I had a great weekend of music watching til the wee hours of the morn followed by lounging around in the Sunday sun while my buddies played their Ultimate Frisbee league games. It turns out that it was a fabulous idea for me NOT to join the league--much too competitive for me. While whiling away in the shade of a tree, I read some poems by Rimbaud. My friend Billy had lent me the collection, and I discovered some great poetry. He has a Bob Dylan-esque voice (writes a lot about women, structures and pseudo-social themes) and he employs a rhyme scheme I haven't seen in quite a while. It is most similar to the Petrarchan (or Italian) sonnet. I chose to use his abba cddc eef ggf pattern to craft a poem of my own:
Untitled, 20 september 2009
Always going, never stopping to see,
The tiny mushrooms growing off the ground,
Pushing through debris without a sound,
Without any cares, undoubtedly free.
Let's pause, let's practice watching for a moment--
With an absence of speculation
abandon our idle conversation.
We'll see with all the senses, lacking comment.
Every day is getting shorter.
As we approach our lives' first quarter
There are many things we need to learn
About the sowing and the knowing,
The slow freeing and the fast flowing,
Of something as simple as a growing fern.
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