Inspiration Interpretation

Poetry Type of The Day: Quatern A Quatern is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme. FORMAT: line 1 line 2 line 3 line 4 line 5 line 6 (line 1) line 7 line 8 line 9 line 10 line 11 (line 1) line 12 line 13 line 14 line 15 line 16 (line 1) AGLOW By Jaden Brulotte For my baby girl :) 6-27-2008 Your smile just lights me up, aglow- Firefly casting your light to show Shadows and dark- where can I go? Before you, I just didn’t know. When I get lost and start to slow Your smile just lights me up, aglow- You lift me up from down below Make me laugh and cast out my woes. In rolls the winter, blasts of snow I’m ...

Poetry Type of the Day: Kyrielle A Kyrielle is a French form of rhyming poetry written in quatrains (a stanza consisting of 4 lines), and each quatrain contains a repeating line or phrase as a refrain (usually appearing as the last line of each stanza). Each line within the poem consists of only eight syllables. There is no limit to the amount of stanzas a Kyrielle may have, but three is considered the accepted minimum. Some popular rhyming schemes for a Kyrielle are: aabB, ccbB, ddbB, with B being the repeated line, or abaB, cbcB, dbdB. Mixing up the rhyme scheme is possible for an unusual pattern of: axaZ, bxbZ, cxcZ, dxdZ, etc. with Z being the repeated line. The rhyme pattern is completely up to the poet. Inspired by this quote: “Strive to be first: first to nod, first to smile, first to compliment, and first to forgive.” -Anonymous The First By Jaden Brulotte 5/8/2008 A day may come that you will find Your normal life just seems rehearsed Nobody else will symp...

Torturous Talent By Jaden Brulotte 4/30/2008 My torturous talent pushes me down into my chest, pushing NOs, pushing FAILs And can’t can’t can’ts My pen drips these salty, invisible ink -tears- these aching, painful welts I have let sit and fester on my soul telling myself there is no point Telling myself What good are you? What are you worth when you can’t value your own words? When you have no influence, no pride, no motivation? What are you worth? My torturous talent, it's been archived… I snuck it away to the vaults So I can’t look and see the big red-lettered lines *FAIL FAIL FAIL* each time *LOSE LOSE LOSE* your mind *CAN’T CAN’T CAN’T* rewind and go back to be that same… Same person, the skilled and witty, ever-so-right and meaningful metaphor -proud and pithy- for who I am supposed to be. What are you worth?