Magpies - One for Sorrow, Two for Joy

One for sorrow, two for joy. There they are again, on the fence, eyeing up the bird-feeders, the cheeky pair. They were going for it the other day, standing on the top of the frame from where they were able to peck at the fat-balls then stretching to the seed holders to steal from them. Stealing it is, because those feeders are for sparrows. By the time I’ve stood up from my chair, they’ve flown home to next door’s tree.

Over the weekend I was tidying the back garden and making space to plant some winter flowering pansies. For once it was quiet. Usually there’s someone nearby with a lawn-mower or strimmer, or noisy DIY going on and there’s always sirens. We are close to the hospital, the M55, the main police headquarters and a fire station. The sirens are really annoying but not as irritating as the sound of the magpies. The afternoon was pleasantly warm and the air was still. I wanted to do as much as I could before my knees and upper legs surrendered. Soon the magpies kicked off with loud, rattly chak chak chakking. It’s a horrible noise and I think they do it on purpose when they see me come outside. I did what I needed to do as quickly as I could. Next door’s tree is a well-established sycamore and I’m sure it is a housing estate for a massive conventicle of magpies or at least the overspill from the trees around nearby Lawson’s Field.

Magpies have an attractive plumage of black and white with a wide stripe of navy blue which is beautifully vibrant in sunlight. They are predators of bird’s eggs and nestlings which they will kill to feed their young. Nice looking but nasty creatures which also carry superstition. I don’t like to see just one on its own and have to mutter “Good day, Mr Magpie” and hope for another to show up. Apparently, in China they are thought to bring good luck.

In my early teens I used to enjoy ‘Magpie’, the TV show. I’ve read that it was a rival to Blue Peter. I don’t remember it being anything like Blue Peter. I found it entertaining and informative aimed at slightly older kids, which is probably what appealed to me. And it had the rhyme we all know for a signature tune. Join in.

One for sorrow
Two for joy,
Three for a girl
Four for a boy.
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret
Never to be told.
Eight for a wish,
Nine for a kiss,
Ten for a bird
You must not miss.
Magpie.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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ConFORM

Sonnet, Haiku, Senryu, Epic, Epistolary, Blank, Villanelle, Paradelle, Elegy.  Someone called Gary has counted 55 types of poetic form which makes me think that there the true number is closer to 555.  Some of these forms are rigid in their requirements of rhyme and metre.  Others encourage rebellion, such as Blank Verse, which requires only metre, or Free Verse which tends to follow no rules and Robert Frost described as "like playing tennis without a net".

As the quote above indicates, playing with form is a sort of game - an exercise.  It's one which is used in schools to familiarise students with form while allowing them to express themselves.  Below is an example of a sonnet written by Millie Shepherd, a high school student from Over Wyre. 

Shall I compare your love to refined art?

Not rendered by hue nor pigment but sublime.

Your composition plays a unique part,

In the remarkable mountains you climb.

You can't be broken by fragility,

Or overcome by the childlike spectrum.

Nothing you create hinders ability,

Instead it thaws with natural rhythm.

Your gentle golden brush of affection,

Hath expressed such bewitching imagery,

If such love would ever hint at rejection,

My entire existence would be a query.

If you only ever drew a rainbow,

It could never detract from your halo.

What Millie's poem reveals to me is the power of such an exercise on the direction of a poem.  I think you can see where the structure has guided the language.  This is no bad thing.  How many times have we started to write a poem only to find that the landscape, or chosen form, has redirected our initial efforts so that our final piece is removed from that first idea, sometimes radically so?  I think that structured exercises, and I cound adherence to form as such, is a time-honoured method of challenging those initial thoughts, of pushing ourselves that little bit further.  It's as if the paper is saying to us, 'Yes, that's an intriguing line of thread but let's see what happens to it when you wrap it about a new frame.' 

Of course, sometimes we don't want to be distracted by the frame - we want to communicate our idea in its first shape, without the twist of form.  But when you love to play with words (and we do love to play with words don't we?) there is a real joy in rising to the challenge of a complex structure, of hanging our ideas about a twisted frame. 

OK, it wouldn't be an exercise week without a challenge or two so here's a frame for you to try on... It's the Monostich form, which means a poem that consists of a single line.  Here's an example stolen from the interweb:

COWARD

Bravery runs in my family.

A. R. Ammons

And here is my attempt:

SWEET-EYE

Your licorice laces are untied.

Right.  Off you go...

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