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Post by LynnDoiron on Dec 2, 2007 1:27:33 GMT -5
[With permission from Maggie, I have taken the last line of her poem to write a second sonnet in what may turn into a crown of sonnets between us. Her "Sonnet for the remnants of November" follows, then mine: "Sonnet for the onset of December" ---- all comments welcome.]
Sonnet for the remnants of November by Mugs
I swear ocean air was my mother's milk, and that full moon, high tide melodies bind my DNA with harmonic flexibility. To me, there is no such thing as dissonance from improvising seagulls. But don't be fooled by the implication of language. There is also pain. And pain, like an upper structure triad in modal jazz, needs the introduction of contrast for release, for cutting tension. It is against the uneven metronomics of the sea where I go to handle the bitchwork of grief.
Sonnet for the onset of December by Chicky
Where I go to handle the bitchwork of grief is the fixed ridges found in the ravelings (the kinkier the better), in the undoing of things once done. Howsom’ever brief was the lock with the loop or howsom’ever long-- fibers know. They remember. Left alone, they will find a same crease and lean just where they bent and brushed to spoon in song of some weave or other. His sweater has been disassembled, reconfigured to socks, woolen, warm with brown roses in Fair Isle designs. I enter December in sweatered feet; sometimes I dance in his arms.
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Post by mfwilkie on Dec 2, 2007 2:10:32 GMT -5
I like how you worked in that fact about creases, chicky, and I like how you brought it back to music with dance in the last line.
Me and the muse are mulling.
Later.
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Post by Sherry Thrasher on Dec 2, 2007 10:12:59 GMT -5
The last line is a show stopper. Wonderful.
Sherry
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Post by LynnDoiron on Dec 2, 2007 13:35:22 GMT -5
thanks, sherry-luv -- i was trying very hard to leave mugs something to work with. and mugs, please, if you have suggestions for this one that might lend themselves to wherever your muse should take you after your mull, let me know . . .
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Post by mfwilkie on Dec 2, 2007 17:59:43 GMT -5
Where I go to handle the bitchwork of grief is the fixed ridges found in the ravelings (the kinkier the better), in the undoing of things once done. Howsom’ever brief was the lock with the loop or howsom’ever long— fibers know. They remember. Left alone, they will find a same favored crease and lean just where they bent and brushed to spoon in song of some weave or other. His sweater has been disassembled, reconfigured to socks, woolen, warm with brown roses in Fair Isle designs.
I enter December in sweatered feet— sometimes I dance in his arms.
I dropped the 'I' down to the couplet, chicky, and I think the m-dash works better than the semi at the end of the first verse of the couplet.
I have to change my own in the remnants piece.
FYI- the m-dash is Alt(held) 0151
Mugs
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Post by LynnDoiron on Dec 2, 2007 18:59:30 GMT -5
in the days afore computers, two hyphens worked as an em-dash --- but I do so very much appreciate the code to make one happen on site. thanks. oh, and let me think on favored; it's not a word i think i would use, but then i use a whole lot of words in poetry that aren't normal to my vocab. later.
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Post by mfwilkie on Dec 2, 2007 19:26:04 GMT -5
Could just be me, but I think crease needs a modifier.
Later.
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Post by LynnDoiron on Dec 2, 2007 21:35:36 GMT -5
same is a modifier, no?
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