50. Blues Stanza

Hooray, our 50th poetic form! It’s been almost a year, and we’ve finally made to 50. If I hadn’t been procrastinating and/or dealing with personal artistic drama, we’d have made it 100, but that’s okay.

Today, I thought I’d try a form called “blues stanza” while also exploring a different feel and theme. I’ve been feeling bored with my writing the past few days.

Anyway, a blues stanza is made up of a tercet with a rhyme scheme of AAa BBb CCc (…), where the two A’s end in a similar word and the ‘a’ rhymes with them, and so on. It’s supposed to be written in iambic pentameter, but this rule can be ignored, since this form is of Afro-American origin, and that particular rule is mostly used in English poetry.

It may also pose as a problem, trying to connect each stanza to the other. Personally, I find that this is because I tend to write more in quatrains. Anyway, have a go at it.

Give it thought, and the world makes little sense—
So religion, so the need to find its sense;
To love, to be, to live in sequence.

Sense hides within its fortress—
Deep within woods and shadows. Its fortress.
To coalesce with love and life, ceaseless.

We hide behind sense, and we are lost;
We make up tales and become more so lost—
But does it matter, when there is no cost?

Not a cost to hide in reason;
Not a cost to flee from reason—
In a short-lived, fickle life in season?

Give it thought and you will go mad;
To leave all thought is what make men mad:
To deny what they are, to deny what they had.

Live. Breathe. Love. Die. Lack of sense. Lack of thought.
See. Hear. Be. Taste. Sweet. Smell. And hide in thought.
Cold. Cold. Shiver. Sweat. Sweet. Hot.

One Single Impression: Fickle
Sunday Scribblings
Poets United


2 thoughts on “50. Blues Stanza

  1. Love the beat of this. Sometimes I think we have to lead with our hearts because not everything makes sense all the time or even much of the time. Sometimes it just feels right.

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