Challenge.3 :: Glosa

[abiona]

And now for something a bit more challenging...

Glosa

One of my favorite types of poems. The challenge is to identify a poem you like, on RB, one of your own, or a published piece and use four lines of it to create a glosa poem. Now, since you might not know what a glosa is... here is some reading.

WHAT IS A GLOSA POEM?

The Glosa was used by poets of the Spanish court and dates back to the late 14th and early 15th century. For some reason, it has not been particularly popular in English. A search of the Internet search will uncovered a meager number of brief references to the form. From the limited information it is learned that the traditional structure has two parts. The first part is called the texte or cabeza. It consists of the first few lines (usually four) or the first stanza (usually a quatrain) from a well-known poem or poet. It has become permissible to use lines from a less well-known poet, or even from ones own verse.

The second part is the glose or glosa proper. This is a “gloss on,” an expansion, interpretation or explanation of the texte. The formal rule describes the glosa as consisting of four ten-line stanzas, with the consecutive lines of the texte being used as the tenth line (called the glossing) of each stanza. Furthermore, lines six and nine must rhyme with the borrowed tenth. Internal features such as length of lines, meter and rhyme are at the discretion of the poet.

*source

Feel free to post your attempt in this thread as well as in Poetic Scriptures for some feedback.

I'll start it off so you can see what I mean.

enjoy!

[abiona]

This is where you will cry the most
learn to gather your tears into fists
realizing water will never grant your wishes
reflections are always true but never wet.

from I am a Work in Progress
by Jessica Care Moore

midnight musings push pens across paper
as darkness brings solitude to light
on nights when empty beds and empty promises
make the silence deafening to hungry ears
can you hear the tears laid bare by the lonely
wrapped in memories issued as kisses from a ghost
torn and trampled like discarded clothing, wearing
stitches and staples upon skin bearing sins
of which only the wicked would boast.
this is where you will cry the most.

the sky will open to gather your tears
chests heaving from sobs caught in frozen throats
arms outstretched in supplication
praying for salvation from the stars
scattered into constellations, painted
landscapes of intimacy's remembered trysts
but sunshine dries the dampened earth
and puts weak souls to rest
and when morning breaks through the blanketing mists
learn to gather your tears into fists

to fight with fractured visions of self
that pause the wounds from healing
bent backs straightening like flowers in bloom
rebirth at dawn slowly creeping
for time is the soothing balm of gilead
to stifle a pain once vicious
the eyes will dry, as did the earth
tears of ablution no longer needed
when you search your soul for riches
realizing that water will never grant your wishes

instead whisper them to the tallest trees
for tears hold no substance for strength
understand the revolving cycles of life
for when darkness clears
as does all with the passage of time
you shall return to the pedestal upon which dreams were set
to birth into being, a new calm
from the storm clouds of yesterdays
accepting that rain shall indeed fall, and yet
reflections are always true but never wet

[spokenoh]

Picture my thoughts of her every night driving me mad
Picture her, I picture her, because right now, pictures are all I have
I long for the opportunity to hold her, run fingers through her hair & hold her face
Until then I picture her in my life until such is the case
- Derrick Brown, "Taking a Chance on Love"

I am counting to a thousand and as each breath
slips quietly into the murmurs of an empty room,
hands pulling at cheeks & eye sockets swollen
with recollection, a dry canvas crackles in my heart
like the honest beginnings of a starless night fire
and my heart beats cascade onto a sketch pad
I am drawing from memory what you look like,
the taste of your breath, the slight touch
of your porcelain jawline, the nose wrinkles
and the colour of your skin like a myriad
picture my thoughts of her every night driving me mad

and they are masterwork momentos
they are the Mona Lisa smile that has nothing
on what she does to me when she laughs
and I can know each and every dimple like
the pale scars on my knees, the faded
blushed imprints of my kisses on her calves
all the places I've been, the map of arteries
from her pink baby toes to the shadow
of her earlobes, locks of hair split in halves
Picture her, I picture her, because right now, pictures are all I have

that I can say are mine to hold close and dear,
some I had forgotten about, places vague
and opaque like childhood ghosts but
I promise I never forget how you looked to me
and the slow ache of missing you beside me
but these small things I can only embrace
with phantom arms that need something
to hold onto that won't vanish from fingertips
I keep calling out for grace
I long for the opportunity to hold her, run fingers through her hair, and hold her face

in the morning while you would breathe
small wisps of innocence and love, love, love
on my shoulderblade and I could just watch
for there was no great poem to write
like the one you were when you slept
and with my lips slow I could trace
everything I can never say with words & letters
but now I want you to know I'll always love you,
and I pray you smile and are safe
Until then I picture her in my life until such is the case

[abiona]

for there was no great poem to write
like the one you were when you slept

Beautiful.

Your words worked so well with the piece you chose as your cabeza. If a glosa is to add on to and extend the inspiration piece, you did such a great job of that. I really, really enjoyed this. It read so naturally, which is hard to do while juggling a somewhat random rhyme scheme AND matching up with lines borrowed from elsewhere.

Two thumbs up! Glad you completed this!