INFORM POETS – PUENTE
The Puente, a poem for created by James Rasmusson, and is somewhat similar to the Diamante. Like the Diamante, you start with one aspect of a topic or issue and then, line by line, work toward another aspect. In the center is a line that bridges the two aspects together. The Spanish word for bridge is “puente”.
The form has three stanzas with the first and third having an equal number of lines and the middle stanza having only one line which acts as a bridge (puente) between the first and third stanza. The first and third stanzas convey a related but different element or feeling, as though they were two adjacent territories.
The number of lines in the first and third stanza is the writer’s choice as is the choice of whether to write it in free verse or rhyme.
The center line is delineated by a tilde (~) and has ‘double duty’. It functions as the ending for the last line of the first stanza AND as the beginning for the first line of the third stanza. It shares ownership with these two lines and consequently bridges the first and third stanzas.
WALT’S PUENTE:
LOOKING FOR MR. WRITE
A muse is a terrible thing,
to waste it would bring a pang
as if someone sang a dirge
so sad and consuming. You’d be presuming
you would find the words to express
~you never used to stress about such trivial things!
To find your core meaning
is to find the thing that does amuse
you. Sounding lyrical and lilting
it’s a miracle that words return.
You’ve always yearned to find your voice.
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik
***
DAMON’S PUENTE:
SUMMER BREAK
“Read these,” she asks.
Three story books of wintertime and snow.
“Why these?” I want to know. “It’s summer, dear!”
She rolls her eyes, then plants her hands on tilted hips.
“Poppi,” she says and throws her arms up shocked at my dull wit, “we need a break!”
I sigh, then see a tear, and quivering lip
~and though dull-witted I relent~
and with her in my lap I read aloud
of snow and ice,
freed, for a time, from time,
freed from relentless summer’s vice of sultry heat.
The boundaries of seasons are dissolved.
I read to hold her tight.
© 2014, Damon Dean
My F-I-L is a doctor (90 years old now) and this story is told in our family as really happening:
All Shook Up
Big Foot Wanda got sick
went to the doctor pretty quick
he’d seen it all from boils to lacerations
and would have a doctorial application
to make her spritely again.
~nothing could rattle him!
A terrible cough from her chest issued
he said, “A penicillin shot will help you.”
She took off her blouse. He said um,
and promptly shot his thumb
when Big Foot Wanda walked in.
Broke me up. Wonderful.
Oh, this is too good, Debi. LOL I kept hearing “Roll out the barrel” through out this verse and haven’t a clue why. 🙂
Debi, this was fun! I can imagine the scene. Shock therapy and diagnostick have new meanings for me now.
Funny, Debi!!
This is hysterical, Debi.
Heavenly Glows
Brightly beating down so bright and grand
Reflected by the snow white, Emerald Coast sand
Its presence so beloved after a winter so long
So desired and required to start our summer song
The warm spring sun lights the day
Then rests on the horizon and slowly sinks away
From the East another glowing orb takes flight
Best observed by us all on a clear cloudless night
As it floats in grandeur across the dark sky
Always showing one face as it drifts slowly by
The summer moon lights the way
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Utterly lovely and, for me, enhanced by your rhymes.
Earl, I love “Then rests on the horizon and slowly sinks away”
This is gorgeous, Earl. It flows so effortlessly and reads like Belgian chocolate as it melts in the mouth.
Earl, you filled this form with such perfectly related characters, those orbs of kinship. You have renamed my sunsets~moon rises with this lyrical Puente.
Beautiful, lyrical piece, Earl.
WHEN THE SHOT RINGS OUT
It’s safe to say I’m on my last legs.
Where once I ran up and down steep hills,
now, just moving from here to there kills
my throbbing knees, leaves me out of breath.
My life’s been a kind of race till now
~but the finish line is not so far away.
When the flag falls and the shot rings out,
I will dash like a young boy again
without concern for which bones to mend.
My sins forgiven, ribbon at my chest,
a spirit basking in fields of light.
#
This sounds a lot better than strumming a harp on a street corner. I love this piece.
Happy birthday tomorrow – may you not hear that shot for many, many, many more years.
WOW! I love this, Sal. No other words needed.
Sal, this valiant soldier inspires. Just a glimpse of the other side where knees don’t fail carries us up our hills.
amen!
Ant Hill
(a Puente)
Like little ants scurrying
here and there
trying to carry
more that we can bear,
we follow sugar trails
of our own desires
until our industriousness
becomes its own burden.
~ then we burrow in the ground
in holes dark and deep,
following labyrinths,
feeling part
of a bustling community,
until we lose sight
of the sunny world
and go to sleep, believing
there’s something more.
What a fascinating analogy! Well put.
Totally agree, Connie.
Profound thoughts in this one, Connie. Well done, indeed. Our ant hill seems to grow with each year we daren’t take time to stop in the garden for one last sniff of rose petals.
Connie, this was a brilliantly written confession for the crazy frenzied masses.
I once thought of writing a story about ants. You have brilliantly written what escapes me
Brilliant writing, Connie. Thoughtful and well said.
THE SONORAN YEAR
In spring,
the desert blooms;
it looses a riot
of blended colors and odors,
and smiles
~ but thereafter it exacts its price:
colors
wither and perceptibly fade;
ocotillos, naked,
look to winter
and wait.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
Ocotillos are some of my favorite desert varieties, William. When we lived in the Prescott area we had to go down to the Casa Grande area to find them in bloom in the spring. We could always count on lovely specimens there full of bright red blossoms. This took me back to favored memories. Thank you. I so enjoyed this.
William, you have painted the split personality of this desert exactly. And timely for me, as during my noon break I snapped a picture of our first cactus bloom of the season. It will be gone soon.
I like this one very much, William.
I love the natural and nature progression of this poem, William…much enjoyed!
The contrast is vivid. Lovely
Back later with something for this. Such lovely poems so far. Great prompt form, Walt. I hadn’t seen this one before. It works like a giant traditional haiku, doesn’t it?
Moments in Time
The grass is green
the blue bird sings
~and the baby begins to wail~
my tea has gone cold
but my arms are full as a pail.
“Full as a pail”! Wonderful, especially when you consider that pails, and babies, can be full.
Michelle, you mastered this moment in such brevity. How quickly a discontented baby can reframe a scene.
Thank you William and Damon. I’ve been watching baby birds lately and that is what gave me my idea as the tie in between the two scenes. 🙂
Love this, Michelle. Terrific image in so few words.
Good one, Michelle! I like the use of ‘pail’
What Works, and Doesn’t Work – and Where – Matters…
Don’t tell my parents that I work in the pharmaceutical industry. They think I am working in a brothel. ~Gerhard Kocher
It’s kind of funny, isn’t it –
what works and what doesn’t work?
And just about anyone will believe
whatever you tell them, if you can do it
with a straight face
~’though what I really mean is this:
the truth isn’t necessarily funny, is it?
What works and what doesn’t work.
But you can fool just about anyone
if you make your point
with a smile on your face.
###
RJ, I loved this discourse which seemed like an idea’s effort to convince itself of itself, as if leaning on a bathroom vanity eye-to-eye in a mirror. Practicing persuasion.
This makes me think of reciting a poem to one’s reflection in a river. What you see is close to what you say, but the current takes a bit off. Fascinating piece.
Like that thought, William.
Love the quote…
with a straight face – with a smile on your face. Perfect, and I’m just the dope who would believe.
We were on the same wavelength on this subject, RJ, and I just now read this. It’s wonderful and so very true. Great poem.
Hmm, I love this internal debate, but not sure if it works
Minds and Matter
Sherlock Holmes strides history
Father of forensic mystery
Without him, no reign of CSI
Evidence unseen by naked eye
Cold cases solved by new tests
Renewing justice on its quest
~But I love people, not science
Poirot swung the pendulum back
Gray cells and people all crimes could crack
Without Miss Marple, no BAU
Would decode Criminal Minds for clues
Cozy mysteries trade labs for shops
Customers and vendors before cops
Darlene Franklin ©2014
Darlene, this little two-sided treatise captured my interest, as the plot line by line thickened.
Same here; I liked the change of emphasis that you tilded.
Thanks, Damon. I think I might change the last line to “Friends and families before cops”
The two sides of solving mystery struck me awhile ago and this seemed like a good prompt to write about it
Poirot and Miss Marple rule! I like this Darlene.
Thanks, all.
I love this, Darlene. I enjoy the science of CSI, but I learned to love detection from those who used logical minds, and senses before the lab work took over. I think it works, if you need an opinion.
Thanks, Claudsy!
It not only works, Darlene, but it is very clever.
I love the stories here. Beautiful imagery and places and passage of time
I have thought about changing my group “handle” but have no idea what else I would call myself. 🙂 I love the names.
Pingback: Industrious Hop-Vine | Metaphors and Smiles
Industrious Hop-Vine
They pulse forth on the progress of the past.
I commend the way of winding vine,
applaud the surge – patterning their ancestor’s path.
How they work to curve and climb, to finally arrive;
peaking the trellis’s top, hearty hop arms reach –
great leafy faces push up and out into the unknown…
~ they take the leap of faith and travel further than their archetypes.
All the while their tendrils below are constantly supported,
by the twisted systems of elder root and pithy preceding growth –
these’re the stronghold of truth that the future relies upon.
Soon this generation will come to fullness and fruit;
they will become the next best set –
forerunner-vines to cling to and aspire toward.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
Nice! I love the image of new growth on the support of older growth. I hope to be a good support of the following generations. Nicely done Hannah
I believe you will be, Debi!! Thank you for your thoughtful and encouraging comments!! 🙂
Hannah, I love your topic…you know I’m a fan of the lessons and insights on life we find in flora. How often we ignore the older vines, the trunks, the roots below. Lovely use of the form.
I’m pleased that this spoke to you in this way Damon. There’s so much to be learned from nature and from the elders. Thank you!
I like it! Hannah, this is a wonderful philosophical take on the growth of one vine, its past and its future. Marvelous.
Thank you so much for your thoughts on this, Claudsy…I like that word “philosophical,” thank you! 🙂
🙂
This is superb, in my view. I drew an association with families immediately.
Thank you, I’m so glad that came through. Presently our Faith Community, (a form of familyish), is in much deliberation over a decision to move and I believe this was in my mind as I was writing as well.
Thank you for the form challenge and examples hosts…I haven’t the time required for commenting but I hope to be in tomorrow. Cheers to all the writers out here!! 🙂
(Poem w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)
Morning Transition
Water poured, coffee fragrant
Tiny carafe, enough for two
Steamy warmth, Old Spice wafted
Dizzying through, our cozy room
~ Misty drizzle, gone by noon
Sandwiched in, aromatic loaf
Cheeses, a salad, yummy both
Sun tea fresh, enough for two
Breezing through, our afternoon.
You’ve made me hungry for the food and drink and your dreamy, easy day.
Mmm… some of our most peaceful days… <3, Thank you, Debi.
Hen…you began my day with a sip of envy mixed with the aroma of admiration. Still learning to relish such moments. Lovely, in meter and rhyme and form.
Your comment makes me very happy, Damon, Thank you… We Loved our little mini get-a-ways…. ❤ 🙂 !!
Nice one, Hen, with its progression through the day and the quiet lives, enough for two. 🙂
🙂 , Thank you, Claudsy… we could talk and laugh our heads off… or just be still… quite unusual, I am learning…
🙂
I like how this poem captures the fleeting moments in a fleeting form, as it were.
Thanks, so much, William!
I can recall the exact scent of my fathers Allspice. Such a cozy poem!
Thank you, so much, Sara ❤ !!
For Another Day
I thought i’d lay low for a while
just drift aimlessly in an open space
but the day wafts in so many fillings
as i yearn to empty the sky
Hanging on, somehow
-folding this feeling away, for another day
to hear the silence of ancient sounds
and maroon myself in dreamy waves
but I hear the bells of living
and muzzle these songs of the heart
Hanging on for,- someday
folding this feeling away, or another day. Nice.
Priti, I find myself in your poem more often than I do in Henrietta’s poem above. It’s almost as if a Puente could be written between your two poems.
Very nice, Priti. I wonder if this doesn’t speak for many of us who are always waiting for some day to arrive so that we can really live the lives we want.
Wow. Wonderfully wistful.
Weighing the Pros and Cons
Her parents said she was being punished.
She pouted, shouted, to no avail,
then sat curled up on a chair, determined
not to cry, not to care
~The ice cream truck’s bell rang as it headed down the block~
The state of being punished began to bother her,
leading to a tearful apology. She reversed
her psychology, promising to be obedient,
and oh, the expedience with which she licked her cone.
Smart gal. Ice cream is worth an apology. Ha. This is cute.
Thanks, Debi!
Sara, how delicious this is. You unfold the story layer by layer with the change perfectly positioned in the bridge. The last line is grin-worthy.
Keep grinning!
hahahaha Sara, this scenario has played out in countless households, and I’ll bet it played out in yours. Love its truth of the everyday workings of childhood manipulation. 🙂
Thanks, C. My sister was better at it than I.
::) Yeah, I know about that one. Baby bro had eyes taht did his work for him.
that second stanza brings back memories
I hope they are good ones.
This strikes me as an almost perfect use of the form.
Thank s so much, William. I actually had to keep re-reading this form to really understand what was called for.
It took me a while, but I finally got one penned. Time available for poetry is being carved out of other obligations and becomes precious these days.
Dreams
Illusions, they say, are
Daydreams played out on
Reality’s movie screen,
Waiting for recognition
By the dreamer and the world.
~Yet lies become truths unveiled~
To believers who desire
The dreams of others over
The heart’s desires held within,
Left to wither on vines of hope
Tainted by another’s daily illusion.
yet in both cases dreams remain unrealized. how sad (to me) A reminder that my dreams should be all mine–not depending on what others have done
I know what you mean, Darlene. Sometimes we embrace someone else’s dreams for the sake of love for them, but we sacrifice our own dreams in the process, many times. Then we ask ourselves if it would be selfish to want something or our own. That’s sad.
It looks me like you carved out a fine poem here.
Aw, thanks, William. I tried.
Your two ideas contrast and yet tie together well and your bridge is one to be stopped on and pondered. Well done, Claudsy!
Thanks so much, Hannah. We liked it. Linda won in March and suggested this poetry contest to match a haiku to her photo to be prized as a print for framing. I’m up for most things and thought the idea terrific.
Hi!! I think this is a response to your other post though…thank you!
I believe this is a mirror cinqki with the tilde in the middle. . .
blank page
not a one
word has flowed from
mind to fingers to screen
frozen
~start typing~
title
byline, setting, and date
heroine’s name
active verb
go on
Darlene Franklin ©2014
nice work, Darlene.
This nicely captures those awful moments.
Really nice, Darlene. Good for you. That’s the story of my life when I sit down with pen.
fear of the blank page is one of my biggest obstacles. sigh.