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Monday, November 19, 2012

DAY 18. A GLOSA

I knew not what be a glosa
Until I attempted and found it to be collosa
Here it is and here it be
I gave it a try, called it a night with a "Whoopee" 


The challenge of the day was to write a "glossa."
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."  What follows is my attempt.... based on the beginning lines of Whitman's - what else given this prompt "Song of Myself"


“Song of Myself” 
Walt Whitman

I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul





I see about me the fields and cities the
desolation, destruction and dancing
of this whirling cerulean marble we share
oceans, lakes, mountains and deserts
forests and plains winding merging
each and all connected as a threaded Oneself *
shimmering in a sparkling panoply of vibrancy
each texture, taste, sight and lyric sound
connecting each to each within a collective sunself
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself

I feel about me the pain and joy the anguish and
pleasure of each, from newborn
blinking eye to shuttered lash of ended time
blazing, blurring, blotting, bleeding, bolstering
this cerulean marble we share
the essence floating of all exhaled exhume
pulses within each corpuscle pounding
particles of light within the ray of my being
illuminate all, beyond imagined flash of sonic blasted boom
and what I assume, you shall assume

I taste and hear and touch
each blade of grass, each droplet of the diamond
rain, burn the bottom of my feet on the scorching sand
freeze my skin in the avalanche of ice
burst eardrums to the screams of hungry children
sleep lulled by the sweet song of mothers’ succulent love
the sweet nectar of honey glosses my lips
as bitter herbs rest in the cradle of my gut
each to each and all to all converge in one unfathomed melodious hue
for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you


For self in the collective tapestry
is lone, but a dull thread
dangling in the stratosphere
a filamented figment of what could be, dropped as a stitch
in the grand design of each shout, scream, sigh, touch, taste,
and emerald blade of dew wet grass rising from earth damped hole
desolate, striving, wretched until recognition relaxes melting
self into reconciled, reverenced, reconnoitered remembered role
I loafe and invite my soul



1 comment:

  1. I really like how the first line in each stanza grows from one to the next, from seeing to feeling to tasting - and then how your final stanza wraps this all together. Some nice alliteration in here also.
    These were tough. Nice work!

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