Bliss
An exercise in recognizing how good it is to be alive. In iambic tetrameter and trimeter. To the tune of "Sweet Spirits Do Surround Us Now." Sort of.
My family's home, the fridge is full;
No dishes in the sink.
Our flat is warm, the laundry's done;
There's time to sit and think.
There may be more to say, but I can't think of it right now without getting somewhat sappy. At least, that's what my husband said about the next stanza that I wrote last night so I think I'll keep working on this one.
Meanwhile, a little something for all those of you waiting for the next episode of Battlestar Galactica this Friday, again in iambic tetrameter and trimeter:
A Cylon's not like you or me,
Their spines glow in the dark.
But get them on theology,
And watch their conscience spark.
And in trochaic tetrameter:
Happy Cylons are a mystery,
What they know and why they care.
Number Six loves Doctor Gaius
Hoping he will not despair.
I have more in my notebook, but I think I'll spare you. In case you're wondering, I'm up to chapter IV in Stephen Fry's The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within (2005), which is some explanation for why I'm doing these metrical exercises, but please don't blame Mr. Fry for the quality of my verse! He's just trying to help me understand meter. The subject matter is all my fault. Well, almost. He did suggest Television as the topic for Poetry Exercise 5, which was timely because B*G Season 4, Episodes 2-5 had just showed up from Netflix.
Aren't you glad I'm learning to write poetry? So much more interesting than just writing about its function in prayers. Which, truth to tell, is really what my book is going to be about. Aren't you excited now? Maybe I'll even get good enough to include some of my own poems. I'd like that, wouldn't you? Too bad, I'm going to keep trying anyway. : )
My family's home, the fridge is full;
No dishes in the sink.
Our flat is warm, the laundry's done;
There's time to sit and think.
There may be more to say, but I can't think of it right now without getting somewhat sappy. At least, that's what my husband said about the next stanza that I wrote last night so I think I'll keep working on this one.
Meanwhile, a little something for all those of you waiting for the next episode of Battlestar Galactica this Friday, again in iambic tetrameter and trimeter:
A Cylon's not like you or me,
Their spines glow in the dark.
But get them on theology,
And watch their conscience spark.
And in trochaic tetrameter:
Happy Cylons are a mystery,
What they know and why they care.
Number Six loves Doctor Gaius
Hoping he will not despair.
I have more in my notebook, but I think I'll spare you. In case you're wondering, I'm up to chapter IV in Stephen Fry's The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within (2005), which is some explanation for why I'm doing these metrical exercises, but please don't blame Mr. Fry for the quality of my verse! He's just trying to help me understand meter. The subject matter is all my fault. Well, almost. He did suggest Television as the topic for Poetry Exercise 5, which was timely because B*G Season 4, Episodes 2-5 had just showed up from Netflix.
Aren't you glad I'm learning to write poetry? So much more interesting than just writing about its function in prayers. Which, truth to tell, is really what my book is going to be about. Aren't you excited now? Maybe I'll even get good enough to include some of my own poems. I'd like that, wouldn't you? Too bad, I'm going to keep trying anyway. : )
In direct response to your queries in the last graph: Yes, yes quite, and yes very much so. (I'd add an exclamation point, but I am morally opposed.)
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