Yeah, you read that right.
Today, we’re going to write a poem that follows along with the ovarian cycle.
But first, let’s talk a little bit about what that looks like.
The ovarian cycle, or menstrual cycle as it’s better known, is split into four stages.
- Menstruation
- Follicular
- Ovulation
- Luteal
Each phase is characterized by fluctuations in the key hormones that make up the cycle, primarily estrogen and progesterone.
Though everyone reacts differently, generally speaking there are moods and symptoms that can be associated with each phase. During follicular, for example, you might feel light and joyous, and be at your happiest. For luteal, this is generally seen as the more difficult phase, where many premenstrual symptoms start to arrive.
There’s a certain poetry to the rise and fall of our hormones as the cycle continues, month after month. So I thought to myself, why not make it its own form?
That’s when Ovarian Form was born.
It’s pretty simple, too! If you want to try writing your own poem, here are the guidelines you should follow:
1st stanza
- about ¼ of the poem
- tone should gain momentum and be energetic, excited, alive, freeing
2nd stanza
- one to two lines (or about an equivalent ratio for longer poems)
- tone is a sudden break or shift in direction from the first stanza
3rd stanza
- about ½ of the poem
- tone should show a descent, getting darker and moodier and heavier as you go, until…
4th stanza
- about ¼ of the poem
- tone now shifts back towards hope, circles back to beginning themes, and starts its movement back towards that energy from the first stanza
Additionally, The last word of each stanza should be the first word of the next, and the last word of the poem should repeat the first word of the poem.
Here's a quick example:
Priority Express
Tomorrow can wait, I send my dreams
through the mail so they can arrive
when I need them, so light as I let go
of the weight of my future in order to
be present for these moments.
Moments can rip in an instant, though.
Though I know that my post box
will remind me in due time, for now
I can’t read, can’t even think as
I grapple with the emptiness,
no lined paper guides my hand,
so I fall, spiral, descend into
my own psyche, unable to use
language as a buoy, all I can do
is tread as the river rises and
the rapids rush and I start to take
my last breath.
Breath catches as the dam breaks,
I am carried along on the waves
that transport me to my true
home where I see the flag
that tells me I have made it to tomorrow.
Winona Anderson 