I am convinced that I have no talent for this. I have received a lot of rejection letters the past few weeks, most from fledgling literary magazines; if I can’t publish with them, how can I hope to ever be an author? And if I have no talent for writing, what else do I have?
Anyway, let’s get to work on the Saraband. It’s a septet form, a stanza with seven lines. The stanza comprises two parts: a tercet (three lines) and a quatrain (four lines), a total of seven. The tercet follows an AXA pattern, where the X means that that particular line may or may not rhyme with the other two, while the quatrain follows either BCBC, BCCB, or BBCC.
The Saraband is usually written in octosyllabic lines; but I was feeling particularly uninspired this week, so the poem you’ll find below does not follow any metrical rules.
How funny I should try to find my place—
Too hot, too cold—in a never ending race;
Ne’er once held the moonlight ‘cross my face.
Perhaps it is that I must soon accept my fate:
That there is no place for me in this land—
Ne’er hot nor cold, ne’er high nor low a state.
I think I’ve won but for His sleight of hand.
Not writer able to satisfy man’s soul.
I am no poet, once I’ve proven—once enough.
I am naught, for naught I am. Naught a whole.
Not a dancer, fearsome, tender as the sea;
Not one able to sing gentle as the breeze;
Not an actor to change face with ease.
I am naught, and I accept that humbly.