NovPAD 2024 • 06, 07, 08

Third Place • Origin Story • Ekphrastic

This month’s theme: “Where I Am: Poems of Place”

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11/06 • Third Place • Gift that Keeps Giving

“There’s home, there’s work, and there’s the third place in your community. Think libraries and coffee shops. Where’s yours?” My third place is in music.

—

When my father daily bothered through my pother and for my gain

to train my ear and strictly steer my fingers near the pleasing strains

a cello makes I thought I’d break. I thought to shake that ball and chain

after high school but was a fool (or stubborn mule) and over-vain.

That precious gift I gave short shrift and set adrift came back again

and not enforced this time, a source of joy divorced from the coarse rein

and bridle. Found within the sound of notes unbound: community’s refrain.

—

This is a rhupunt – each line is composed of 4 sections, and each section contains 4 syllables. The first 3 syllables of each line end-rhyme, and all the 4th sections end-rhyme with one another. I prefer the formatting above as opposed to the alternate formatting, shown below in a footnote.¹

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11/07 • Origin Story • Halcyon

“Where did you come from? Not just physical location, but why you are who you are.” Today’s poem is about the internal threads that have affected me most.

I come from insecurity
from the purity
of quick reaction’s
interaction with the truth
and what I wish it was.

I come from timeless memory
from the tremor seen
at center stage of
wrinkled time, magician’s dove
pulled from an empty hat.

I come from anger quick and hot
from defensive shots
across the bow, war
breaking out for smallest slights
on even friendly shores.

I come from tension with the world
from white sails unfurled
despite the whipping
wind and ripping rain, the gale
mast-breaking in its force.

I come from silver shores aflame
from bright words that tamed
the seas and settled
heaven’s homeland in my heart
and planted Eden’s door.

I come from hope, I come from shame
from internal blame
wrought into blessing
by my Brother as he’s dressing
me to join Him at the feast.

—

This one doesn’t have a named form that I tried to follow, but I’m sure something similar exists out there and has a name. It may be close to a type of Welsh form with the varied syllable counts in each stanza and mix of internal and end rhymes.

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11/07 • Form Friday • Ekphrastic

I took the image inspiring today’s poem on a date with my wife. This form is a virelai, but I cheated a little and made it aspirational rather than a narrative like the form generally calls for. It's made up of syllabic nonets: 5-5-2-5-5-2-5-5-2, as many nonets as you want. You’ll see the rhyme scheme and notice that the short lines for stanza 3 are the same end rhyme as the long lines in stanza 1.

© 2014 Mark Rico

Come, let’s take a walk
in the dark and stalk
the tracks,
leave the way unblocked 
for all kinds of talk,
unpack
our secrets and gawk
at the moon, unlocked
from black

shackles. Let us lack
sense of time and stack
mistakes,
set them alight, pack
bags with travel snacks,
and shake
the past from our backs,
let it lie, attack
the ache

‘til it’s less opaque
and we’re wide awake
in shock.
Let’s walk up the wake
of the moon and slake
our thirst with light, break
the locks
into its vault, take
its rocks.

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1. When father

daily bothered

through my pother

and for my gain

to train my ear

and strictly steer

my fingers near

the pleasing strains

a cello makes

I thought I’d break.

I thought to shake

that ball and chain

after high school

but was a fool

(or stubborn mule)

and over-vain.

That precious gift

I gave short shrift

and set adrift

came back again

and not enforced

this time, a source 

of joy divorced

from the coarse rein

and bridle. Found

within the sound

of notes unbound:

community’s refrain.