Poetry Submission: Cyhydedd Hir

el34ax7:

For reminding and advertising :D

Originally posted on Voices of Poetry & Prose:

For the upcoming Fall Issue of Voices of Poetry & Prose, we will be accepting submissions for two specific poetry forms over the next couple of weeks.

The second poetry form is the Cyhydedd Hir. Here is the format for this poetry form:

  • It is an octave stanza (8 lines) made up of two quatrains (4 lines). The syllable count is 5-5-5-4-5-5-5-4 and the rhyming scheme is aaaBaaaB. If you do more than two quatrains the rhyming scheme would be as follows: aaaBaaaBcccDcccD. The five syllable lines all have the same end rhyme and the four syllable lines carry the second rhyme from stanza to stanza.

Here is an example of a Cyhydedd Hir that I wrote:

We are women, brave.
With our words we pave,
the road that will save
us from our past

Hope is now in sight.
Standing strong – we fight.
We shall walk in light.

View original 83 more words

In a Field of Sunflowers

From Paul Sonne's Twitter:  Next to the crash site, the most beautiful field of sunflowers swaying in the summer wind. #MH17

From Paul Sonne’s Twitter: Next to the crash site, the most beautiful field of sunflowers swaying in the summer wind. #MH17

And there they rest
In a field of sunflowers
Swaying in the summer breeze
Families frozen, locked in place
A blight on discovery
Those returned from prayer
From one of 5 times a day
Lain in a field
Beneath the sunflower’s sway

298

In a ball of light,
I saw their lives ignite,
extinguished, in the press

And although I
Barely batted an eye,
I recognized each death

As each word blames
The unrepentant flames
On his personal cause

Soon, our TV sets
Will certainly forget
The number that’s been lost

A Sonnet & My Muse

 

Do I wait for my Love, wait for this muse
To find me napping, or with pen in hand
Only to savour each whimsied demand
Where I shall be punished should I refuse

And should I refuse, yet follow her still
My muse may bless with an exquisite penance
The prick of her whip my arrant ebullience
Which fills my blood with a dubious thrill

And with this blood may I find the diction
To letter each name she calls in rapture
‘Fore I collapse beneath her exhaustion
Recording each wail she deems I capture

Dear Love, be merry; I came to my muse!
With a pen in hand, how could one refuse?