The last line by line challenge - a sonnet is always a quatorzain but ....

[Piscator]

It’s now October, and another line is added to the stanza(s) bringing us to 14-line forms or quatorzains. While a sonnet is always a quatorzain, a quatorzain need not always be a sonnet. Again the Poets Collective has an extensive listing of quatorzains . I encourage you to try to some of them in between your sonnets.

This marks the end of a full year’s cycle of line by line challenges. Thanks to all for taking part.

 

[Tzara]

Celebration

October 1. At last we're ending
our year-long quest to romp and rhyme
throughout poetics—striving, bending,
our syntax stopping on a dime
when we hit the prescribèd boundary
and cast in bronze our poem's foundry
to thud like pig iron or like lead
upon the mattress of each thread
that Piscator, our clever mentor,
made up each month for us to use
to thrill or woo or to amuse
each other in linguistic splendor.
My thanks to him and to you all;
though not through pubs, it's been a crawl.

 

[Moochienanu]

October the 2th

My daughter is growing faster than I can hold her
The years slip through fingertips
And seven cakes now have born with her candles,
But I want to hold her here -
Right now,
In this time,
Where she is still a child who needs me -
Where she still gets scared when the jumps of movies
Cheaply take her childhood -
While she is in my arms,
Held where she belongs,
Until her teenage heart changes,
Finding me irrelevant -
An unknown again until her own child is born.

 

[Angeline]

And now iambic bells will ding-a-ling.
Let's hope that I have something new to say
Cause fourteen liners haven't been my thing:
For some time now I've kept the urge at bay.
In truth I like the modern sonnets best,
Prefer it when I only hear the poem,
Not thinking of what is and isn't stressed,
Or if a near rhyme might make readers groan.
But I concur that free verse isn't free
Forethought and care is what makes reading pop.
Though this poem's singy-songy as you see,
At least it's only two lines till I stop.
I hope you didn't mind my silly song,
Thank God it's done and now I'll move along.

 

[Winter_Fare]

Twelve Steps

The scent of you, the air that follows you
From where you lay your head still reeks of weed.
It's like the breath of that which swallowed you,
A monster filling you with endless need.
And since your belly swelled enough to show
That you are not alone in your sick skin,
Hate clouds the hearts of those that think they know -
That judge this babe the wages of your sin.
If they could only see how far you've come!
If they could only see the cross you bear,
On shoulders burdened heavy and so young,
Trying hard to put your foot on that first stair.
They would not cut their eyes, but lend an arm,
And lift you and your precious babe from harm.

 

[Tzara]

Dreaming of Susan

She is wearing a green dress
whose seams are split
by an overeager partner
desperate to get at her perfect body.

Of course, I want that too,
but instead we kiss,
over and over and over
like flowers brushing petals
against each other in a gentle wind.

I almost remember her breasts,
or her long, slim thighs,
but my dream doesn't go there finally,
though I wish it would, and I wake

thinking I taste her lips. Both lips.

 

[Piscator]

14 Lines

FreeForm’s never easy
for there’s always rules
the trick is to bend the structure
within an amorphous form
monkeys at a typewriter channelling Shakespeare
while dancing on an invisible stage.

Climbing with no rope
to grasp the rules of rock, roll, freefall and gravity.
Line length variable although each line must
end someplace even runonsenetences.
Rhyme optional but not forbidden
although some frown upon it.
As Darrell said “Fuck em if they can’t take a joke”
followed by “Fuck em if they can!”

 

[HarryHill]

..
Fourteen Line Preamble
...

 

[HarryHill]

..
Southern Exposure
...

 

[butters]

14 lines for October


So fungi's here to get the season straight:
There's Chicken-of-the-woods to marinate
As smaller Hens refuse to be outdone
And form great frothy mounds like real hens' bums.

Beware, beginners, though, of too much haste:
It's always best to start out with a taste;
For smaller portions, cut–not slabs like brick,
Once cooked, are less inclined to make one sick

Nor tingle at the gills while tummy rumbles
As inner monologues resign to grumbles.
Be sure to know exactly what you've got
Before you cook and eat the bloody lot!

Fry or dry them, stew for something wetter...
But cooking law states "butter makes 'em better!".

 

[HarryHill]

..
Six Squared Plus Six
...

 

[HarryHill]

Stumble Footed Iambic Disaster

Wild one, baby she's a wild one, oh yay.
Her eyes admit nothing as she passes,
can't tell color, maybe hazel or grey,
hidden under sexy lowered lashes,

Now she's so fine I'll have to say, listen,
come on wild one, give me a play, baby,
you know I'm a mad man on a mission,
crazy wild one, betting on a lady.

Run to catch her as she sways on, oh my
finally caught up with her, laid out my line,
your place or mi casa, honey decide,
come on wild one, say you want to be mine.

Well now, she's the only one so kinky,
wild one's got me 'round her little pinkie.

 

[Piscator]

I've been moving since it began
just don't want to meet the meat man
now that I'm vegetarian.
But my woman Unitarian
whose father's Presbyterian
says “It’s all in God's plan."
All this bible thumping flim-flan
has me retching for the trashcan
Brother Tzara says, "It's all scam."
Sister Angie notes, "It don't scan."

So I think I'll go on the lam
head out West to Ciscofran San
cross the ocean in a Sampan
yet with all I'm still whom I am.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

A rose is a rose
so stop and bend
inhale the scent
her folds enclose

here where the sisters reside,

A rose is a rose
a gown so light
with colors bright
from head to toes

who could commit a floricide...?

A rose is a rose
a transformed queen
in the green,
who knows?​

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Pottery Lottery

Darkness of the morning light
a short-lived heat
never creamy sweet delight
where lips and hardness meet

And I follow and follow
down into this rabbit hole
but this thing so hollow
never had a soul​

Pure emptiness I've found
insistent inquiry
deep on the earthen ground
a question without expiry​

Repeat, repeat, until no further
again, "another...?"​

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Veins of Ice

like a moth to Luna's light
here I stand and shiver
drawn to night's silky dress
her flimsy gown made of vapor
but anything but see-trough
digging nails with fervor
into the frozen armor

clinging to skin so tight
a damsel in no distress
dodges every blow I deliver
fingers of passion turning blue
the thinnest mist blocks our caper
she's a cold-shouldered charmer
but yet I still serve her​

 

[butters]

days after days after days

almost slept away October's
cooler nights and breeze-blown days
sneezy, sniffly, aching brain-fogs
snuggled under soft duvets

time sits soft as golden toffee
rosy banks of pleated days
sunshine, rain–they flow and puddle
tree-limbs bask in golden rays

hard to string three words together
in these shorter, limestruck days
it's not covid just adjusting
sound and silence weave their ways

body mumbles calculations
awol mind drifts on vay-cay-shun!

 

[Remec]

Just Some Last Thoughts

There's no arguing over the point,
Dad was a big man--not fat, mind you,
although he was certainly tipping the scales
more than he really ought to have been;
but he was large, large enough to have been
scary to me long after I had left childhood,
but he had this smile that, usually,
reduced him to the largeness of a teddy,
and showed out much of a leprechaun
was hiding inside him somewhere,
somewhere within that heart that made him
work so hard for others through the years--
with the Knights, Special Olympics, and coaching kids teams;
I should be lucky enough to be so big.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Finger-licking good

Today, a merchant ship brought from the east
my new Rousseaun Pride from the catalogue,
striding down the gangway, in boots en vogue,
behind crew and captain, lust but not leased.

Straight for ward where my home resides, we'd walk
but thirsty throats, down the roads, to a pub!
eel, ale, my life's tale; "So, you are my sub-
tle new hobby?" her lips start to talk.

"You see," a finger gone, "we must improve.
Start with yourself," adding more, "That's my truth."
Her wordy waves stimulating witty.

She asks me aloud in this public space,
a threesome of fingers before my face,
"You don't mind me feeding my lil Kitty?"

 

[EllenMore]

Hallowe'en

I went costumed as Ophelia
and drank too much,
missing my father.

The Prince ignored me
as he usually did,
and my brother

stoked his anger in an alcove,
conversing with our unreliable king.

If I had let Hamlet fuck me,
would we have avoided
disaster? Or

would I have anyway been mother
to some genetic degradation,
that left us with flippers instead of hands?

 

[Angeline]

Tempus Fugit

Eighteen years ago
we were new fallen. On this night
in 2003 you bid me stay up, wait
for your big scary kiss.

But you're gone over six years now.
How can that be? You're here with me
in thoughts and dreams,
you fill my memory, fire my imagination.
If I wish hard enough, if I think
and think I can conjure
the scent of your skin, the comfort
in the circle of your warm arms.

Dear god forgive this obsession,
and keep my ghosts close by.

 

[Piscator]

Calliope Lost

Under her magic, honeyed words poured forth
filling his fervent verse with rhyme and wit
for suitors to woo and doxies commit
to carnal indulgence and thus henceforth
as topmost poetaster of the north
his purse was filled with gold and silver bit.
But at autumn's end, away he would split
to rest in warm climes untill May the fourth.

Then an El Nino year, when she stayed south
his verse thickened, treacle in climate's scold
his sharp pen, now dull, only rent a page
full of awkward phrases, crude and uncouth
his once bright parlance now tattered and old
as her light shifted to another stage.

 

[Lyricalli]

Truly alone for the first time
in what seems like another life ago
how has so much changed
when so much still feels the same
too much going on
stress keeps rising
EKG says I'm fine
though I still feel like I'm dying
I don't know what it's racing
as it keeps ramming against the walls
of my chest
but it's trying to escape
and I can't decide
if I want to run away too