The Crapsey (or American cinquain) is a form of cinquain first written by Adelaide Crapsey. It’s 5 lines are not rhymed, and have a syllable count of 2-4-6-8-2. A Crown Crapsey, then, is a sequence of five cinquain stanzas functioning to construct one larger poem, with each cinquain being a Crapsey. As it happens, my last stanza came to me first.
Words come, go, whether I stop to think about the pain or drive it from my mind. Never really gone, it rises when I fall victim to regret, consider wasted moments when I long for those out of reach, no longer here. I reach for words they will never hear, never sure if the words will reach me.
This poem is my response to Poetics: From a place of pain, the prompt from Ingrid at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is “to revisit a time in your life when you have felt pain (emotional or physical, acute or chronic) and come out on the other side stronger.” I don’t think I’ve ever survived such a moment in a way that made me any stronger. Instead, I consider myself just as vulnerable.
This grief that is mine, that has been mine these many years, that has plagued me with its persistence, has lost its bitterness. Bittersweet perhaps, though never bringing the pleasure of a cherry that is savored in spite of its tartness. It still delivers a chill, yet keeps me warm with the memories that it stirs. It is those that I savor.
This poem is my response to Poetics: Always in Season, the prompt from Mish at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which offers three options. Mine is in regards to writing “about an emotion or abstract concept,” is to “an emotion or abstract concept. What does it taste like?”
Apologies, for continuing in the vein of yesterday’s response to dVerse. While that one was difficult for me, I was able to write this in a more objective manner.
yet feels as though it has stopped,
knowing that mourning
has the power to be endless.
Time passes, and a life follows
its course, its pulse subject
to random intrusions.
Music will play the strings
of a heart, so that it seems
as if it will never heal.
A memory, no true intrusion,
may become a knife, turning,
tracing old scars.
Yet it’s the brilliance of that music
and the beauty of those memories
that have the power to sustain.
And a heart continues to beat.
This is a response to Poetics: Cry Me a River, the prompt from Amaya at dVerse, which is to write a poem about a piece of music that has the power to bring a listener to tears. That would be Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings.
Image source: Curtis Institute of Music – Samuel Barber