Puzzles

Yes, I know the whole of life can be a bit of a puzzle, but that's only if you stop and think about it for too long. If you just get on with living it, you don't have time to be puzzled, I reckon. But I'm really thinking more about those time consuming jig-saws or crossword puzzles - or sudoku, if you are of a mathematical bent. It's often a touch of the 'Marmite Syndrome' - love or hate - that describes a person's attitude to them. I've found, rather than a lukewarm, take-'em-or-leave-'em attitude, a lot of people tip towards one extreme or the other. Either their eyes light up, a pen flies into their hands and the Daily Crossword is under siege in a flash, or they sigh, frown and quickly find a reason to be somewhere else at the very mention of the word puzzle.

If it's jigsaws under scrutiny, the 'for 'em' brigade will get the table cleared and the pieces spread around almost before the crumbs of the last meal have been swept away. The corners (or simply edges, as there are many fiendishly shaped jig-saws around these days) are quickly located and the hunt for matching textures or colours on the squiggly shaped cardboard pieces absorbs their mind completely from that moment on. Concentration rules. Woe betide any swift movement on the part of passers by that manages to waft a delicate piece to the floor...

This grumpy reaction is particularly noticeable if a group of mixed age is endeavouring to achieve a team effort. The smallest, youngest or least dexterous is likely to be ostracised at a very early stage of the proceedings.

I am a sucker for punishment. Not enough for me to enjoy these ready made puzzles which originated in another's mind. No, I revel in the opportunity of self inflicted word puzzles which occur when I try to follow a traditional, poetic rhyme scheme.

I know these days, a lot of poetry tends to be free form, non-rhyming, and there is no doubt many beautiful thoughts and feelings are expressed within its freedom. But the discipline imposed by following a specific form holds this same element of 'puzzle' within my mind. The grey cells need to scurry and search to make language do my bidding. The thrill of the hunt with a finished poem as the only quarry.

Yesterday found me chasing over many hurdles. You've seen the first race result ( thank you RWP for giving me a retrospective boost over one or two jumps). Next on the race card came the Triolet Stakes. The prize would be awarded to the following rhyme scheme:-

A B a A a b A B

Eight lines, with the first, fourth and seventh and the second and eighth repeated verbatim. Not quite as easy as you may think - if you still want the whole thing to make sense! At least there are no restrictions to line length or metre in a Triolet. Here's what I ended up with:-

Concentration

As I try to pen a line
to start the juices flowing,
I hope to capture all in rhyme,
as I try to pen a line -
and fondly hope it won't decline
but keep the verses growing,
as I try to pen a line
to start the juices flowing.