The inspiration for my very first ottava rima (and my last?) is occurring right now and I probably should be powering down rather than typing on, and I can hear people I know say: she just doesn’t show good sense.
While I consider myself a writer, I don’t totally consider myself a poet. I love words and I love the possibility of the musicality of words when rhythm and wordplay exist. However, when words like iambs and feet and meter come up, I, for some reason, hear white noise. I’m still hoping to grow out of it.
Without further…stalling…thanks (or a word of your choosing after you read 😉 ) to dVerse for providing the opportunity to write an ottava rima. If you’d like to write one, click here to read about the form.
mea culpa for my meter
the thunder rattles the window panes
a streak of lightning jags across the sky
my father called the thunder angel led games
which never deigned to terminate in a tie
my dad was raised on the Great Plains
where clouds became cones to horrify
my dog senses the same of storms
my “okay” he understands is misinformed
Sascha “ain’t no ottava rima” Darlington