Poems that pursue the horizon from past to present and poems created for NaPoWriMo 2017 |
"His frantic pace my horse swift slows to forage food, sweet green grass mined; Babylon's umber ashen blot haunts me, a shadow in my mind: Rusty remnant remains.” Each day his patient steady trot toward richer greener grass, his find, moves us far from seared Babylon’s plot; Supplants images in my mind of Rusty remnant remains. Sensing hope, my horse steps spritely on firm ground, his footsteps rumbling; A building in the distance slightly suggests we are far from the crumbling Rusty remnant remains. Onward, praying to uncover, over the rolling hills we ride; Flush fertile land to recover, an arable place to abide With no rusty remains. Rhythmic ride, recalling poems, morsels from memory's horizon of life in my quaint childhood home, weigh on my mind like a greisen In lusty remnant plains. Each valley and hill wandered o’er brought green land, crops incredible; Here, streams of water recover struggling plants; though inedible, Thriving fresh fruit remains. On the horizon, structures emerge; future resting spot for the night. My horse gallops, we’re on the verge, breaking from bleakness, into light Of verdant crop domains. In distance far, I clearly see one person walking, now there's two! Perhaps more, no longer lone me; for this rider, hope rises to Beget life's human strains. Tears of relief sprinkle the ground as we discover dazed others; Survivors huddle, new life found- Are we apocalypse brothers or rusty remnant remains? ____________________________________________ Entry: April 30, 2017 Prompt: A destination, an outcome For: Dew Drop Inn Poetry Workshop Form: Rondel Grand is a form created by Victoria Sutton, aka, Passionspromise. It is stanzaic, and syllabic, with a minimum of 3 quintains, and no maximum. The first four lines are 8 syllables, the fifth line is 6 syllables. This poem follows a Modified Rondel Grand (see note on rhyme pattern). Rhyme Pattern: ababR cdcdR..etc. Note: This poem was modified to an abcbR, etc. rhyme pattern. Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.~~Robert Frost |