Ballad of the Sheepies

This is my first attempt at writing a ballad.
Ballads are narratives that tell a story often using metaphors. Ballads vary in their structure, but I chose to try the traditional iambic meter (an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable) and wrote four-line stanzas (quatrains), alternating between iambic tetrameter (4 iambs/eight syllables per line) and iambic trimeter (3 iambs/six syllables per line).

Maybe I'll try a sonnet next...
Maybe 😏

Ballad of the Sheepies
In warming air of springtime full,
The shepherd took the sheep,
Out into hills secure and green,
Their guarding he did keep. 

In pleasant pastures packed with wool,
While they in joyful leaps,
Naively thought the world serene,
The foolish little sheep.    

In glooming forest fraught with wolves,     
In trees below they sleep.
The guard aware of threat unseen,
Where murky shadows creep.

In warming air of springtime full,
One little sheepie keen,
Hills yonder to exploring took,  
And every field between.

The little Sheepie went to look,
Too near of trees forbid,
But careless sheep ignored survey,
How near the wolves there lived

Then came upon a laughing brook,
The little sheepie did.
It followed water’s streaming way,
And in the forest hid.

Away from Shepherd’s looming hook,
Of watchful care now rid.
The little sheep enjoyed its play,
Alone in forest grid.

Secure protection it mistook,
For now the sun thus slid.
The darkness grew while ending day,
The howling air so chilled.

In fear the timid sheep now shook,
With dread and trouble filled.
It heard the howls from far away,
In brush where danger lived.

Unseen by helpless sheepie’s look,
A creature watched its prey.
Intensive eyes that saw a snack,
Those eyes with teeth arrayed.

Behind the leaves, withheld attack,    
Then bursting through the brush,
A snarling jaw, a flash of fur,
A head of teeth did rush.

How sheepie wished to pastures back,
Again, so safe and lush.
A simple life afresh preferred,
Instead of certain shush.

Aware of closing doom so black,
The stench of reaching touch,
Escape deprived, escape deterred,
The future foul and such.

And knowing strength the sheep did lack,   
The world so stilled, and hushed,     
For dreadful portent would occur,
The sheepie sadly crushed.  

The jaws agape with death amid,
When swiftly came a whack.
A wooden staff with crumpling crush,  
That gave the wolf attack.

The shepherd saved his sheep for sure,
With quelling bruising smack.                                
He carried home his precious fool,
The wolf thus beaten back.

In warming air of springtime full,
The little sheepie peeps,
Secure in brawny arms serene,
No longer sheepie weeps.   

Relieved, the straying cloud of wool,
Perceives protection deep.  
Amazed by steady past routine,     
The sheepie falls asleep.

In warming air of springtime full,
The shepherd took the sheep,
Out into hills secure and green,
Their guarding he did keep.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Name

I am the butterfly struggling in the rain,  The morning touch of sun that cuts through the haze,   The colors arrayed in the dark night sky, When the lights go dim and the milky vein, Entrances the eyes. I am the lullaby found in rough terrain, The vague shadow that eludes one's searching gaze, The comforting warmth in freezing plight, A welcomed drink, like tea or champagne, Which comforts at night. I am the loyal thrum felt throbbing through veins, The reminder during struggles and harsh days, Encouragement to endure the fight. I am the smile that dilutes pain, It will be alright. I am the unperceived translucent membrane, The quick flutter of eth'real gossamer daze, The sheer shimmer of dragonfly wings. A feigned reflection in dew drops plain, Reified as kings. This is who I am This is my name
Read more

Trying to be kind

Emotions can sometimes be difficult to navigate. Sometimes when you've already got a lot going on, it makes you more sensitive to even the littlest of things. I wrote about some of the things that make me tempted to snap. These may be some reasons you struggle with being unkind (def. mine), but remember they may also be why someone is unkind to you Trying to be Kind It is hard to be kind when you’re tired… Or when you’re hungry Or lonely Or when you’re scared. It’s hard when you’re frustrated… Or when you’ve had a bad day Or a bad week Or when you’re overwhelmed. It’s hard when you’re stressed… Or when you’re rushed Or forgotten Or when you’re disappointed. It’s hard to be kind when you’re disrespected… Or when you’re expected to be someone’s rescuer Or lifeline Or when you listen to everyone’s problems. It’s hard when you’re depressed… Or when you’re anxious Or feeling ill Or when you’ve had enough of people. It’s hard when you’re overlooked… Or when y...
Read more

Invective - (abuse)

In the U.S., call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) for the National Domestic Violence Hotline. I wrote this poem because emotional abuse is often misunderstood or overlooked. Emotional abuse (sometimes referred to as psychological abuse) is when a person repetitively attempts to control or undermine another, most often verbally (e.g. criticism, blame, humiliation, threats) but can include other non-physical behavior as well (e.g. withholding affection, isolation, disrespecting boundaries, harsh treatment). Sometimes the abuser doesn’t realize what they’re doing or think that it is wrong, but it is. It is very harmful and destructive. While I wrote this poem about emotional abuse, all abuse is wrong. If you or someone you know is being abused, there are people who can help you. Call the number above if you need help. Learn what the signs of abuse are so you can help others. I posted links to some articles on emotional abuse below. " Emotional abuse is an attempt to control, in just the sa...
Read more