Some days feel like things are going well. Some days start well but end badly. Some days I dread but end great. Some days are smooth like glass. Some days are bumpy. Some days give joy. Some days don't. Some days suck.
I've decided to take on the challenge I suggested to myself a few posts back: I will make a nonnet every day. The last few days I've tested, to see if it's doable, and I have done it. So I have a little stockpile, now, of half-a-dozen nonnets. And I will move forward, and try to make a nonnet every day, and post it. I guess a side-effect of this is that I'm am, tentatively, returning to my old two-posts-a-day pattern, which I abandoned around the time of my cancer diagnosis, 3 years ago.
Counting backwards among the ones posted previously, starting with one last year, I think this would be number 7.
Living is what we do till we die. We take on difficult questions, or we simply live each day. We love that children play. We can watch the rain. We can see trees. Then it ends. It's just luck.
Now I have made an "inverted" nonnet. I have no idea if this is a thing that's been done before. It's the same as a nonnet, just the other way around. I drew this "blue cicada in a bottle" and originally posted it some years ago.
Blue singing cicadas up in the trees have explained to me without using language that summer is not so bad, that it passes in a moment, that the green, breeze-blown leaves caress them.
One reason I like nonnets is that it's possible to compose them entirely in my head. They are sufficiently compact and structured that I can hold the whole thing in my "working memory" as I work out each line. Thus, I can do it while walking, which is another pastime of mine that doesn't always mix well with writing, since this latter usually requires having a keyboard or notepad in front of me.
I made this nonnet walking to work.
I hate summer, because it's too hot. The sun squashes me, like an ant. The air seems thick, like asphalt. I start missing winter. I could stride quickly. I could shiver. "Ah! So cold, like a ghost."
It's occurred to me I could write a nonnet every day, while walking to work. Am I so ambitious?
I wrote another nonnet. My friend Bob commented that I seem to have a "knack" for them. I don't know about that, but I enjoy doing them – they are constrained like haiku, and the constraints are syllabic rather than metric (a type of constraint I find more difficult to "do in my head"). The haiku form, nowadways, has a bit of a cliche feel in English, which these nonnets avoid.
Speculating about my own mind: moments of consciousness might be like little fragments of light; but no, that's wrong. Instead, like so many beans, we toss them up; they begin to fall down.
This poem is a bit more "trite" than what I normally write. I think adding the rhyming constraint to the regular nonnet form overkills it. Anyway, it's kind of a "throw away" effort, but in the absence of anything more interesting to post…
footsteps striding along like a song one hears in one's own mind, for long seconds, only to prolong themselves among a throng, each wants to belong plunging headlong never wrong, lifelong, strong.
I didn't think the sky was so luminous But as the night was just starting I saw An unblackish sort of blue hanging there Like a closing parenthesis in some Overwrought fragment of prose, still starless. I thought the buildings were holding it up But if that was true it would be like glass, Fragile and smooth, but unmoving and cold Yet this dark sky's mood was warm and it spun Above the buildings and trees, just infinite.