
In my last post, I introduced the herrickelle, a poetic form I recently invented based on the poem “Upon His Departure Hence” by the 17th Century English poet and priest Robert Herrick. Today I would like to share a few more herrickelles I’ve written. If after reading them, you feel inspired to try your hand at writing one of your own, I recommend going back and reading my original post on the herrickelle, where the rules to writing them are laid out in full.
(One quick note: the herrickelle is not the only invented poetry form to be based on the work of Robert Herrick. There is also the herrick, modeled on what is clearly Herrick’s most notorious poem ”To the Virgins to Make Much of Time”. The herrick is definitely a more sophisticated and complex form than my rather simple herrickelle, involving alternating masculine and feminine rhymes and strict meter. If this intrigues you, you can read more about the herrick here.)
You will discover all four of these herrickelles certainly have a more modern feel to them in terms of theme and language than the one I posted yesterday as an example (that one had a distinct Medieval flavor). I hope you enjoy reading them, and am curious to hear what you think, both about the form and the individual poems:
Gambling at Foxwoods
I say
the way
I p!ay
takes not
a lot
of thought.
I spin,
don’t win,
begin
to let
roulette
upset
my day.
I stay
and pray.
Oh no,
I go
and blow
a wad
on Odd,
(oh god)
or Red
instead.
So dead
on my
feet, I
still try
to win
and spin
again.
I bet
more, get
more debt!.
Perseverance in a Catastrophe
I know
the show
must go
on. You
do too
(No clue
how or
what for).
Ignore
your doubts,
the shouts,
the bouts
of pain.
Remain
calm, sane
til one
Is done,
my son.
A Letter of Advice (to Vincent From Salvador)
Hello,
Van Gogh!
Start slow…
Adhere
your ear,
with beer.
Erase
your face.
Replace
it with
a myth,
a glyph.
Disguise
your eyes
with lies
once told
(so bold)
to old
girlfriend.
Pretend
to mend
your heart;’
restart
your art!
Critique of a Terrible Poet
This time,
his crime
was rhyme
so bad;
it’s sad.
It had
no flow
and no
joy – oh,
no bit
of wit.
It’s sh*t!

