He froze her soul with icy breath
Her final day upon this Earth
It seemed that she was glad of death
So calmly filled her final berth
Her final day upon this Earth
Much bleaker than her heart could stand
So calmly filled her final berth
With all the dignity she planned
Much bleaker than her heart could stand
Much colder than a winter's night
With all the dignity she planned
She slipped away without a fight
Much colder than a winter's night
The orders of a nameless chap
She slipped away without a fight
A mighty vessel sold for scrap
The orders of a nameless chap
It seemed that she was glad of death
A mighty vessel sold for scrap
He froze her soul with icy breath
Author notes
Another Pantoum, a form for which I have no love. Modern European poets do not follow any rules of line length or meter in Pantoums but where they were born they are always octasyllabic as this one is and I choose to use a rather mournful meter to reinforce the theme.
In a list
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Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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I can relate to this very much. it's beautiful
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Well for a form you have no love of you nailed this poem. I loved it, although I'm not much for repetition it was original enough that it was not predictable. You have a way with words. I wish I could write like that.
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i could never write something like this...which is perfectly fine with me, because you can
Englishman, you are a remarkable storyteller, no matter what form.
love to you, Lane
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Thank-you
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For someone who doesn't like writing pantoums you sure have a funny way of showing it
I enjoyed reading this (repetition or not) a good story, well told
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You signaled this from the beginning (ships are always female) and I missed it until the colloquial "chap" jumped out at me.
I don't like the form either, and have never written one on account of that; but this was very well crafted.
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Beautifullllll Very Delicate seeming, Like a little Porcelain doll sitting on your shelf smiling as your trying to sleep <3 Amazing
[C4C?]
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A form for wich you have no love who was the vixen who got you penning it then?
Makes no sense then again, nothing is making sense.
as always perfectly penned
and indeed dark, captures the heart
of a lady torn and battered
who lost the will...
yikes
what a bed time read.
Love
Passions
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Me of course, I have written cinquains and haiku and rictameters and all sorts of other forms I dislike too. I write poetry and I believe that all forms of poetry have things they may be able to teach me. The only way I can find out how something works is to do it myself.
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