ManicDDaily

Today, dVerse Poets Pub has a “form for all” challenge hosted by Gay Reiser Cannon and Beth Winter, to write a “staccato” poem.  I had not heard of this form before, and although Gay and Beth give both a good explanation and great examples of it in their own poetry blogs, I’m not completely sold on it.  (It involves two six line stanzas with a series of couplets and internal rhymes and certain emphatic repeated words.)

My own staccato poem came to mind in thinking belatedly of Armistice Day, the end of World War I.

I’m sorry, I’m afraid my iPad painting came out a bit more grisly than intended.  That said, World War I seems to be almost as grisly a war as one can imagine.

World War I Veteran

She now speaks of her uncle’s mask with pride,
how she, her brother, each sniffed deep inside–
Yes! Yes!–they put their faces in–
(eyes bug’s), imagined traces in
the mustiness–of mustard’s scent and mud;
and yes, on khaki’s fade, the stain, old blood.

Knew only what they heard or read or guessed–
their uncle never spoke, not even yes
or no.  (No! No!)  Made tooled leather
wallets and small sacs to gather
coins.  Though often he just sat in his old car,
not able to manage masks, no, anymore.