PEACE
release
quietus
wary fingers move
~ curious ... uncertain ~
seeking a form of closure
"life's inevitable repose."
Inspiration for this piece: Three Word Wednesday (3WW) offers up a selection of words every week. My fingers itching to compose again sought out the word for this week in the hopes of finding some form of peace. The words offered up this week were curious, inevitable, and wary.
A note on form: There really wasn't much choice in the matter. I have a tendency to lean toward this form when the last Wednesday of the week crosses paths with 3WW. This is a clarity pyramid. Typically the syllable constraints (1,2,3 // 5,6,7 // 8) lend themselves toward a triangular structure (thus pyramid), but as is the case with some crazy multi-syllable words this effect is not always fully achieved. This piece would be an example of that departure.
Exposing word choice: I initially settled on a 'word' to write my second stanza with after composing the first line of the second stanza. I proceeded to finish the stanza before turning to the first stanza and the 'word' I had selected, "DEATH." After quite some back-and-forth trying to uncover the next two lines, I looked at the word "closure" (stanza 2, line 3) and that in conjunction with "quietus" which was one of my choices for the initial 3-syllable line for "DEATH," caused me to change course and settle instead on "PEACE." There is something about "PEACE" that just speaks to the overall verse in a variety of ways; I just couldn't help but steal its essence.
9 comments:
this is a lovely piece
I love the title...it is indeed a shot of clarity..
Well penned!
nice...tight little peace...or piece...smiles...i think we all seek that a bit...hope for it...i like the bringing in of the fingers it makes it tangible...
well done, form and words
I like the form. Clever response to the prompt.
AWESOME! Happy Thanksgiving Many blessings
Short and to the point--but not pointless! ;)
TWW: Creatures Great and Small
Beautiful in its simplicity, and how I love a poet that doesn't shrink from the four letter word: form. If poetry is a fire, form is the firebreak that stops it from consuming us from within.
The sensation I feel when reading this is that of a lone ant, picking its way across the cold face of a sleeping (or eternally sleeping) beauty. Life goes on; beauty abides.
Post a Comment