A New Life
an English ode
With the blending of two souls,
in a dance as old as time
a spark ignites, and a cell divides;
a baby—hers and mine.
Conceived in a moment of utter joy,
a new and shining life
begins to make it’s presence known
deep inside my wife.
Soon the little flutters start
as miniature muscles twitch;
the first kicks then are seen and felt
causing skin to stretch and itch.
The mystery is half the fun.
A girl? A boy? Who knows?
A healthy baby’s all we want
and pray for as it grows.
Watching as her tummy swells
and trying out new names;
Awaiting for new life to come
but not the labor pains!
How Small We Are
an American trijan refrain
Our Mother Earth—in blue-green gown—
on whom we all depend,
with rain will wash, and surf will pound;
our sins she’ll slowly mend.
As rivers flow toward distant seas,
from human stains they will be free.
__As rivers flow,
__as rivers flow,
so do the tears I weep for thee.
In nature wonders still abound,
despite the filth we send
into her heart, she still astounds;
her beauty knows no end.
As breezes blow around the lee
of rocks and stones, she laughs with glee!
__As breezes blow,
__as breezes blow,
her hidden strength becomes the key.
Her ageless wisdom can be found
in stem and leaf and tree,
while man’s great works will be worn down;
gone in mere centuries.
As forests grow above the scree,
so do her mountains from the sea;
__as forests grow,
__as forests grow,
she will, when we’re but memory.
Season’s End
a Welsh awdl gywydd (involving syllabic verse)
Slowly fades the winter sun;
__color’s done, now comes the gray.
Darkness, painted on the snow—
__shadows grow, and edges fray.
Lifetime’s worth of memories
__on cold breezes start to play;
sepia hued monochrome;
__faded tones of yesterday.
Long before I was alone—
__still unknown, the loneliness
I’ve lived with since you had to go;
__I didn’t know how I was blessed.
In the springtime, we were young;
__songs we’d sung, the sun above
shone down on us from the sky,
__flying high on wings of love.
Summer found us dancing strong
__Days were long and sun was bright
Our family began to bloom
__Beneath the moon, you held me tight.
In the autumn we enjoyed
__girls and boys—our grandkids all
filled our lives with wondrous glee;
__a strong tree, no longer small.
Sadness as the seasons turned,
when we learned you’d soon be gone.
You faced the end, strong and brave;
love you gave, second to none.
Now grows darkest ebony,
__calling me to you again;
Missing you for days untold,
__I’ve grown old, with wrinkled skin.
Here I sit, end drawing near . . .
__soon my dear, I’ll be with you.
As the sun slips from the sky,
__my goodbyes fade into blue.
Dusty Grein is a poet, novelist, editor, and book producer. His written work has been published in numerous magazines, books, as well as print and online journals. He has had poetry translated into several languages worldwide, is the co-author of a book on crafting classical poetry, and his How To articles can be found reprinted in several locations. Dusty lives, works, and plays in the Pacific Northwestern United States. There he enjoys spending his time, whenever possible, spoiling many of his 14 grandchildren, before sending them back home to their parents.
Excellent, lovely, surpassing very much commentary on my part.
Thank you Alexander.
Both heartfelt and accomplished,
Thanks Sally. I think the best pieces come from the heart, and only get a slight filtering by the head.
Poetry at its’ best!
Thank you Joe. Yours is the kind of comment that brings joy to an old poet’s heart. I truly like these three together, because they encompass the cycle of life—and they span time, geography, and culture in form and style.
In the last quatrain of the first poem, don’t use “tummy.” It is silly and puerile, and it spoils the entire effect of the piece as a whole. Say “full womb” or something else dignified.
Thanks for the comment Joseph. The poem was originally a children’s piece, written for my unborn daughter, and I did modify it to read less like a child’s poem, for publication here. I suppose I could have changed the word tummy, but—in my mind at least—it is the perfect word for discussing pregnancy with little ones, who are at their best when a little silly.
You have some very good poetry here. Well done.
Thank you. I really enjoyed crafting all of these.
Dusty, some interesting forms here of which I haven’t heard before. I don’t mind overly sentimental verse, but be careful where you send it. There is no sentiment as sweet as that enjoyed when a baby is in the oven. Sometimes I wish I could have felt it more than just twice. Here is what I think might be the ultimate poem on this topic:
http://www.storyit.com/Classics/JustPoems/babydear.htm
Thanks C.B. – I agree that not all poems fit well into all venues. I love that this particular forum exists, to share our creative classical forms, and read some amazing poems by the all the eclectic contributors. The forms here span the world, and I love exploring as many different cultural and historical styles as possible.
Hey, Dusty,
Found you on Whatfinger. Way to go!
Eric Martell
Thanks, Dr. M!
That is crazy, but kind of cool. I love that SCP gets extra exposure, and while I have a lot of poetry on the site here, this set is one of my favorites.
The wonder of Life: fragile, yet enduring, has been expressed beautifully.
Thank you David. I’m glad that theme came through.
I particularly like How Small We Are – it has a lovely, wistful effect, and the repetitions in the last three lines of each stanza are very haunting. Well done. Good to see such work.
Thank you James. The trijan form can create powerful statements with those repeating refrain lines. The form itself is supposed to have all three verses begin with a refrained line as well, but I am nothing if not original—and slightly askew.