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Tuesday, June 28, 2011

IN-FORM POET - The Monchielle

The trend for In-Form Poet has been to highlight a uniquely different form than the norm.
Today’s offering is the Monchielle, a form created by Jim T. Henriksen.

The Monchielle is a poem consisting of four five-line stanzas where the first line repeats in each verse. Each line within the stanzas consist of six syllables, and lines three and five rhyme. The rhyme pattern is Abcdc Aefgf Ahiji Aklml.

Marie Elena’s Monchielle:


Not all who dare to dream
Pursue the vision’s call.
Life dares obstruct their view,
Or taunts their fragile core,
And plans then go askew.

Not all who dare to dream
Take pleasure in the path.
Though they may first begin
With passion at the helm,
The process wears them thin.

Not all who dare to dream
Seek guidance from Above.
Bold faith begins to pale,
And expectations wane,
Then in the end, they fail.

Not all who dare to dream
Race on, and finish strong.
You dreamed, you sought, you vowed.
Your vision, now fulfilled,
You’ve reason to be proud.

Walt’s poem:

In The Distance She Stands (Monchielle)

In the distance she stands,
softly angelic, she.
Beauty beyond compare,
an ever-present smile
and windblown auburn hair.

In the distance she stands,
a lost soul, complacent.
Searching the horizon
for a glimpse of love’s shine;
compassion’s communion.

In the distance she stands,
a mournful heart, guarded.
Longing life’s sweet caress,
apparition most sweet;
whose love beats in my chest.

In the distance she stands,
dispersing in the mist;
a sad, sun-kissed farewell,
an ever-lasting love
here, where my angel fell.

Copyright © 2011 – Walt Wojtanik



    Losing weight’s not easy.
    Unless you’re a snowman,
    those pounds don’t melt away.
    You’ll need more than sunlight
    on a warm winter day.

    Losing weight’s not easy.
    You just can’t make a wish
    or bend your knee to pray,
    then sit back expecting
    a thin you’s on the way.

    Losing weight’s not easy.
    Start cutting down on food.
    Leave the table. Don’t stay
    to stuff your face each meal.
    Go exercise. Go play!

    Losing weight’s not easy.
    It takes a lot of work.
    One pound at a time may
    help you in time be thin,
    provided you don’t stray.


  2. Okay. I have tried, though you may have noticed that my definition of rhyme is, well, like my politics.

  3. hmmm. link didn't work, but you can click my name.


    He took a step away,
    unstable and unsure
    still reaching for a hand
    to grab if he should fall
    securing him to stand.

    He took a step away,
    that first day off to school.
    His mother standing by,
    he noticed not the tear
    escaping from her eye.

    He took a step away,
    always self reliant,
    with interests of his own;
    encouraged all the while
    that he was not alone.

    He took a step away
    this week got on a plane,
    mature beyond his years
    traveling down under
    again I hid my tears.


  5. This is what I came up with for this one. Call it inspired.

    A Day's choice

    It has come, this new day
    To write of things first seen,
    Seeking joy's moments, all
    Summer brings to please me
    Before the chill of fall.

    It has come, this new day
    To hear the tune of Earth,
    Which hums below man's noise,
    Patiently waiting still,
    Made silent by man's toys.

    It has come, this new day
    To feel the pulse of man
    As he rushes headlong
    Toward fools' petty dreams,
    Without hearing Earth's song.

    It has come, this new day
    For me to follow steps
    Among daisies unshod,
    To glory in beauty
    Within footprints of God.

  6. Ten Little Hors d'oeuvres

    In all I've owned ten goldfish.
    The first four were all named Goldie.
    I fed them every hour; they grew very, very fat.
    They puffed up and up until they were each
    gobbled up by Colin, my tabby cat.

    In all I've owned ten goldfish.
    The fifth I aptly nicknamed Spot.
    It had white splodges all across its back
    but those spots're fungus, and it rolled over belly up.
    Colin ate it up as a midnight snack.

    In all I've owned ten goldfish.
    The next four were all nicknamed Chips,
    maybe they'd live longer with a non-fishy name
    and each one lived as happy as a fish can ever hope
    but Colin still gobbled up each one, just the same.

    In all I've had ten goldfish.
    The last one I nicknamed Colin
    thinking that my tabby wouldn't dare to eat
    anything called by its own exact same name.
    But hungry Colin ate up Colin as a mid-morning treat.

  7. Ooooh. I do apologise. I missed the rule about 6-syllables per line. I'm off to bed. I'll try again tomorrow. (sigh)

  8. This was a fun prompt and I loved reading everyone's interpretation of the prompt. It's a lovely "space" where we all are comfortable sharing and growing.
    Hats off to David Bowie as well.

    Kim King

  9. I Met Deadline Today

    I met deadline today
    Just two short articles
    Not much more than an inch.
    Won’t take much time, I thought,
    I’m sure they’ll be a cinch.

    I met deadline today
    Studied topic at hand.
    The first one was a breeze.
    So it stands to reason
    The next would come with ease.

    I met deadline today
    So I wrote past midnight.
    But the words made no sense.
    So I moved things around
    And I worked on the tense.

    I met deadline today
    Took six hundred two words
    And I whacked them in half.
    So now I will sit back,
    rest, and have a good laugh.

  10. I gotta tell you, I struggled with this form, and I'm not very happy with mine. However, it was to honor my sister (ordained Sunday), and I'm pleased that SHE is pleased with it. But you all are doing fabulous!

    Misk, I'm glad you posted, even though it didn't stick to the rules. Can't wait to see what else you come up with!

    Kelly, as usual, I know the story behind the poem. Such a wonderful mom you are!!

    Inspired indeed, Clauds!

  11. Posting this lovely piece by JANE SHLENKSY.

    We Need a Summer Rain

    We need a summer rain
    when dry grass burns the feet
    and sun-slowed road kill fries
    in heat waves’ hazy dust;
    we long to trust the skies.

    We need a summer rain
    to quench the thirsty earth
    convincing blooms to show,
    tendrils to green and reach,
    and plumping fruit to grow.

    We need a summer rain—
    it can be angry storms
    wind-driven, lightning-seared,
    or sweet soaking showers,
    rainbow-arched and sun-cleared.

    We need a summer rain
    to push a promise deep
    into the fecund earth,
    to whisper life can still
    hold love and hope and mirth...

  12. Mirrors merely reflect.
    They neglect what's inside,
    good, bad, or otherwise.
    The image is not me
    but a shell; unspoken lies.

    Mirrors merely reflect.
    I hide. Deflect the scene,
    a fuzzy snapshot clicked.
    A simple silhouette,
    the camouflage I picked.

    Mirrors merely reflect.
    I would correct the view,
    this illusion of me.
    Project my heart instead.
    Blur lines to clearly see.

    Mirrors merely reflect.
    To detect what's beneath
    erode deposition.
    Strip away weathered paint,
    reveal disposition.

  13. The Fruit Stand

    It all stacks up the same
    All this fresh fruit of hers
    Building blocks of melons
    A pyramid of fruit
    Corralled in andirons

    It all stacks up the same
    Each set strategically
    To keep them all in place
    Nine on twelve, six on nine
    Set wrong, they're all displaced

    It all stacks up the same
    A brain-dead job, stacking
    Melons three on five
    Fresh fruit mimicking a
    Honeycomb in a beehive

    It all stacks up the same
    Impulse, in she reaches
    Midway and pulls, wherefore
    A cascade of melons
    Roll straight across the floor

  14. I like this form, y'all. It's small enough for me to get a handle on, but not so spare that every word feels like it ought to be a portent.

    Monchielle: the chatter

    the chatter of poets
    like ordinary chit
    chat and shop talk, makes sense
    in context. The moustache
    and glasses are a pretense.

    the chatter of poets
    is like dogs in the night
    or philosophers' farts,
    long kindergarten jokes,
    and code between sweethearts.

    the chatter of poets
    can be deafening-
    choral roars; or, hushed shy
    whispers. this one's silly;
    she's grand; he sings; some cry.

    the chatter of poets
    (not a collective noun)
    fills this symbolic room
    in the clouds with Cheetos
    bees, belly flops, pink blooms.

  15. Unwelcome Change

    Change slyly stalks her prey.
    Padding on silent feet,
    waiting for the perfect
    time to pounce; usurp what
    was before you detect.

    Change slyly stalks her prey.
    Sneaking up from behind,
    morphing minute details
    one at a time until
    a new product prevails.

    Change slyly stalks her prey.
    She's rehearsed every line.
    Her offer divine, she
    tempts, batting eyelashes.
    Pesuasion unforeseen.

    Change slyly stalks her prey
    when no desire is there.
    It may seem unfair. Time
    will ultimately judge
    all her unwelcome crimes.

  16. Michael Grove Said:

    I Just Want To Know You.

    I just want to know you.
    I have gazed in your eyes.
    Now I can truly see.
    Heaven above in you.
    A flush came over me.

    I just want to know you.
    I have witnessed your smile.
    There is light on your face.
    So bright and beautiful,
    and growing in the Grace.

    I just want to know you.
    I have heard your sweet voice,
    as hymns of love were sung.
    They blossomed from your lips,
    and rolled straight off your tongue.

    I just want to know you.
    I have felt you breathing.
    Each breath of life so true.
    An angel of mercy.
    I just want to know you.

    By Michael Grove

  17. He Whispered Words Of Love

    He whispered words of love
    at first she thought it was
    the soft wind in the trees
    crackling the brittle twigs
    flying off into the breeze

    He whispered words of love
    again she stood quite still
    pretended not to hear
    smiled,joked and laughed to hide
    a sudden grip of fear

    He whispered words of love
    she drew her sword and thrust
    to banish him from her
    He crushed her with his boot
    she buried his soul in fur

    He whispered words of love
    again,to her, to her
    he stripped,removed her guise
    slammed the door, bolted locks
    then, she gave him her eyes

    Lisa Petrov

  18. Dedicated to Bishop Leonard Bolick of the NC Synod, Evangelical Lutheran Church of America

    “Your Supper Is Ready” – A Monchielle Poem

    Your supper is ready,
    Come on in for it now.
    The table has been set,
    Beautiful music airs,
    No better meal you’ll get.

    Your supper is ready,
    Now bow your head to pray.
    Release your fears to Me.
    Dining to bring you peace,
    Forgiveness you receive.

    Your supper is ready,
    Let hunger be relieved.
    Consume the bread and wine.
    As My body and blood,
    The repast is divine.

    Your supper is ready,
    I came to give you life.
    Don’t fear to come and eat.
    Always know I love you,
    Salvation is My treat.

    By Melissa Hager, 2011

  19. Water: Monchielle

    Water is much stronger
    that any element
    if given enough time
    seeping into the depths
    rising up to the climes

    Water is much stronger
    that fire, dousing its flames,
    falling free from the skies,
    from the beds of cold ash
    allowing life to rise

    Water is stronger than
    rusting scissors that cut
    paper, which covers rock.
    Though rock may break scissors,
    water wears away rock.

    Water is much stronger
    than wood—sends it aloft,
    roiling cloudward and toss’d—
    makes flotsam and jetsam,
    makes graves for the lives lost.

  20. Michael Grove said:

    Glory and Grace

    I have seen the glory
    and been touched by His Grace,
    like a warm gentle breeze.
    I Said a prayer for hope.
    Spent much time on my knees.

    I have seen the glory
    and felt peace in my soul
    as I fell down so low.
    He raised me up again
    and pulled me from below.

    I have seen the glory.
    I have painted rainbows,
    and wished on shooting stars
    for the answers inside
    to heal the hardened scars.

    I have seen the glory.
    Worn blisters on my feet,
    and deep lines in my face.
    I’ll never doubt again.
    I’m living in His Grace.

    By Michael Grove