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quinn Feb 10
you just awaken every day
to stumble through unknown places
and trip through the gaps in spaces;
you are not safe, you’re lost, you relay
stolen lines all the same. you say:
“i just need to get through this week”
as if, after sunday, unique
places will appear, that you will
understand, at last. a standstill
comes, but now your world is oblique.
just words on paper, babey!
Paul Hansford Feb 2016
My poems are my children, more or less.
I care about them, want them to go far,
would like the world to love them as they are.
Or would it help if I could maybe dress
them in fancy words, improve their accent? Yes,
though a judicious measure of sobriety
might give my work commendable variety.
Alas, they're disadvantaged from the start,
these single-parent children of my art,
and I can't blame their failings on Society.
The décima is a Spanish form of ten lines (hence the name).  See my Youth and Age for more details.
Paul Hansford Feb 2016
In my childhood trees were green,
sky was blue, the sun shone gold.
Snow fell in winter thick and cold
as if the summer had never been,
and there was nothing in between.
But now I'm old, sky's always grey,
no colour left to light my day,
winter and summer all the same,
and Loneliness my middle name.
Why did you have to go away?
The décima is a Spanish form of ten lines (hence the name), rhymed A B B A A C C D D C.     I reckon it's quite like a sonnet, only shorter. The Spanish original asks for octosyllables, but curiously in Spanish verse that doesn't necessarily mean eight syllables to the line!  So I wrote it in tetrameter (4-beat lines).

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