2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 18

Today’s prompt is from Carol Stephen, and it’s a doozy.

Here’s Carol’s prompt: Write a glosa. This involves an epigram of 4 consecutive lines from a favorite poet that the challenge participant believes they can write successfully to. Then, write a poem consisting of four 10-line stanzas where the final line of each stanza is a line from the epigram, in order. Within each stanza, lines 6, 9 and 10 must rhyme.

Robert’s attempt at a Glosa Poem:

“Scientist”

“The time has come to reconsider my careen;

what good has come from bouncing away fast?
They say time is a thing that runs out,
that my buzz is nothing more than a flash.”

-Nate Pritts, “The Fastest Man Alive”

In the beginning, there was a problem waiting
to be recognized. Then, how to form
the question, how to prove the problem
exists. Each word another puzzle piece
closer to expressing what everyone feels
even if nobody is certain what it means.
After the expression, there is the problem
of considering an array of solutions before
choosing the one that seems the most pristine.
The time has come to reconsider my careen,

my slow departure from what once made sense
into this new hypothesis, this fresh
perspective. Hand clap, toe tap, and what
data will best prove my empty case. I chase
the correlation fantastic! And pray for causation
ecstatic! My proof-worthy theory is cast
into the sea of observation and experimentation
as I fight the allure of pushing conclusions
before proving the power of every blast.
What good has come from bouncing away fast?

The holes left behind throw all work into doubt,
which is why I hold out. And then it happens,
the lightning bolt and chemicals with only me
present to receive them. How do I explain
what no one else can see? How do I refute
what I feel should be accepted without doubt?
Is someone ready to observe my future?
My past? I won’t fade quietly into the night,
I won’t race from school like some dumb trout.
They say time is a thing that runs out,

but what happens when one can travel here
and there? My heart, a drum machine, beats
past infinite Earths. I give birth to a new
type of method, one hidden in the covers
of a silver age. My hypothesis, a twist
on yet another death, some spectacular crash!
I will save the planet and the universe,
if it comes to that, but don’t stand there
and try to explain that all science is trash,
that my buzz is nothing more than a flash.

*****

Thank you, Carol, for the challenging prompt! Click here to learn more about Carol.

Click here to share your glosa on the WD Forum, if that’s your preference.

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

*****

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83 thoughts on “2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 18

  1. ceeess

    I just came back again to see what I had missed. Sorry for being so late to it! I am impressed by all the great glosas here! I hope some of you liked the form enough to keep it in your repertoire! I’ve just ordered a book called Holograms, by noted late Canadian poet, P.K. Page. It is ALL glosas.

    I am intrigued by the form and want to write more of these myself. And yes, it is certainly challenging. Most of my poems weigh in under 30 lines and not in form or using constraints. So it was a challenge for me too!

    Carol A. Stephen

  2. Karen H. Phillips

    Day 18
    Prompt: Write a glosa–using epigram of 4 consecutive lines from a favorite poet, with 4 10-line stanzas, where the final line of each is from the epigram, in order. Within each stanza, lines 6, 9, and 10 must rhyme.)

    From E.E. Cummings’ Adult Nursery Rhymes #3, final lines:
    deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
    –time is a tree (this life one leaf)
    but love is the sky and i am for you
    just so long and long enough

    i dreamed the days away
    thinking i knew i wanted what
    i didn’t know i did
    your particular face never an option
    a list that might not include
    someone exactly you
    yet steps led me your way
    to treasure the day
    we met and the day we knew
    deeds cannot dream what dreams can do

    my conflicted self of engagement broken
    ring returned to another man
    time past another era another beau
    stomach whirling like leaves caught in wind
    couldn’t live with you or without
    pushing you away caused pain and relief
    time and prescription healed ambivalence
    fear of my leaving you or you me
    then revealed to me to be without you equalled grief
    –time is a tree (this life one leaf)

    summers winters springs falls thirty-three
    since vows we made sacred sweet
    pungent plunge into commit
    perilous waters of parenthood
    survival of family feuds (not between you and me)
    eye of God and sky watching over me and you
    blanket protective of all we hold dear
    though infinite and blue bright
    sky appears taut stretched over us two
    but love is the sky and I am for you

    how long we have to live and love we do
    not know but we know our love stays
    till death parts us
    we won’t part ways because
    that is what it means to commit
    our love is tough
    time-in-bottle treasure
    what life is made of
    God gives us the stuff
    just so long and long enough

  3. Glory

    Epigram –
    Sir, I admit your general rule,
    That every poet is a fool,
    But you yourself may serve to show it,
    That every fool is not a poet
    Coleridge

    EVERY POET
    (Day 18)

    It appears that people often call
    a simple man another fool
    who plays with words
    throughout the days
    until the evening sun no longer stays,
    then plays some more until
    he’s found a rhyme or maybe
    reason to tell the world what
    all believe is cool,
    Sir, I admit your general rule.

    I don’t believe it to be so
    for blessed with reason, I do know
    that rhyming words
    can often be a man’s salvation,
    bringing liberty, freedom
    for those who do not fuel
    the harm within a gentle verse,
    do not seek to speak, be cruel,
    be spiteful, voice those words,
    That every poet is a fool.

    Do you not sometimes play with words
    striving hard to make them rhyme,
    words that dance within your head
    until wrote down before it’s time
    for bed, and with sleep comes dreams
    wherein you repeat with increasing whit
    the one you seek but cannot find, until it
    seems that every day is full of
    words that jump and stray, and split,
    But you yourself may serve to show it,

    Oh listen, I will tell you this
    a poem is like a gentle kiss,
    light as thistledown yet with words
    one simply can’t forget, so try,
    try and try again keep trying
    with all your mind, do not flit
    until you find those certain words
    to write your poem, maybe then you will
    admit, for truthfully, although you know it,
    That every fool is not a poet.

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