POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

INFORM POETS – LANNET

The “Lannet” is a form of sonnet, consisting of 14 lines. There is a strict syllable count of 10 per line. It has NO END-LINE RHYMING SCHEME. Only internal rhyme is allowed. There is no requirement of meter for a Lannet.

WALT’S LANNET:

HEARTS AT SEA

Two hearts afloat upon love’s endless sea,
bobbing free in currents of emotion.
There is no lake or ocean can compare
to the freedom there. Two hearts float in love.

Above is an endless sky full of stars.
Hearts navigate by their chart position,
a condition driven by the love shared.
They are spared rough tides; they ride the current.

The rough torrent cannot put them under,
it’s a wonder love keeps their heads above
water. They ought to thank their lucky stars,
they are adrift uplifting each other.

Hearts at sea are free to be. Their journey
can lead them to distant shores and much more!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014

 

The Lannet form was created by Laura Lamarca.

Single Post Navigation

70 thoughts on “INFORM POETS – LANNET

  1. LOVE CAN CHANGE THE WORLD

    Let’s admit that love goes beyond flowers
    And pretty packaged boxes of candy.
    It’s not a collector’s item, something
    To shout about or keep safely hidden.

    Why do some treat love like spoils of war
    As if it were won on the battlefield
    Of life, wrested from an enemy’s hand?
    Gifts that enrich lives are never found there.

    Let’s say instead that love can change the world.
    It can transform the lonely, enlighten
    Those who believe that each of us alone
    Can move mountains. I say it isn’t true.

    For enduring joy , love one another!
    Show kindness. Imitate a loving God.

    #

  2. William Preston on said:

    THE SECOND LAW OF THERMODYNAMICS*

    The sink is full of stinky dishes now.
    I contemplate the dust and scattered rust
    and search the icebox for a nice, cold beer
    so I can ponder yonder hardened crust
    of sand that still obscures the windowsill.
    Tall dandelions fan the taller grass
    and bushes squeeze the trees. I have no lawn;
    instead, a meadow stretches from my door;
    a wilderness has filled my squatting space
    and neighbors pray that I will soon be dead,
    but I will not succumb to numbing pleas
    for order; I won’t welcome cold with gold,
    for then my enervated energy
    might generate a trend toward a mop.

    *Any system tends to disorder unless supplied with energy

    copyright 2014, William Preston

    • WmPreston on said:

      Whoops; rule violation. Here is an amended version:

      The sink is full of stinky dishes now.
      I contemplate the dust and scattered rust
      and search the icebox for a nice, cold beer
      so I can ponder yonder hardened ridge
      of sand that still obscures the windowsill.
      Tall dandelions fan the taller grass
      and bushes squeeze the trees. I have no lawn;
      instead, a meadow stretches from my door;
      a wilderness has filled my squatting space
      and neighbors pray that I will soon be dead,
      but I will not succumb to numbing pleas
      for order; I won’t welcome cold with gold,
      for then my enervated energy
      might generate a trend toward a mop.

  3. Wm Preston on said:

    ENCHANTMENT COMES

    September is the gushing, shushing month
    when orange splashes dashing purple skies;
    it bursts with rhyme, not reason, for it’s time
    for warmth to tack and frost to answer back.

    In fall the sod and thrusting goldenrod
    applaud as sneezing breezes levitate
    the leaves; they sound before they reach the ground
    and drape the sedge around the garden edge.

    Brown rabbits jump aloft from log-stump hats
    and doves erupt with peals of mournful squeals
    when sunlight looses gnats for swifts and bats
    from pumpkins large as Cleopatra’s barge.

    This magic season pleases me no end;
    who needs Houdini’s deeds, with acts like these?

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  4. CLIMATE CONTROLLED

    A picturesque beauty clearly abounds
    when seasons astound by changing faces.
    They quickly trade places as one will fade,
    its statement well made, but it’s time to die.

    In each figuration, I see them tease
    when a springtime breeze turns into a storm
    from summer’s warm days. As if on a whim,
    those humid, grim days are swiftly replaced

    by a breathtaking space of vivid hues.
    I bid my adieus to colors so rich.
    With the perfect pitch of a winter song,
    the cold comes along to sing its refrain.

    And during its reign, to match its white crown
    the lawn’s brown grass wears an ivory gown.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  5. Walt, “Hearts At Sea” gives me such a warm feeling. It’s lovely.

  6. Pingback: Climate Controlled | Words With Sooze

  7. Six Decades Past

    Six decades past; seven now in focus
    No fuss on my part; just glad to be here
    Though the road had bumps, God saw me this far
    Can only hope He still has plans for me
    Can’t wait to see all that the future brings
    I’m studied up and ready come what may

    But for a minute I must reminisce
    Six decades filled with happy memories
    The smiles and trials and all of God’s blessings
    More blessings than anybody deserves
    Why me, Lord? Am I special in Your sight
    I must have done something right in Your eyes

    Lord, if today were my last day on Earth
    I would be happy with the life I’ve lived

    © 2014 Earl Parsons

  8. Darlene Franklin on said:

    PANNING FOR GOLD

    The Miner stakes His claim across the earth
    His eyes rove to and fro searching for glints
    Of gold wrapped in layers of mud and slime
    Its worth hidden in primordial sludge

    Light flashes a hint of tarnished metal
    His pan captures the nugget in question
    He weighs and tests it, assuring its worth
    Will come forth when refined by furnace fire

    The nugget clings to his comfortable
    Coverings heat burns through, torn asunder
    The man curses the Miner for the pain
    Sin-smeared, impure, preferred over smelting

    The fire reveals what the Miner first saw
    Underneath all the dirt lies purest gold

  9. connielpeters on said:

    A Conspiracy Theory

    It appears, when their warranties run out,
    appliances unite and make a pact
    that in a certain week, at any time,
    they will go on strike, fizzle, stall, expire.

    Refrigerators warm up, stoves cool down.
    Clocks refuse to tick, CD players stick.
    Handles will fall off; knobs will quit turning.
    Parts will pop, sizzle, smoke, grind to a stop.

    All we can do is sigh and be thankful
    they served their purpose as long as they did,
    and then go buy something new and improved.

    Naughty, conniving gadgets might behave
    if they knew they would be trashed and replaced,
    but merchants and designers grin in glee.

  10. “Parts will pop, sizzle, smoke, grind to a stop.” You could have been talking about my parts! Very well put together, Connie. And very fun to read.

  11. Dog Days

    A Southern August promises thick dust,
    humidity that swelters, melts to mud,
    sometimes a hurricane to menace us,
    for August is august as hinges oiled.
    The heat lays yard dogs down, hangdogs thick weeds,
    shakes people by their scruffs and makes them sweat.
    Seed heads hang low knowing that fall is nigh,
    though sun declares there’s time to wreak its power.

    We pant after refreshment, pond or pool,
    and lap at puddles left by random rains.
    We look to skies, measure their depth of blue
    to calculate the slant of morning light.
    We welcome winds that scratch at waiting’s itch.
    We hear September’s distant howls at night.

  12. Summer Parting

    As the end of summer draws near, my dear,
    I fear we may lose touch after parting.
    My eyes are smarting with tears I hold back,
    for if I lack control–let them spill out–
    there’s no doubt that I will weep endlessly.
    O, would that we two lived with less distance
    between us. Chances are the clock will tick-
    tock slow, as thick molasses pours from jars.
    Look at the stars, my love–silver, twinkling.
    They seem to wink only at us tonight,
    and the moon so bright, our guiding angel.
    Embrace me well and long, so I might hold
    your touch when coldness creeps in. Farewell, love.

  13. This is a stunning piece of poetry, Sara. The vintage feel of it makes it even more elegant.

  14. Like a Bad Dream

    I’m sitting on the deck all eyes, ears
    letting the sweet warmth of morning seep deep
    watching the hummingbirds’ strategic dance
    beaks like a lance, jousting, heroic feats.
    Katydids in the trees are singing scales
    softly frail, rising to fortissimo,
    fades, repeats. A wren fusses in the glade.

    This day was made for lolling, sprawling
    with glee. Then, I see the maple, shapely
    green leaves. Soon she’ll put on her party dress,
    revel in her bright colors, devil may
    care, brash, a flash in the pan of fun, then
    tire, retire, drop her garments like confetti…
    I’m rent, spent at the thought of summer’s end.

Plant your poem or comment here!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: