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Best Iambic Poems

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Details | Iambic Poem | |

The Stork - Iambic pentameter -

The Stork

The ship arrived surrounded by the dew,
his past she carried on her seaward tracks,
across-the-board, the skyline turned up dark,
- a stork he was, comradely to her crew.

(Thus, curious, he stood upon the moors,
projecting epitome of their rejoice,
and stern, the sea-waves' hum repressed their voice,
enduring memory the dusk allures.)

A clever stork, with harbors in cahoot,
side-gazed for the sunken to discern,
while apt, the sea-men deftness and concern,
applied the coloring of nightly soot.

The dusk abraded, then, the ship's details,
the numbness of the gray was still; she stared
as his persistent, learning eyes had paired
with mind's perseverance, head-ropes and brails.

The boats quizzical, around him tripp'd,
loose wooden cradle-coffins-like, astray,
companions lost beyond the clouds' array,
as signalizing waves, on moorings whipp'd.

( Their sacrosanct ascent designed the stairs,
for spotless angels to walk upon the blue,
like then, the stork recited what was true,
- a dark night ship, for his bird-story cares.

And then they fled to skies - two passing glows
that cut through distances, in ardent Spring
a song for wanderers, harmonic link,
- pure emeralds the shoreline-noon bestows. )

What foolishness of storks invites the ship,
stray souls to marry in his darkened phase,
meanwhile three smoking ebon-funnels praise
our wraiths' long flight on everlasting trip?

© 09/25/2012, All rights reserved
(Iambic Pentameter)

The poem has never entered a contest before.

Sponsor: gautami phookan
Contest Name: One of your best 

Details | Iambic Poem | |



“Come live / with me / and be / my love.”

I ask of you this because you are my ultimate desire.
I refuse to hide it when you see it in my eyes.
My mind is in a dreamlike state blowing kisses at you all of the time.
You never see this because I am shy.
I write you this poem now.

Before I knew you, you knew me.
You would see me standing outside by the fig tree.
You would come to class by yourself.
How do I know this?
Well, your best friend is my best friend as well.
He told me that you had asked who I am.

You are such a wild orchid never going wild - a beautiful flower all the time.
I love to get to know you and fulfill my ultimate desires.
You and I together laid back chilling and comfortable in life, mutually agreeable to the definition of our beings, and most important, knowing our destiny vivaciously.

“Come live / with me / and be / my love.”

User Name: Verlena
Pseudonym(s): Poethics Oblivion Stareyes of Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Motif: Iambic Meter - Rhyme

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Meltdown in Iambic Tetrameter

I chose to fight and not to flee,
From troubled feelings haunting me.
One look, within my weary soul,
Exposed an ever-gaping hole.

With introspective ink I write,
To bring foreclosure to my plight.
On form and meter I rely,
While keeping free verse standing by.

In healing cadence, new to me.
(Stagnation came from living free.)
A new persona will be found,
Before I leave this form-go-round.

Through sonnets, nonets, villanelle,
My metered fears I hope to quell.
Shall I find comfort in these forms
Or run back to my free verse norms?

I might be seeking, after all,
The haven of a hallowed hall.
Long known to poets of great worth,
And find therein my own re-birth.

Details | Iambic Poem | |

My Poor Iambic Foot

It happened on safari at the librarty 
as I stalked a grand sonnet 
I had planned to bag as a trophy, 
to hang on my wall. 
A nearby reviewer's keyboard 
accidentally discharged 
(I hope it was an accident!) 
Out blast a critique striking my Iambic foot 
It blew off my accents, 
and my big accented syllable. 
I still bleed from my verse. 

An alcoholic librarian sewed them back on 
using a Dictionary and a Thesaurus 
but she put the arsis and thesis 
in the wrong order. 
Ugly and painful is my Iambic foot. 
I can only stager through my unbalanced stanzas 
by using a ball-point-pen as a crutch. 
Now my good trochee foot is giving way 
from the extra weight. 
I walk in circles around rhythm. 
My structure, I fear, is unbearable and 
my line brakes are 

I fret that my poor Iambic foot 
will be bandaged in metaphors ---