Saturday, April 18, 2020

Ann Whitford Paul - Too Big For Bear


I’m six years old, too big for Bear,
but maybe in my bed tonight . . .
No friends are here to see or care.
I’m six years old, too big for Bear,
but ghosts are creeping everywhere.
If only I could hold him tight.
I’m six years old, too big for Bear,
but maybe in my bed tonight . . .

© Ann Whitford Paul. All rights reserved 

Says Ann "This poem popped into my head because of the times we’re living in. When we’re stuck at home, everyone needs something to comfort them whether 6 or 66 or 106 years young. Yours could be a blanket, a bear, a good book, or a warm bath or a sweet banana. Don’t be embarrassed. Snuggle it, read it, splash in it, eat it. Do what you need to calm and soothe yourself. We may be apart, but we’re all in this together.

The poem is a triolet.
It’s easy because it’s only eight lines and several of the lines are repeated.
The form looks like:

First line
Second line
*Third line rhymes with first line
Fourth line repeats first line
*Fifth line rhymes with first line
*Sixth line rhymes with second line
Seventh line repeats first line
Eighth line repeats second line.

Once you have your first lines, you’re well on your way. I’ve put an* beside each line that isn’t a repeat. The key is to make sure your first two lines are worth of being repeated. I hope maybe you’ll give this form a try. Happy writing!"

Ooooh! A triolet! This is one of my favorite forms, and I'm grateful Ann Whitford Paul has prompted us to write one. I shall!  And I shall also urge you to go check out some of Ann's books - she's a master picture book writer (and if you're looking to write one yourself, she's written an amazing book to help you). 


Marilyn Singer said...

I love triolets and I love this poem!

KarolinaS said...

Yea! I love prompts and learning new poetry forms. Challenge accepted!

KarolinaS said...

Took me a few days...especially since I wanted to see if I could write about a subject other than CATS (not that there's anything wrong with that!)...but here goes:

A baseball-free summer.
Such a major-league bummer!
It’s the saddest of years.

A baseball-free summer
Could our hearts be any number?
No hits, runs or cheers.

A baseball-free summer.
It’s the saddest of years.