )
I love it!
Me, too.
SOLITUDE
Give me a garden where rain whispers
as it slithers among grape leaves
and grieves at the end of day;
where green shoots for the sky
and passes purple
in transience.
There, I find
my way
home.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
This is a calming poem full of wonderful descriptive words and images.
Oh…perfection, my friend, perfection.
I would love to reside in this garden. Maybe I will make it one of the places I go to in my head.
Nonet 1: Rabbit
His poem hit rocky consonants
flowed over sudden waterfalls
into a short shaded peace
only to be running
from the owl’s sharp claws,
shifting to a slow
gear, quite low
breathing
home.
Challenge by
Creative Bloomings
Nonet = beginning w/ nine syllables
diminished by one each line
“breathing home” is a good choice of words.
Your first line really grabbed me. “Rocky” is an almost perfect word for consonants, in my opinion. I also like how the poem slows down with the short lines.
Us
The political hypnotists speak
Ideological drivel
Double-speak and deception
Aimed at the weak minded
The easily led
The uninformed
The targets
The votes
Us
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Poetically you have adroitly summed up one common view of the people about politicians!
For me, this condemns “us” more than the politicians. Powerful.
Pray
As we drift on the sea of despair
No land in sight; no rescue hope
It seems He has turned His back
So some would have you think
But His know better
He is standing
By our side
Waiting
Pray
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Great advice to everyone on the fringe of despair and everyone else: Pray!
I like this…pray as if far away but right by your side.
Why
More than 200 souls hijacked. Why?
Total disrespect for life? Why?
Suicidal intent? Why?
Uncontrolled hatred? Why?
Satan driven? Why?
Terrorists? Why?
Evil? Why?
Mad? Why?
Why?
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Unfathomable questions. So much pain.
A nonet of the times that demands answers so far not forthcoming.
“Why” is the unanswerable question, I demand answers from God. What I get in return is the comfort of His presence. But the whys remained. So much breathless pain in your words
Spot on. Seems to me, the nonet fits this well, too.
Painted Face
She stands transfixed by man in painting.
His piercing green eyes seem to see
all the secrets locked inside
her, and how he can help
melt all her troubles,
if he could step
through canvas
and touch
her.
Some paintings really do touch us that way. So real they seem to be alive. Nice job here.
Thanks, Debi.
What makes the sentiment of your nonet so real is the sad fact that so many yearn to be loved, to have that one person see the whole of her and love her anyway. If only, if only.
Thanks do much for your views on this, Sal.
For me, this piece is transfixing: powerful in a quiet way.
Thank you, William.
I love this Sarah. It plays out like a video in my head and says so much in just nine lines.
Thanks so much, Benjamin. I’m glad you got something from this poem.
Who Rests?
Death is always close at hand, and yet
it strikes quite unexpectedly
The striken pawn, laid to rest
Who is really resting?
The biofeed shell?
Those left behind
dismantled ?
The soul ?
Who?
Good point.
A great take on “laid to rest.”
Amen
FREEDOM
Liberty’s birthright bound, locked and chained
Freedom’s fortress breached, choice by choice
Once surrendered for sin’s debt
No barter can buy back
Freedom is not free
Death the price paid
Inside and out
Always
Free
Darlene Franklin C2014
How true!
Excellent!
The One and Only
Sent to this world to save all mankind
Rejected, beaten, crucified
Hung on an old rugged cross
On Him, the sins of all
His death washed us clean
That we may live
Forever
With Him
Christ
Jesus
Messiah
The Son of God
The One and Only
Living, resurrected
And sitting at the right hand
Of the Creator of all things
All we need to do is call His Name
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Sorry to post again. Had to change the last line!!
The Truth
It didn’t make sense—it never did.
If the truth was out there somewhere,
seeking asylum, why did
it cling like the scent of
last night’s lover? She
contemplated
existence
between
lines.
This is wonderful.
One of my favourite forms, I confess…love what everyone is doing here…
Missing Nora Ephron (May 14/41-June 26/12)
She said she felt bad about her neck
And wrote a book called that in fact
So stylish scarves were her thing
But her real stock in trade
Was her endearing sense
Of humour and her
Unfailing sense
Of herself
It is
true
Muse Musings
Bargaining with the muse proves to be
Many a poet’s undoing
For harsh is she and blood her
Price, accepting nothing
Less, she’ll flay your soul
Lay bare your thoughts
And still not
Promise
Verse
PTSD
It’s three tours in and he’s home to stay
With medals, glory, and intact
Who could ask for more than that?
But some few weeks later
He just eats his gun
And no-one seems
to know why
They don’t?
Why?
These are stunning, especially the last.
Three fabulous nonets, Sharon. That last one punches you in the gut.
Life’s Music
Life is a musical sonota.
A prized allegro pushing pace.
Dashing trumpets, pianos,
Sounding brass and woodwinds,
Lively with spirit.
Our life’s music—
Beethoven,
With grace
Lives.
© Copyright 2014
Benjamin Thomas
Cor me, this piece swings and sways.
Longing for Spring
Snow falls in pristine mashed potato
clumps, sticking to the trees giving
the earth a bit of freshening up.
While we sit inside just
wishing for flowers
to fall from the
sky with fresh
bits of
grass.
Tax Prep: Pup’s Point of View
Just how silly she sure looks to me!
Rushing here and there, to nowhere
Sift-shuffling noisy papers
“Tsking” and tasking fast.
She makes me just sigh,
With relief I
Don’t have That
On my
Plate!
or even in my dish! Good one, Hen.
🙂 !! Thanks, Sara!
Putting You Down
All our lives it seemed as if I was
Afraid someone would be trying
To put you down, make you feel
Less than; until you died
Then I held your bag
Of ashes, found
It hard to
Put you
down
Raising Awareness
A vulture waits and watches a child
So near death a photographer
Cannot resist a quick shot
A prize winning photo
It ends up being
But the guilt of
Its fame kills
He who
won
Tree Deaths
Far from home I learn of nightly storms
Tearing life from trees I so love
Just to picture them torn up
With roots exposed and raw
Their branches ripped off—
Bark is cracking
And sap runs
Like blood
Bleeds