Homework week ending 15/02/16
Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2016 3:16 pm
OK Maureen, you said any style - here is my try at a Sestina.
The tale that I just heard was sad, so very sad -
a young woman, a refugee trudging a perilous trail.
She sickened on the way and then she died.
Traumatised her children cried, “We couldn’t save her!”
Like so many blind pedestrians they followed the crowd ,
they felt there was no love, no life – now that is tragic.
Any way you look at it, it is so very tragic.
She leaves behind children who are beyond sad.
Yesterday as I tussled with the lunch-time crowd,
I gave no thought at all about her or the trail
she had to walk, or the pain which ravished her.
It made no difference to me in my world how she died.
After hearing her tale something within me has died.
I pray I will never be subjected to anything so tragic.
No yardstick could measure the unfairness of the life dealt her.
I feel inadequate to change anything and that makes me sad.
I hold in awe those people who live to blaze a new trail,
who elbow a new pathway through the crowd.
Those conscientious warriors who don’t follow the crowd,
who care about and remember the many refugees who have died
when their path to freedom morphs into a death trail.
To these paragons of selflessness, to do nothing would be tragic,
to be oblivious to another person’s struggle extremely sad.
Each of these aspire to be as a white knight to such as her.
Though we will never know her, she had family who loved her -
family for whom she stood out from the crowd.
Children, maybe a mother or husband who feel so much more than sad.
She left a human sized hole in their world when she died -
Though numerous, no national news presenter reported on the tragic
demise of one in a thousand misplaced people on humanity’s shameful trail.
If we had the time, we could trace back through history a similar trail -
hundreds of similar stories all of which could have been about her
and all highlighting the unfortunate chance of birthplace and all of them tragic.
I live in comfort and protection as one of the ‘fortunate’ crowd.
It seems likely that I will die in old age as all of my ancestors have died.
Maybe my friends and family will remember me sometimes and be sad.
Her story is worthy to be remembered in a sonnet or a ballad sweet and sad.
Her battle to lead her brood safely along the perilous trail where she died,
worthy even of Shakespeare’s tragic tales - so popular with a medieval crowd.
The tale that I just heard was sad, so very sad -
a young woman, a refugee trudging a perilous trail.
She sickened on the way and then she died.
Traumatised her children cried, “We couldn’t save her!”
Like so many blind pedestrians they followed the crowd ,
they felt there was no love, no life – now that is tragic.
Any way you look at it, it is so very tragic.
She leaves behind children who are beyond sad.
Yesterday as I tussled with the lunch-time crowd,
I gave no thought at all about her or the trail
she had to walk, or the pain which ravished her.
It made no difference to me in my world how she died.
After hearing her tale something within me has died.
I pray I will never be subjected to anything so tragic.
No yardstick could measure the unfairness of the life dealt her.
I feel inadequate to change anything and that makes me sad.
I hold in awe those people who live to blaze a new trail,
who elbow a new pathway through the crowd.
Those conscientious warriors who don’t follow the crowd,
who care about and remember the many refugees who have died
when their path to freedom morphs into a death trail.
To these paragons of selflessness, to do nothing would be tragic,
to be oblivious to another person’s struggle extremely sad.
Each of these aspire to be as a white knight to such as her.
Though we will never know her, she had family who loved her -
family for whom she stood out from the crowd.
Children, maybe a mother or husband who feel so much more than sad.
She left a human sized hole in their world when she died -
Though numerous, no national news presenter reported on the tragic
demise of one in a thousand misplaced people on humanity’s shameful trail.
If we had the time, we could trace back through history a similar trail -
hundreds of similar stories all of which could have been about her
and all highlighting the unfortunate chance of birthplace and all of them tragic.
I live in comfort and protection as one of the ‘fortunate’ crowd.
It seems likely that I will die in old age as all of my ancestors have died.
Maybe my friends and family will remember me sometimes and be sad.
Her story is worthy to be remembered in a sonnet or a ballad sweet and sad.
Her battle to lead her brood safely along the perilous trail where she died,
worthy even of Shakespeare’s tragic tales - so popular with a medieval crowd.
the homework is not set in concrete to flog you over the head with - it is just a writing exercise to explore different concepts and to hone our writing skills.