Shakespeare says...

Pointy-eared gumshoe
in ur town solvin' ur crimes
Toby Daye, bitches.

That's as good as it gets before coffee. -.-

The Heroine's name is October.
'Cause it's Seanan, I venture she's sober.
The story it's true
is Rosemary and Rue
And I bet I will howl when it's over.

See, now I've got to trot off to try and write a poem. I don't WRITE poems. *points* I BLAME YOU, SEANAN.

Stranded in koi pond
Toby dreams of sweet revenge
Glub glub glub glub die

Koi in the fish pond
A breath of October air
Starts a new story

Much time yet to pass;
October creeps closer on
small September feet.

Rosemary and the
double-meaning second word
a spiffy title

I shall decline to participate, But I appreciate that there are already 2 limericks posted. I am slightly dismayed at the number of haikus though.

Caught up in danger
Ear perked and prick'd high
Blood sounds the same: Drip.

I know a young lady called Seanan
Who sold a trilogy one mornin'
About Toby Daye,
And then she said, "Hey!
"I've another ten books still a-bornin'!"

(You didn't say it had to be /good/ poetry! But the limerick is definitely structured...)

There once was a girl named October,
Such temper; she was no push-over.
Can’t you just see?
How she’d use her knee,
First time some guy tried to disrobe her.

October Daye rises;
September bookstores worry-
Fans descend in swarms.

Sadly, 'like locusts' would have put me one over on the syllable count.

*looks up what a virelai is* Wow, if I had any poetic sense at all (or a rhyming dictionary), I would try my hand at one of those just to see how much hate it might induce in me.

Flames and ash and blood and dust,
and Rosemary leaves covered in rust.

Black and red and green and blue,
corpses covered in tainted Rue.

Monsters shriek and shred and scare,
darkness spilling everywhere.

People hate and fear this life,
yet few try to end the strife.

But October tires of endless night,
she stands up to join the fight.

With magic in hand she paves the way,
for the sun to rise on a new Daye.

Well this came out a lot darker then I'd intended it too, and I'm probably completely wrong about everything. *sigh*
I'm not completely sure if a series of rhymed couplets really counts, so smack me if I'm doing it wrong >.>

We will stipulate going in that I am certifiably bonkers, notably because this is the first time I've attempted a sestina, and (as Our Hostess and the astute reader will discern) I imposed an extra layer of challenge on the structure. [This required wading fairly deeply into the back posts in order to establish the sixth keyword.] I will also observe for the record that, although the recently shortened title for Book Four is probably much better for marketing purposes, it makes life decidedly more interesting for would-be writers of sestinas.

Now, then:

Musings On October

The tale begins with rosemary and rue,
The one for memory, the other, honor,
The former grown by day, its mate by night.
(Think how remembrance dimmed once darkness fell
And how the shadow of regret eclipses
All brighter passions in night’s habitation.)

Who, though, may map a local habitation
Foreseeing that the road may lead to rue?
More often, evil circumstance eclipses
Benign intent, unravels bonds of honor,
Obscures the path with fog that lately fell,
Transforming fairest day to foulest night.

And yet, it is an artificial night
That cannot long sustain its habitation,
For dawn succeeds the dark whene’er it fell.
Who tries to break that cycle’s sure to rue
Such rough assault on morning’s maiden honor
When light prevails against the shade’s eclipses.

We can but wonder where these late eclipses
Arise within the deep expanse of night;
What shadowed scion dares assault the honor
Of those who choose the daylight’s habitation?
We must trace shadow’s source, else we may rue
Our lack of vigilance toward foes most fell.

We’ll face the threat upon the brightest fell,
For hope’s bold flag the foe’s despair eclipses,
And passion’s strength sweeps o’er the flowering rue,
Seeding a garden proof against the night,
Whose beauty shields our chosen habitation,
Yet, freely growing, blooms in nature’s honor.

The shadow, beaten, sheds ashes of honor
Behind it, leaves its minions where they fell
As it slinks back to its own habitation.
At least for now, the sky’s done with eclipses;
Day will be day, the night shall cleave to night,
And we may harvest rosemary and rue.

In time will evil come to rue its honor,
Break free of night again to haunt the fell.
Watch for eclipses from your habitation.

I applaud you, sir.

A Sonnet, For Seanan, That Probably Sucks;
or, When Fairy Attacks!

The land of Fairy ever is a mess,
and often will their chaos meet us here
in our own world. And when our luck we press,
the fairy land will bring to life our fear
of losing control of our very life.
The fey with carnal glee will run amok,
dividing brothers with imagined strife
and wooing mortals that they'd like to fuck.
Without a hero we would never find
our mundane lives so safe from chaos such.
A real hero will fairy forces bind
from harming us, they look but cannot touch.
September first, Seanan will have her say,
and tell us all the tale of Toby Daye.

Oh dear, I think I took that Virelai thing as a dare...I think I've done this right!

--
If you're looking for something to read
To your bookstore, this fall, do speed
For a book: Rosemary and Rue.
For sure, this one's a special breed
A point you'll surely concede
With the authoress' published debut
Your expectations it'll exceed
You know I'd never mislead
And you'll soon be forming a queue

To buy Seanan's book, not a few!
From California to Kalamazoo
They'll fly off the shelves of the store
(and be checked out from libraries too).
It's an adventure long overdue,
We swear you'll beg for more,
And for adventures new
I know I'll be waiting for book two
From Seanan, whom we adore.

Misfit castaway
Troubleshooter, problems solved
Rue The Daye this fall