Tumbleweed

Okay, so I had so much fun exploring the Breccbairdne, Blackout, and Brady’s Touch world of poems in March I decided to carry it over into April. I felt like I didn’t learn enough about these varied writing styles, and I plan to carry on this poetic adventure while the buds start blooming on the trees. I still have many pages left to use from the pages of Mr. Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt. It would be a shame to allow them to go to waste. I’m starting to learn important lessons about meter and rhythm. I’m searching every corner of my mind for new inspiration. It almost feels like I’m running an intellectual marathon. Let’s get started. This poem is a Brady’s Touch poem I called Tumbleweed.

Brady’s Touch and Tumbleweed

Brady’s Touch

Maryann-Merryweather Travis created the Brady’s Touch style of poetry in November 2006 to honor Allen Brady. This style of poetry is a 2 stanza 10-line poem. It follows the pattern listed below, but sometimes I break the rules and add two more stanzas for fun.

1. 2 quintets or 5-line stanza with a specific rhyme and syllable count

2. Each stanza follows the same pattern 9-9-8-8-2 syllables

3. Rhyme scheme is abcde abfde

4. The second stanza should be a replica of the first in the length of lines and rhyme.

Tumbleweed

Tossed by a hard western wicked wind
Tumbling projectile made of weed
Blown past the trashy trailer park
Place where the tattered people live
Junkshop

Until the next gust and blown again
The next leg of the trip guaranteed
Hurled down desert asphalt
Stoplights blink red and combative
And stop

Who is Molly Shea?

Molly Shea is an accomplished fictional short story writer from Indiana who writes short stories and novels about a fictional town called Tecumseh.  To read more of her short stories and adventures, click here.

Be sure to follow Molly on Twitter!

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Published by henhouselady

I am the author of Saving the Hen House. I didn't know when I started it would turn into a series. I love to ride motorcycles, the blues, my family, and going on adventures. This old hen rocks.

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