Are you up for the challenge?

Goodness

Mr. Man in quest of goodness
Can search for years and rarely witness
The power of true human kindness


Always taking never giving
Pissing off the life he’s living
Possession and glamour driven
Ignoring his blatant blindness

One day a cruel turn might take him
Make him worry, really shake him
Then reality will wake him
Make him notice Death’s dark closeness

Will there be some mercy offered?
Gentle grace quietly proffered?
Any goodness, before the coffin?
Or will eternity be joyless?

Angels tread on earthly feet
Unattested, shy, discreet
Mission focused, no conceit
Touch a man and leave him speechless

No judgement made on character
Scum bag, bum, or cool charmer
Decaying, doomed, mortal matter
Soon to drift in seas of blackness

Goodness plays no silly favor
Goodness knows no worthless labour
Goodness only goodness savours
There is no argument for goodness

So Goodness does what goodness should
Grabs Mr. Man and shakes him Good
Hangs him by his well groomed foot
And wraps him up in blissfullness


Will Mr Man, now limp and languid
No longer hurried, crass or guarded
Become sweet and humble-hearted
Or continue in his arrogance?

We know the story, you and I
That we’re the stars we can’t deny
Perhaps it’s wise to stop and try
To give this goodness one more chance






Next form, hmm, I'd like to see someone else try a Zejel. It was an interesting and fun experience. It's difficult to keep the theme from sounding forced and corny, yet stay within a rhyme scheme. Mine went in a completely different direction than I intended.

Ok, next: Zejel.

Witnessing the birds go by,
lonely heart gives up a sigh
humming soft -a lullaby.

Little does this spirit know;
watching sweetly from the snow
fairies on their small feet go
dance to lullaby.

Last of sunrays flee in fright,
twilight goes to darkened night,
lonely heart lights candle light,
gaze on falling snow.

Candle flickers, build to flame,
whispers out a hidden name
lonely city calls the same,
such a pretty sight.

Listen close and you can hear
voices singing every year -
you don’t have to live in fear
just light up the flame.

Next form: Pantoum

Made popular in the nineteenth century, the French and English call their more elaborate form the pantoum, a poem in which the the second and fourth lines of a stanza become the first and third lines of the next stanza, and lace together somewhat like a corset on a French tart as the poem of proceeds. The modern pantoum can be any length the poet wishes but will usually end (at least the English version does) with the first line of the poem repeated as the last line of the poem, and the third line of the poem (third line of the first quatrain) as the second line of the last quatrain. Get that? Now, despite the silly simile above, the pantoum need not be humorous. Rather, a pantoum would be purposefully wise (remember the old "proverbial" style), and build with touches of irony, using those striking line repetitions as it proceeds (combined with altered meaning we also saw in the sonnet, villanelle, and sestina), and climbing to a big finish, to a veritable penthouse of profound thought (a penthouse replete, one might find, with lovely French tarts--oops, being silly again), or to some more gentle, yet still incisive conceit.

Click to expand...

For more info and sample http://members.aol.com/lucyhardng/pointers/form4.htm#forms5

*groans* I just realized I read the form wrong. Ehrm, I mean -I did an adaptation. ^o^ So here's a traditional version as well...with a small twist at the end, cuz I wanted to.

One, two and tap your feet,
three, four and make the beat
do the dance, then take a seat.

Next one up -top that show!
Take a chance and let it flow,
mess it up and you must go.
Don't you love that beat?

Lessons taught -learn them fast,
see this game is built to last.
'Fore you know the roles are cast.
Can you take the heat?

Spin and dip, turn and kick.
Sweaty now? Take the lick.
Damn those moves are really slick,
there's fire from your feet.

Swing and gyrate, drop,
while struggling to the top
then know when to stop
and go take your seat.

You won't know defeat
if you feel the beat
and can take the heat.

Next form -still pantoum (see the post before this one)

A Sovereign's Birth (Pantoum)

Angels herald a Sovereign's birth
And shepherds tremble at the sight;
"The One who with a word formed earth,
In Bethlehem is born tonight."

And shepherds tremble at the sight
Of swaddled Babe in stable cold;
In Bethlehem is born tonight
The One eternity deemed old.

What could all creation give
The One who with a word formed earth?
Born to die that we might live,
Angels herald a Sovereign's birth.

© 2006 by Patricia S. Baker
First published by Bent Tree Lifeline, Dec. 25, 2007.



Next form: sonnet

You fold your past into a gift -- a cake
A gift for your mother, so thick and sweet.
A chocolate cake that it take days to make.
You close your past away, turn up the heat.

Your mother won’t touch it. She knows you,
As she made you, bedding down each gift
With something toxic. You always give, too,
Something painful, scar what you have kissed.

You’ll pour it down her throat if you must,
Hands on her jaws, holding open
Her biting teeth. Your past: bile and dust.
You forcefeed cake until she is choking.

You hope it hurts. Your hope it burns. Your past
Tearing her up, as she tore you. At last.



Next form: Triolet.

It's a French fixed form from the middle ages. Eight lines rhyming ABaAabAB (the capital letters representing repeated lines, or refrains).

The shadow of the dying year falls across the new
Edging black into the light, dulling it to dark
Casting shades on the hopes of the many and the few
The shadow of the dying year falls across the new
With laughter and joy their frolics they pursue
The old year passes, the new one comes. Hark,
The shadow of the dying year falls across the new
Edging black into the light and dulling it to dark.


Next form: Ballade: http://www.noggs.dsl.pipex.com/vf/ballade.htm