A Willing Man

A Willing Man

Oh fair Ofira, seeketh she
A man to tread her soft valley.
Where is, under the moon so bright,
A willing man to bed tonight?

The Baker’s in a drunken state,
He’s face first down upon his plate!
He can’t be roused and set to rise
To be a willing man tonight.

The Carpenter instead she tries;
His wife’s away, but oh, surprise!
He pegs a maid so fair and bright,
A willing man to her tonight!

Oh fair Ofira, seeketh she
A willing man to bed tonight!

Inspired by: we drink because we’re poets Thursday Poetry Prompt #14

Love. That is your prompt people. Remember when I said that we would do the form of doom this week? he he he Let’s see if you are up to the challenge. Here is your form for the prompt.

Kyrielle Sonnet. Here is a link describing what this is. Link here.

“..A Kyrielle Sonnet consists of 14 lines (three rhyming quatrain stanzas and a non-rhyming couplet). Just like the traditional Kyrielle poem, the Kyrielle Sonnet also has a repeating line or phrase as a refrain (usually appearing as the last line of each stanza). Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet consists of only eight syllables. French poetry forms have a tendency to link back to the beginning of the poem, so common practice is to use the first and last line of the first quatrain as the ending couplet. This would also re-enforce the refrain within the poem. Therefore, a good rhyming scheme for a Kyrielle Sonnet would be: 

AabB, ccbB, ddbB, AB -or- AbaB, cbcB, dbdB, AB. …”

I’ve decided to get back into the SCA (a world-wide medieval reenactment group) after a not entirely willing absence of a few years, and part of that has me in a mind of bawdy old songs that are so deliciously dirty without being foul.   And this definitely plays with the general perception that it’s the men who are out carousing to find a willing woman… So I sort of missed the mark on “love”, depending on exactly how you want to define it.  To keep with the format requested, here is my Kyrielle Sonnet, but I think this “song” will actually have many more stanzas in it by the time I’m finished!

I played with the refrain to make it make sense.  I’m not sure if that’s technically allowed, but it still gives the same feel, I think…

Here’s a quick longer version that would work well as a song:

Oh fair Ofira, seeketh she
A man to tread her soft valley.
Where is, under the moon so bright,
A willing man to bed tonight?

The Baker’s in a drunken state,
He’s face first down upon his plate!
He can’t be roused and set to rise
To be a willing man tonight.

The Carpenter instead she tries;
His wife’s away, but oh, surprise!
He pegs a maid so fair and bright,
A willing man to her tonight!

Oh fair Ofira, seeketh she
A man to tread her soft valley.
Where is, under the moon so bright,
A willing man to bed tonight?

To yonder side of town she goes,
Across the stream which swiftly flows,
Where lives the woodcutter, who might
Yet be a willing man tonight.

A rap upon his door gives she
Eager to fell his hardwood tree,
But he puts out the candle light
He’s not a willing man tonight!

Oh fair Ofira, seeketh she
A man to tread her soft valley.
Where is, under the moon so bright,
A willing man to bed tonight?

Two traders then she passes by,
One gives a smile, one gives the eye.
Can she decide, the left or right,
Which willing man to bed tonight?

She takes the hand of each in tow
To play between them, to and fro;
There’s no need for to be a fight
When there’s two willing men tonight!

Oh fair Ofira, seeketh she
A man to tread her soft valley.
Where is, under the moon so bright,
A willing man to bed tonight?

Oh fair Ofira, seeketh she
A willing man to bed tonight!

Living and Learning Together: Module One: How Doors Work

“5. Homework: A writing exercise! Slam that m$*#&#$#$&#%#$* again tonight. Do it. I dare you. Then write a sonnet about what it feels like to be punched in the neck by a cranky person. Some of us work for a living.”

I couldn’t resist.

A sonnet of such eloquence of speech

Presented as evidence that I know

Of standing just within your cranky reach

Upon jugular with befisted blow

Which backward flung me upon my sore ass

And left me sprawled upon the hardwood floor

Who knew my teachers were filled with such sass

Punished for the crime of slamming the door

But my feet again I found beneath me

And stood with such rapturous affection

For he who gave me better eyes to see

And a mind that can make such connection

That between the door and the jam lies sound

Let it be soft, lest I’m flung to the ground!

A Star in the Face of the Sky

Door comparison

As one with multiple attendance certificates from diversity workshops, it chagrins me to report the negative feedback I have received from members of the wolf and cave-dwelling communities over my recent blog post.  My thoughtless remarks may have left the impression that I believe all wolves and cave dwellers are thoughtless d-bags, inclined to stomp up and down dorm hallways, loudly slamming doors in their wake at all hours of the day AND NIGHT.  Nothing could be further from truth.  There are no doubt many courteous canines and Neanderthals, and I hope they will accept my heartfelt apologies.  Understand that I know that you are one of the good ones.  (Not like those others.) 

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A Sheep Date

This is the poem I had initially intended to write for the poetry prompt yesterday. It needed more than I could give it yesterday, but after a (surprisingly) good night’s sleep, it just flowed out. So this is my ode to my dear friend, and inspired by her picture:

 

https://i0.wp.com/s3.roosterteeth.com/images/BaghdadBean51d239eb475cb.jpg

Picture of my friend, Sgt. “Bean” Clayton, on her ranch.  Reposted with permission.

A Sheep Date

Woolly touch that creates a connection,
A gaze held between two sets of deep eyes, –
Picture of peace, of quiet reflection;
Beauty defined beneath Oregon skies.

A moment’s respite from the herd chasing,
This testament to the animal wife,
With one leg braced, the other embracing –
The shepherdess understands sheep is life.

These are the dreams I desire when I sleep:
Lakota dancing with Navajo sheep.

Beauty Sonnet

Today’s poetry prompt by we drink because we’re poets set forth the following challenge:

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I’m going to keep it simple today. The objective of the prompt for next few days is to consider something that You find beautiful – whether it be a flower or an abandoned house; a cigarette filled cup or a masterpiece by Leonardo da Vinci – and write a sonnet about it. For those of you who have no idea what a sonnet is, please check out the example here at Shadow Poetry!

 

I must say, the poem I *started* to write was not the poem that came out, so I’ll have to go back and work on that, but in the mean time, this is the one that did come out.

Also, angry note to my neighbors: I DON’T CARE WHAT HOLIDAY IT IS, I STILL HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW!

 

Not A Feminist, But Still Indignant

Beauty – not that in the beholder’s eye,
Beyond sense of sight, that which we now know
In black and white, science demystify
Our preferences for symmetry and glow.

And yet no magazine can convince me
In glossy centerfold spread, eight by ten,
That what I desire is found in your sea
Of photo manipulated women.

Move past the cliched air-brushed skin appeal,
True beauty is found only in the real.