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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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In a Day From Joy to Sorrow
At six a.m., my head haloed with joy,
cramming hope into morning's wake-up call,
I arise to decode an innovative world
with floral visions that thrive in love
to feel the hungry itch in prolific soil,
and imagine he shall show up, today.
Though narrow as thread, hope's seedlings, today,
I let daring words perch on my lips with joy,
to link promises of trust to the lush soil,
and notice its gift, an angelic call,
chanting with rapture for a tryst of love;
through glory, all will be right with my world.
It's noon; iffy reign of the midday world
speed-walks in daze, in odd cycles, today.
Could indecision be catalyst to love,
while the sun glares in tentative joy?
I stand, my drooping arms waiting his call
like leafless branches slithering on soil.
I, a weeping willow on shaky soil,
watch heaven's river and the thirsting world
to wind down powerless, hoping for a call,
and I fumble through my dying tune, today.
When a tedium juggles fear and joy,
can one strong heart break easily for love?
With the setting sun, sorrow falls on love,
the last bloom fades on deplorable soil,
in feral ecstasy, hope burns its joy,
and night wags its black-cat tail to the world.
No pain is greater than love's grief, today
no return to light, never will he call.
The saddest prospect, long-forgotten call,
grief lets free its thorns in me, when hushed love
takes cover under canopied eyes, today.
A zombie in black tuxedo this soil,
and mourning lasts in cinders of the world;
unmasked as sadness is a foolish joy.
The ghost of his call, now, buried in soil,
love's faith is denied and lost to the world,
but in sorrow, today, lies a trace of joy.
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Prompt: Write a poem in the sestina form featuring two opposite emotions. You are to the first two stanzas using the first emotion, the middle two stanzas transition to the next emotion, and the final two stanzas using the second emotion. The idea is to give the elusion of the subject changing: ex. she starts out in love then becomes apathetic, he starts out feeling despair but ends hopeful. You may use any combination but they must not be similar: ex. joy/love, hate/anger.
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Sestina:
The sestina is a poem consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-line envoy. It makes no use of the refrain. This form is usually unrhymed, the effect of rhyme being taken over by a fixed pattern of end-words which demands that these end-words in each stanza be the same, though arranged in a different sequence each time.
If we take 1-2-3-5-6 to represent the end-words of the first stanza, then the first line of the second stanza must end with 6 (the last end-word used in the preceding stanza), the second with 1, the third with 5, the fourth with 2, the fifth with 4, the sixth with 3--and so to the next stanza. The order of the first three stanzas, for instance, would be: 1-2-3-4-5-6; 6-1-5-2-4-3; 3-6-4-1-2-5. The conclusion, or envoy, is made up of three lines: the first line must use words 2 & 5, the second line uses words 3 & 4, and the final line uses words 6 & 1.
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© Copyright 2006 Joy (joycag at Writing.Com).
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