Was It by Chance?

Terzanelle

The Terzanelle is a poetry type, which is a combination of the villanelle and the terza rima forms.  It is a 19-line poem consisting of five interlocking triplets/tercets plus a concluding quatrain in which the first and third lines of the first triplet appear as refrains.  The middle line of each triplet is repeated, reappearing as the last line of the succeeding triplet with the exception of the center-line of the next-to-the-last stanza which appears in the quatrain.  Each line of the poem should be the same metrical length.

Was It by Chance?

Was it by chance

You’d understand?

Was it by chance?

Just for today

Someone was here,

You’d understand.

How would you know

With foreign ears?

Someone was here

Offering love

Within our doors

With foreign ears

Extending hands

Beyond a voice

Within our doors,

A kindred voice.

Was it by chance

Your first day here?

Was it by chance?

A muslim woman came to our church yesterday.  She spoke very little English.  We have a small congregation.  Was it by chance that we had two other people visiting us also for the first time who could speak some Arabic?  What are the chances?

Maple Sunset

Ah, the quiet, the long views, the setting sun.  We arrived in time to see the sunset and have the cooler night breezes beginning.  I never tire of Aroostook County.  So here's an Etheree for last night...remember an Etheree is 1 to 10 syllables increasing for each line.

Tree
Shadow

As sun sets

Flowing growing

Cool shady fingers

Stretching, reaching warm ground

The sun probes leafy branches

Piercing through to the dark green side

One last bright spot before sun’s rays slip

Below to grace someone’s morning coffee

Consider the Taradiddle

TeacherDance threw out a word on Monday that I could not leave alone either.  I pictured an interesting creature, and I had to let it loose.  Perhaps someone else out there would like to take a swing at the "taradiddle" riddle.  Here's my swing at it!  Thanks TeacherDance for the strange word!

Consider the terrible taradiddle
With teeth as black as a cast iron griddle,
And the fearsome voice of an untuned fiddle,
Claws so sharp they are used to whittle,
Eyes not on top but in his middle,
And from his mouth spew bits of spittle.
It does not matter if you're big or little,
I would not linger nor finger twiddle
Anywhere near a taradiddle!
​

Always End With a Question?

What has it meant to write every day?
Discipline.
Has it been easy and seemed like child's play?
I only wish.

Were there brain cramps and grumblings some nights?
Yes.
Was slicing the cause of some family fights?
Could be.

Did we, new friends, virtually meet?
Read you Tuesdays!
Was reading their slice a virtual treat?
Deliciously so!

Has writing become our voice or a bore?
Well spoken.
Has writing become our choice or a chore?
Chosen.

As we were writing did we have fun?
Scads.
Are we sad that the work here is done?
It is?

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This is a "double post" as I could not resist the challenge of the "Found iPod Poetry".  I do not have "regular" music on my iPod.  Be aware, it's all Christian music, so it was a challenge to see what could be made of it for a "Found Poem".  Here goes!

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Hold on,

Press on,

Day by day,

Overcomer.

Morning has broken;

Sunlight,

Fill me now;

Use us.

Deep,

Sweet happiness!

One thing I know,

I must be special.

Nearer, still nearer

You raise me up.

I've been changed;

I stand redeemed.

Blessed assurance,

By and by,

You can start all over again,

If you believe.

Wayfaring stranger,

Come home.

I can only imagine

This must be the place!