Ovi Poetry Challenge 76: CALM is your inspiration.

Ronovan Ovi Challenge, , , , ,

I wrote this long post about US politics and the Presidential election and the lack of Calm we have here in the US. I deleted it. Why? Because I need to be calm and politics does not make me calm.

We need calm to make the right decisions, to be healthy, and to enjoy life. Once things happen, your reaction is on you. Calm or Chaos? I choose calm. It’s difficult at times, but I keep doing so… every few minutes that chaos shows up.

Be Calm and Thankful this week. Thanksgiving here in the US is about being thankful for being alive and with those we love, if we are able to.

OVI POETRY

Ovi is a syllabic/metre poetry form. In this case, Ovi is from India, originating in the Marathi language. The Ovi  has been in use in written form since the 13th Century, but the women’s ovee/ovi predates the literary form by at least the 12th Century.

The Ovi are in general, lyrical folk songs expressing love, social irony, and heroic events. They are written in the following scheme.

4 line stanzas, as few as one stanza and up to as many as you like.

8 syllables or less per line

Rhyming is AAAb. The second stanza would be CCCd. The third, EEEf. And so on. Meaning nothing in one stanza must rhyme with anything in the previous stanza. The fourth line does not rhyme.

Example:

Roly Poly by Judi Van Gorder

The big toothed tot with golden hair
picked up a bug on Sister’s dare,
it rolled into a ball right there
and won her springtime heart.

Notice the rhyming pattern is AAAb or
A
A
A
b

My Attempt

Blue flowers continue to grow,
with the shadow’s making them glow,
giving life to darkness and woe,
dying each year to yet return.

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12 thoughts on “Ovi Poetry Challenge 76: CALM is your inspiration.”

  6. Israel and Lebanon/Hezbollah November 27, 2024

    There is no real festive feast

    this brief calm in the Middle East,

    one stilled roar from a famished beast –

    the hatred – the storm still loiters.

    And here I am, a far-flung scribe,

    a slight poet, my sorrowed vibe

    not part of it, of any tribe

    of warriors…lost in the rhyme.

    There is no rhyme nor reason here,

    a convenient pause of death, of fear,

    for one brief breath, a quiet cheer

    missiles stand down, the sky is safe.

    There are so many homeward bound –

    I wish them well – the vicious sound

    of bombs restrained, a brief peace found

    until, until, I know not when.

    http://www.engleson.ca

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