Speak to us of early spring,
of onyx skies and starry nights,
of fireflies that spark the fields
and castles built of sand, pure white;
of paladins and maidens fair,
of pirate chests with hidden treasures.
Take us back to bright green days—
those dew-cast morns where eagles soar
wings spread wide to glide the zephyrs…
Hope is the thing with feathers.
Speak to us of summer days
of new horizons to be found;
not quite knowing what we’re seeking
lost among the youthful throng.
Eagerly, we soak up knowledge
to the beat of rock ’n roll;
teetering the edge of innocence,
while searching for the one true song
that fulfills and makes us whole —
that perches in the soul.
Speak to us of autumn breeze,
and old, familiar pathways worn;
in quickened wind, the dry leaves fall
to take their place upon the lawn.
The late day sun drops swiftly now
as somewhere deep a memory stirs,
aroused by old familiar tune…
and though the verses aren't recalled
each hums the melody once heard
and sings the tune without the words.
Speak to us of winter’s bite
the chill that seeks out brittle bone,
as childhood fades to distant past
its memory lost to cold, gray dawn.
Yet hope survives inside the heart,
though time erodes, we still recall—
retained from tender years now spent,
that tune of youth is not forgot…
it resonates from when we’re small
and never stops at
all.
© Ginny Brannan 2013
Trying my hand at a second Glosa. Here is a link to the first.
The glosa is a form of poetry from the late 14th century and was popular in the Spanish court. The introduction, the cabeza, is a quatrain quoting a well-known poem or poet.
The second part is the glosa proper, expanding on the theme of the cabeza, consisting of four ten-line stanzas, with the lines of the cabeza used to conclude each stanza.
Lines six and nine must rhyme with the borrowed tenth.
There are no rules governing meter and line length, except that traditionally, they emulate the style of the lines in the cabeza. Because of its structure, theglosa is ideally used as a poem of tribute. In writing that tribute, you weave your lines with the lines of the opening cabeza, collaborating, as it were, with the spirit of the poet you honour.
Honoring one of my favorites, Emily Dickinson, a New England poet who resided only a brief half- hour's drive from my own home.
Sharing at d'Verse Meeting the Bar: Are you listing?
