Here's some stuff I wrote last year - I was doing it on one of the writers's forums as a project . . .
Day 1
Stand there,
feet flat on floor,
'bout six inches apart;
breathe in and out and keep your hands
at your sides - gently smile - turn everything
over to the goddess
of Monday - breathe!
Stand there!
Carly Svamvour - May, 2004
Day 2
Twenty
fourth of May; 'twas
the Queen's Birthday and all
were given a holiday - she
who is the Goddess of Monday mornings
was off work - looked on as I dug
up
weeds that would make do.
There were about
twenty
THAT IS a form called 'rictameter'. Some of you already know this, but I'm just explaining it for the benefit of anyone whodoes not. Sometimes I forget to make enough lines on it, but what you're supposed to do is start with two syllables then do 4, then 6, then 8, then 10 - then you work your way back.
You end up with this . . .
2
4
6
8
10
8
6
4
2
There's rules to this form - the first two syllables must be the same as the last two in your poem.
You should strive to make longer lines say something on their own.
I don't always make it.
......................
Day 3
Sensational Salivations
Scrump-delicious - all you can
eat - sensational salivations
offered free. Here's my plate,
top it up for me.
I'll pass on the intercourse
maybe settle for the second;
lemon pies . . . oh, yes! Yes!
fork by fork!
Watch the gluten, eh?
Pooh! I'll turn it over
to the Goddess of Monday Morning.
She
always
takes
the
weekend
off.
Carly Svamvour - May, 2004
THAT WASN'T any form in particular - I just made it up as I wrote it.
................
SAME WITH this one here - nothing in particular, as to traditional form - a free style, I guess . . .
Day 4
Most of my poems
just say what I feel
at the time they're written.
Like
these
ones of late
a
m
b
l
i
n
g
on about walks in parks,
goddesses, the ones
in charge of days
like Monday, all
the
weeds I pick up,
transplant . . .
Well,
I could be doing worse.
Carly - May, 2004
AS YOU CAN see, I was heavily into the gardenin' when I did that project.
Day 5
This morning I waded into it;
didn't even take a few minutes
to pray, take a deep breath, write
to anybody or anything - I just walked
out the door and threw my arms to the sky,
singing some low version of the hallejulia
chorus, even a few bars of Argentina.
I took to it well; by Sunday night,
my shorts and shirt will still be slightly
damp, and my hair will still have those few
bits of chestnut blossom entwined in the
raggles I haven't taken the time to brush.
When the Goddess of Monday Morning
will say 'Well? Did you have a nice
weekend?'
I will try to be modest.
I DON'T think I published any of those - I might have sent them out to publishers and got them back as rejections - don't really remember right now.