Today I wrote my first duplex and the counting down the days of April made me feel like Scheherezade. What if it must never end? And the dog, the dog is always here somewhere.
Prompt 27: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a duplex. A duplex is a variation on the sonnet, developed by the poet Jericho Brown. … Like a typical sonnet, a duplex has fourteen lines. It’s organized into seven two-line stanzas. The second line of the first stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the second stanza, the second line of the second stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the third stanza, and so on. The last line of the poem is the same as the first.“
Easy peasy, right? Well… I had to read the above a few times and look at the examples, but when I started to write my own it gave me much joy. Thank you, I love learning and trying new poetic forms.
Scheherezade The dog is in the sun. I pinch my finger with a pin and think of something embarrassing that I have just realised. I have realised something embarrassing and it's not of the riches, even though this is what I call my blog. I may call my blog An Embarrassment of Riches but only now I realise how true this is. Only now I realise how true it is that the riches of fantasy is an embarrassing thing. Or is it the fantasy of riches? Embarrassing in either case. Baaba Maal is playing. My mind travels. The dog barks. My mind travels to where the music is taking me. The dog barks. I’m embarrassed now that I know. I feel like Scheherezade. You are a poet, Scheherezade. You’d be embarrassed too if you knew. The dog is in the sun. I pinch my finger with a pin and think.
The photos are not from today but this is how he sunbathes.
The last day in my NaPoWriMo history
2018: The Devil (Rubaiyat)
The first time that I pulled the devil card was when the actors’ troupe had made it hard to miss it since one hanged it round my neck and I was forced to act in this regard. Then Niki’s Tarot Garden and her deck were waiting for me to arrive and check each statue to decide which one was best at capturing my heart without a crack. At first glance I stood still as if possessed. Her calm stance made me think this was a test. At once a thought formed in my weakened state: “Out-Deviling the Devil is my quest!”
2019: Thy worst all best exceeds (Shakespeare cento)
Love: the general of hot desire, gentle cheater, poor drudge that in my mind is too young to know love-kindling fire to be what conscience is, proud of this pride. To stand in thy affairs, flesh born of love, betraying deep oaths of thy deep kindness, was vowing new hate after new bed-vow. Healthful remedy gave eyes to blindness. For I have sworn thee fair but found no cure against strange maladies, powerful might from holy fire of Love still to endure, which men prove foul – a lie to my true sight. To keep thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, my vows are oaths of insufficiency.
2020: If I can do it (sonnet)
Is Harvard not what once it was? I wonder, perusing this strange book that lies before me with question-marks where there should clearly not be, and unknown signatures. What gives? I ponder. They took a goat’s skin for this ledger – sorry – dyed it to match with blended scratches under, retained the spine, rebacked it, and not squander with missing names some of old Harvard’s glory? (Read on.)
2021: To an unknown hacker
major haunting feeling that it is going to be okay, that we are in lilo* together, and that next year we meet again right here on this site which neither you nor any of your relatives will succeed in hacking. Why? Because what we know, possess, and are able to do is a surprise even to ourselves.
This day in my blogging history
A samurai enters a tea parlour.
A woman asks him to whom he sold his sword.
Samurai looks at her sternly and replies morosely: “I didn’t sell it. Anyway, it was not a sword but rather a bowl of rice, I hardly got anything for it.”
The woman adds: “Why is it then that you have two swords in your belt?” —Mladina magazine 1988
When the axe came into the forest the trees said the handle is one of us. ―Alice Walker