Tideland
The white sand glitters. Tide pools shine. Our sandbar’s grown so huge It’s going to be forever mine. Let’s build a dike, a last refuge For when the tide comes…
From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terza_rima: "Terza rima is a rhyming verse stanza form that consists of an interlocking three-line rhyme scheme. It was first used by the Italian poet Dante Alighieri. ... Terza rima is a three-line stanza using chain rhyme in the pattern A-B-A, B-C-B, C-D-C, D-E-D. There is no limit to the number of lines, but poems or sections of poems written in terza rima end with either a single line or couplet repeating the rhyme of the middle line of the final tercet. The two possible endings for the example above are d-e-d, e or d-e-d, e-e. There is no set rhythm for terza rima, but in English, iambic pentameter is generally preferred." Challenge: Write a poem in terza rima form. This challenge is one of three in the Genre event for the Winter 2014 Ficlympics. If you enter this challenge, consider entering the other two (Fable and Eulogy) as well.
The white sand glitters. Tide pools shine. Our sandbar’s grown so huge It’s going to be forever mine. Let’s build a dike, a last refuge For when the tide comes…
One last strain of music plays And voices yet to come, they sing ‘fore sunset’s shining rays One last broken-hearted king And tales of battles lost, he tells…
it’s four am, i’m still awake, my blindness isn’t cured. i’m drunk again, no time will tell how long until the next bottle downed will clear my hateful mind…
I shot the moon as she waited for dawn For a fleeting glimpse of a sun now grown And prayed for a piece of a past long gone My eyes followed the path my gun…
Arms wide, I reached for you— would we embrace, or not? Eyes turned, delivering my cue— few fish like to be caught. Naught have I that gleams or snares, my…
I shall be going away The trips is short but erelong I shan’t know knight from day I travel from right to wrong Out of this mundane world Intend I to fall…
Morning, the sound of ticking clocks starts the rhythm and my pen is flowing, but in my office sits a litter box. Alas, my cats will not stop going. I long…
Stoically, silently, stupidly - little time to start a revolution - my heart grinds, as if mechanically. Gears turn - a glorious initiation. Eyelids flutter…