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Richard St. Clair

Triolet: The Mockingbird

Today the mockingbird
Is just a memory,
Yet soon it will be heard.
Today the mockingbird
Is silent — not a word
Can coax its melody —
For today the mockingbird
Is just a memory.

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Triolet: Grackle

The grackle fluffs his wings
And flits from tree to tree.
As warmth the daylight brings,
The grackle fluffs his wings.

The breeze the wind-chime rings
Says spring is soon to be:
The grackle fluffs his wings
And flits from tree to tree.

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Triolet: The Robin's Song

The robin perched atop the tree
Signals spring his warbling song;
How long will I be pleased to see
The robin perched atop the tree?

Because it seems he sings for me,
I feel I want to sing along
With the robin perched atop the tree
Who signals spring his warbling song!

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Triolet: Snowflakes

The snowflakes of the winter night
Crown the land with regal mien;
The driving wind seems to incite
The snowflakes of the winter night
To obfuscate the lunar light.
What purpose lurks behind this scene -
The snowflakes of the winter night
Which crown the land with regal mien?

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Sonnet Minus One: A Jest [Acrostic on THIRTEEN LINES]

This is not a sonnet, can’t you tell? It
Has a line less than it should, for, hell, if
I am to be printed in this broadside,
Rules require the lines to number oddly.
This allows me eight lines at the first, but
Even though my rhyming is well-versed, as
Every critic knows the issue’s passed, that
Never will this poem be a classic.

Literati want their sonnets catholic
In the best King’s English Shakespeare hath, and
Not the three-legged race this thirteen-liner
Eggs the couplet-craving crowd unraveled:
So, I scorn to tread the road more traveled.

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Villanelle: Blackbird

The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill,
In autumn after other birds had fled,
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.

I stood and listened, savoring the thrill
And wondered why the superstitious dread
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill.

Perhaps they’d better reckoned why the shrill,
Outspoken, charcoal guardian of the dead
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.

A witness of the seasons, it could fill
A tome or tomb with woe: I heard, instead,
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill.

The raven’s kin, it played the brazen shill
And, morbid incantations having plead,
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.

[...] Read more

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