All That I Have Ever Been Redux

/ Beth Weaver-Kreider

Back to that phrase that came into my brain in a dream last week, in a rondel, and in a single crazy twisting sentence.

All that I have ever been
is compounded by what I am now,
by all I can avow or disavow
and by all that I have ever seen,

the fields of past folded upward by the plow
of Time into this moment, between
all that I have ever been–
compounded by what I am now–

into the turning future, which will allow
this interweaving, scene to scene,
the colors shifting: red to gold to green,
all times overlaid as one, somehow
a part of all that I have ever been.

 

Friday Prompt
Becky and Dakota White suggested a sestina.  Even though today was a form experiment, I am going to try a sestina tomorrow because this excites me, and because the rondel was fun and satisfying.  Care to join me?  Here’s the Sestina Form description from poets.org.

 

Gratitude List

1.  Suzy was not badly hurt in the accident today.  Hold your friends close.
2.  The thrill of writing in a poetic form.
3.  That tasty wild blueberry granola from Miller’s.
4.  Reading with the kids.
5.  Hawks along the highway and gulls on the lights of the old bridge.

May we walk in Beauty.

2 thoughts on “All That I Have Ever Been Redux”

  1. Oooh. Yet another form to try out. This month, I don’t feel as though I am coming out with as many workable poems as in magical November, but I feel like I am exposing myself to so many more forms and options. This feels like school. I love it. It’s time to train different muscles. Thanks for introducing me to this one!

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  2. I thought I would share a rondeux, which is similar to a rondel. I love this one, Beth. Fantastic work!

    Missing the Point

    Even with a sense of solace in the thought,
    evening breathes too deep to shove the doubt
    out of the way. Cancel the intake of breath
    that takes too much and calls it giving. Depth
    of feeling you don’t have is all you brought

    here with you. Flowers. You have a lot
    to say. I don’t. But I have bread, I bought
    wine. I’m ready for this to be more or less
    close to a sense of solace in the thought,

    or in the action. Dinner is still hot,
    but cooling quickly. You aren’t hungry. Not
    my problem. I choke down pasta, asparagus,
    will feed myself before I talk or take this
    any closer to completion. You say you ought
    to love me. There is no solace in that thought.

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