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


The Collins stanza is a melding of three utilities of the poetic process; (1) three sets of rhyming couplets, that create a (2) sestet, but with the last line of each stanza repeating (a line, phrase or word) to link it with the next stanza; making it also a (3) repeating form. There are no limits to the number of stanzas you write. However, at least three are required to give the evidence of the repetition in this form,

Ideally heroic couplets are used but any rhyming couplet is permitted. To differentiate between the two, a poem using Heroic couplets, (Iambic Pentameter) is called a Divine Collins.

Lets look at an example of the normal form.

Lovers Apart

A depth of feeling within my heart
Is so intense when we are apart
For in my dreams I feel your touch
That I know I long for thee much
Oh how that smile doth beguile me
From lips that whisper I love thee.

Yearn to savour thy tender touch
My dearest I doth love thee much
For moments apart hath told me so
This absence tells me thus I know
Oh how that smile doth beguile me
From lips that whisper I love thee.

I long to be held twixt loving arms
Feeling warmth and sensual charms
One day soon we shall fly together
Raising our spirits on high forever
Oh how that smile doth beguile me
From lips that whisper I love thee.

Divena Collins




He rode into town in a ten-gallon hat
that blocked out the sun; he was tough, that Matt
In Dodge City hooligans ran rampant
a ‘shootin’ a ‘stealin’, behavin’ like infants.
Gritty and tired, he rode in wth a frown,
Mr. Matt Dillon arrived in town

A new sheriff come to restore order.
They imported him from over the border.
He became good friends with Doc and Kitty.
Next step was gettin’ a deputy.
Bad guys thinned out, hearin’ the sound
When Mr Matt Dillon arrived in town.

People out west heard about Dodge.
Came to see for themselves, it was no mirage.
Farmers, cowboys, and families came.
In Dodge City, there was no more shame.
No shootin’, no stealin’ and so it remains,
since Mr. Matt Dillon arrived in town.

© Sara McNulty



Silence does befall this place,
and in the night I see your face.
Every feature haunts my muddled mind
in the darkness of this room I find
your piercing eyes, your turned up nose…
these shadows offer no repose.

This stillness in my heart does ache
and I can tell, make no mistake
the love I carried, I carry still.
For surely I’ll carry you until
my own eyes finally close,
these shadows offer no repose.

But, until that fateful day
I’ll still have so much more to say
to fill the vacuum of this night
and keep your visage in my sight.
For in spite of how our ending goes,
these shadows offer no repose.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016


ANNOUNCEMENT: Continuing in the tradition of this POETIC BLOOMINGS community, we will once again present the July Chapbook/Poem-A-Day Experience. A new prompt will be offered every day in the month of July (usually some Summer theme). At the end of the month we will begin to feature the assembled chapbooks of our poets for your enjoyment. The specific theme this year will be… you’ll have to wait and see.

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  1. Oh, love this form!
    Walt, such raw emotion…esp. this,
    to fill the vacuum of this night
    and keep your visage in my sight.

    And Sara, i just wanna pick up a ‘geetar’ and sing;-)!

    thank-you both for making this form look easy.

    Where Footfalls Fade

    Tread softly, dear, the by and by
    You think is far from here is nigh
    The little boy that runs and plays
    Will soon be lost to yesterdays
    The carefree girl will dance and dream
    Into that world of what has been

    Tread softly, dear and do not pine
    For morrows waiting down the line
    Where soon, too soon you’ll realize
    The value of each moment-prize
    And how they meld, blue-gold-gray-green
    Into that world of what has been

    Tread softly, love, and live full, free
    In every day God grants to thee
    Soft, swift the gift of it folds to
    Bygones that claim their daily due
    Where footfalls fade, seen to unseen
    Into that world of what has been

    © Janet Martin

  3. Earl Parsons on said:

    Closing Time

    Closing time nears tick-by-tick
    The DJ plays the final lick
    Speakers blast their booming bass
    Happy faces all over the place
    Cracks like fireworks mix in
    Closing time could be the end

    Reality hits as people fall
    Blood splatters on floors and walls
    Panic overcome by fear
    Running, tripping, screaming, tears
    Confusion on the room descends
    Closing time could be the end

    Single gunman rules the room
    Aiming, shooting, spreading doom
    Innocents slaughtered one by one
    Some play dead while others run
    Desperate calls to family and friends
    Closing time could be the end

    © Earl Parsons

    In memory of the innocents that were slaughtered in the nightclub in Orlando.

  4. William Preston on said:


    In my younger years,
    when life had yet few tears,
    I once proposed to Rose.
    But Rose could not suppose
    that she could spend her life
    as my helpmeet and wife.

    Later, I met Daisy,
    a lovely girl, but lazy;
    but when I said, “Let’s marry,”
    she didn’t even tarry.
    She said she’d wield a knife
    as my helpmeet and wife.

    I must have asked a dozen;
    I even asked a cousin
    but all of them said, “Nope.”
    But still, I have some hope:
    someone will loose my strife
    as my helpmeet and wife.

  5. William Preston on said:

    Sara and Walt, thanks for such superb examples. You’ve set the bar way up there.

    A Tale Without Title

    I’m held by the call of doves.
    Do they know the risks of love?
    Oh the stories doves could tell,
    the loss, the sorrow that befell
    a tender heart, a stoney fit,
    but that’s the nature of it.

    Cool-hearted, crystal kiss, love
    fell into dusk from skies above,
    his arms entwined like ivy braids,
    passion spilled right where they laid.
    Coiled deep in folds they slip,
    because that’s the nature of it.

    Hear the flowers, bent near broken,
    hear the pines, their scent soft spoken,
    forest dim holds whispers cruel,
    ripples fill that drowning pool
    where her life did slowly slip,
    because that’s the nature of it.

  7. Earl Parsons on said:

    Turn Around

    The road most traveled may not be
    The best road for the brave and free
    That road may lead to eventual doom
    Even, perhaps, America’s tomb
    Not on my watch will I stand down
    We, the people, must turn around

    The downhill slide is steeper yet
    As more demand what they can get
    From those of us that earn our way
    In hopes of better, brighter days
    And dreams this country’s fathers found
    We, the people, must turn around

    We must turn back to our Father, God
    Turn away from greed and hate and fraud
    Instill in all the importance of pride
    Raise high Old Glory far and wide
    Survival the message we must resound
    We, the people, must turn around

    © Earl Parsons

  8. A great way to make my brain struggle! I love form poetry, but found this one difficult. https://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2016/06/15/a-hero-collins-sestet/

  9. Pingback: Doing More Of What Makes Me Happy | echoes from the silence

  10. For those who haven’t seen it, I’ve been blogging about my last year in the 40s. I’ll be 50 in September – and my goal is to be happier at 50 than I was turning 49. In case you’re interested, here’s the blog address: https://before49turnsto50.wordpress.com/


    As I’ve gotten older (now nearly fifty)
    I’ve shifted my goals, becoming quite thrifty.
    Responsibility, after all, comes with a cost
    for too many years, moderation was lost!
    So many things to get me off track, while
    I now focus on what makes me smile.

    Life has become too packed and too busy
    all work and no play is making me dizzy.
    Those around me, have learned the look
    of when it’s time for my crayons and book!
    So many things to get me off track, while
    I now focus on what makes me smile.

    The tensions that build in my shoulders and neck
    tell me it’s time to get my stressors in check.
    So it’s off to the gym, or to yoga for me!
    Or one of my favorites, a class of Tai Chi!
    So many things to get me off track, while
    I now focus on what makes me smile.

  11. William Preston on said:


    She writes, and scenes appear before my eyes:
    from mere minutiae to starshine skies;
    from comedy with tragic overtones
    to streamlets whispering among the stones.
    She paints the world completely, line by line;
    her poems are so right, almost divine.

    She masters meter mixed with masks of sound
    as melody and harmony abound
    in stanza after stanza. As I read,
    she teases music from each tree and weed
    and makes sublime the locusts’ summer whine.
    Her poems are so right, almost divine;

    indeed, if heaven is reality,
    then somewhere in its shire her soul must be
    ensconced within a green and golden place,
    for Earth could never birth such gleaming grace.
    Her words make stories tremble, sing, and shine;
    her poems are so right, almost divine.



    This shining city on a hill
    Has but a flicker of goodwill.
    Our homeland’s in profound unrest;
    Precarious as a young stork’s nest.
    No longer held in high esteem …
    Yet pray’ers pray, and dreamers dream.

    Our brethren’s blood runs through our streets.
    Unwelcome history repeats.
    We’ve chosen shady and debased
    To fill an office that’s disgraced
    While haters hate, and schemers scheme.
    Still pray’ers pray, and dreamers dream.

    But God grants vision to the blind,
    Redeems the lost; restores mankind.
    His faithfulness is unsurpassed,
    As through it all, His love holds fast.
    My hopefulness remains agleam …
    While pray’ers pray, and dreamers dream.

    © Marie Elena Good, 2016

  14. May I say this out loud? Walt and Sara, your examples far surpass that of Ms. Collins, IMHO. Wow.

  15. Thank you for your lovely, flattering words, Marie. As you know, I love being a flower among brilliant species.


    These eyes have witnessed angels on the move,
    Though evidence of this I cannot prove.
    Naysayers shake their heads and scoff at me.
    “The man spends too much time in fantasy.
    If science cannot put it to the test,
    Then you should put what you believe to rest.”

    Three times an angel whispered in my ear
    and warned me of a danger that was near.
    I could have brushed it off and went my way,
    But I heeded his voice and lived that day.
    If I had taken angel talk in jest,
    I would have put what I believe to rest.

    At birth a loving God sends us a gift,
    An angel to protect us at the cliff
    Or when we muddle through the darkest seas
    Convinced that we will drown in our misdeeds.
    If I had turned away, would I be blessed?
    I would have put what I believe to rest.


  17. Camping, without much of a connection, so late again working on this form. (Modified, w the first line the repeating line. )

    Pastor for Morning

    Bullfrog’s grunt rubs the air,
    quiets Mist who quivers there,
    tells her, tho harsh daylight comes,
    tho across the sky Sun roams,
    Night will hear the Day depart,
    then return to still her heart.

    Bullfrog’s grunt rubs the air,
    answers timid Pond’s quiet prayer,
    hears her pleas for wind to still,
    tells her Dusk will soon fulfill
    all her hopes for calm and peace,
    making wind and waves all cease.

    Bullfrog’s grunt rubs the air,
    whispers then to Morning fair,
    “Do not fear the callous Day,
    when his time is gone away,
    Moon, a-glowing, will come back,
    dressed in stars and silky black.”

    Bullfrog’s grunt rubs the air,
    calms the dread of nature’s care.
    Lo, the voice of hope is heard,
    in his simple faithful word.
    Let my words as Bullfrog’s be,
    simple, honest, piety.

    (c) Damon Dean, 2016

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