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Free verse
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Le livre
The book
C'est vari
This/it is true
Merci beaucoup, Mon Dieu
Thank you very much, My God
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Footle
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FOOTLE
a verse
so terse
POETRY SLAM
lets go
words flow
VERS LIBRE
some rhyme
in mine
FREE VERSE
no stress
I guess
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Footle
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VERS LIBRE
Born free
maybe?
NOTE:A footle is a two line ,2 syllable verse with an integral title-Light Poetic verse form,witty,pertinent,topical etc (technically a trochaic monometer and not necessarily in rhyme).A 'hybrid' innovative sequenced variation has
developed over the years (since 2009)alongside the original definition
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Footle
|
VERS LIBRE
Born free
maybe?
NOTE:A footle is a two line ,2 syllable verse with an integral title-Light Poetic verse form,witty,pertinent,topical etc (technically a trochaic monometer and not necessarily in rhyme).
FOOTLES is a 'hybrid' innovative sequenced variation has
developed over the years (since 2009)alongside the original definition
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Free verse
|
New
growth
from
old
springs
forth
little
songs
of
Italy
where
flowered
sonnets
to
fill
poets
hearts
for
hours
‘til
centuries
went by
French
Vers
Libre
to
England’s
acclaim
by
Imagism's
open
form
free
verse
became
…
…poetry
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Free verse
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gentle
is the secret
lovely
is the tone
subtle
is the key
harmony
the melody
open
is the heart
love
the mantra
receptive
the soul
energy
simmering
embracing
the intent
the desire
the manifestation
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 5, 2022 for contest A BRIAN STRAND VERS LIBRE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
and April 25, 2018 for contest BEST FREE VERSE IN APRIL sponsored by LAURA LOO
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Light Verse
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Without a voice it cannot sing
No echos in the heart will ring
Come read,contemplate,give it time
Euphony ,floats on tides of rhyme;
Set free from custom's tyranny
Altenatives in poetry,
Lineation and enjambment
become the poets's intrument.
Beware ,sans pace in patterned verse
Vers Libre scans as prose, or worse
and
stays
a
writer's
curse
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Free verse
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like a mother
I cherish each poem
born from my pen
holding it to my heart
then_
I send them into the world
to fly and soar
on the wings
of birds
to land
where they will ...
__________________
March 06, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/on the wings of birds
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1436-880-06
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A BRIAN STRAND Vers Libre
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/07/2022
First Place
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Free verse
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Poetry, look!
A free worm* crawls on you hand!
The French always tended to invent
all sorts of nasty things:
freedom, equality, fraternity,
French fries, free verse.
When I was a small and ardent poet,
I worshipped rhymes
and denied a free verse the right to be called
poetry.
With time I grew up and cooled down,
as evidenced by the lack of rhymes herein.
Don't swat! Let it crawl.
Give the worm a chance to turn into
a butterfly.
* “Free verse” is derived from the French “vers libre” which can be translated as “free worm”, (fr.) ver – worm.
14.11.2019
Free Verse Vs Structured Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
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Free verse
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Memory Moments
Held hands
Made plans
Life goal
Be bold
Life run
No pun
People know
Peep show
Year in
Year out
Century in
Century out
Kiss now
Milk that cow
Day
Night
Monstrous
Fright
Full Moon
Silver Spoon
Freeze
Wait
Now
Reanimate
Free
Verse
-or-
Vers
Libre
Never
Perverse
Not
Zebra
Beer
Glass
Broken
Glass
Idiot
Fool
Nasty
Pool
Polite now
Wonder how
President’s dream
Money scheme
Milky way
Bale hay
Shout out
Never pout
Wonder how
Bless now
Star night
Stage fright
Moose fight
Monster fright
Twilight
All right
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
October 5, 2021 (Short-Line Free Verse)
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Verse
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Whence Wordsworth
danced with daffodils
the world of poetry
moved on with
symbols of the inner man
new poems soon began
verse was freed
to explore
imagery
and the like
then
hand in hand
together were
soon to reach
Eliot's waste land
So empty now of
flowers to
while away
the
hours
because
Without a voice it cannot sing
No echos in the heart will ring
Come read,contemplate,give it time
Euphony ,floats on tides of rhyme;
Set free from custom's tyranny
Alternatives in poetry,
Lineation and enjambment
become the poets's intrument.
Beware ,sans pace in patterned verse
Vers Libre may scans as prose, or worse
And stays a writer's curse
Listen to me read this poem on youtube under the name ichthyschiro
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Free verse
|
I will turn back the pages of time
to mom and to when I was a little girl
mom would fill my pool and in I jumped
she called me pixie and I giggled
then, she turned to her garden
trimming black-eyed susan
and white shasta daisies
and I helped too
I had my own tools
and I worked hard
she gave me a small patch in the sunshine
with bright petunias and yellow marigolds
Mom planted coneflowers for the monarchs
I planted columbine for the hummingbirds
and yarrow for bees
oh, I loved the garden
then, mom said we need some rain
so we prayed and waited
and the beautiful rain showers came
gently falling on all the flowers and my columbine
petunias, yellow marigolds, and yarrow grew huge
and some crazy creeping thyme I had planted
this is a treasured memory
in the book of my life
_________________________
March 08, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/garden memories
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1437-403-08
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, A Brian Strand Libre Vers
sponsor, Brain Strand, Judged 03/11/2022
First Place
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Free verse
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The deception of “free verse”: Dreams II, Translation of Etiemble’s “L’imposture du vers libre” by T. Wignesan
“Free verse, free not to be verse” – Audiberti
My love is not blue like a lake
my love is not blue like a sky
but red swollen with blood
and of ire
No lapping sounds of oars
playing out a nocturne
Bienne lake or that of Bourget
ever beat out the loping of my heart
My love’s neither blue nor like a lake
nor like a sea of oil
In the cauldron of boiling oil
a witch throws in a thumb
and the formula
My witching love
sputters and bursts out
stinging these busts and this lip
red
Vehement like a she-demon
it dances in a mad whirl
My left temple
wails
with the furious ocean
which rumbles under my pillow
What ships wreck in this sunken heart
still bleeding
of all the hearts it peeled
bleeding bodies of the young girl
And this heart weeps over its deaths
Like those on All Souls’ Day
the old hoary woman weeping
twisted up into wailing somersaults
which pad the cries of skeletons
clinging to rapacious granite
My heart beating on the pillow
muffles the voice of the friend
which begged the evening gone by
“Tell me it’s not over yet!”
And like the ocean cowardly
I collapse into my bed
to better listen to the tolling
of my temples and my heart
a delusionary
song of joy.
Signed: Jean Louverné (pseudonym)
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2014 (Translation
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Free verse
|
my life has not turned out as imagined
the biggest accomplishment has been writing
though we have had a long struggle
been challenged by death and sorrow
the chant of the dead and forgotten
all the chains of the past . . .
for me the most important thing is tranquility
want to be as a tree rooted deep into the earth
or as water pouring into a vase
or sliding over smooth river rocks . . .
if I could have changed my past- would have
but it was all written in the book of time
and what is written will be
so this girl writes the shades of her emotions
cannot afford to travel so I journey in imagination
and have gone to amazing places written on white
my philosophy on life- is to never become what I
hate no matter what is done
by taking up the hurt in my soul and using that emotion
to create poetry . . . .
is there a higher power called God?
oh, not certain that angels walk among us
but to think that my beloved are not waiting
in a nirvana is unfathomable
so I must believe the fairy tale . . .
oh embrace this vers libre from my pen
for this poetry thing is not just an idle past time
but art that I create- but even more important is
that when taking up a pen
I am a different girl . . .
_________________________________
January 4, 2019
Poetry/Free Verse/I am a different girl
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1100-964 -02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Free Verse Style
sponsor, Emile Pinet
Sixth Place
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Free verse
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HEAVEN'S NATURE WITNESS OUR DREAM
Outstretched maternal skies
bleeding slowly as the sun smiles,
running golden rays
fugue flux flowed by,
frozen bear-shaped clouds
extend their arms to hug the beams.
Charmingly, the light meets
the earth with a tender embrace...
Escaped warmth escalates,
it raise the speed of roses blush,
dew caressing snake-grass dried in flash,
gold-and-black striped wasps kiss---
the red apples chin and oh how sweet
even the nestled mistrels began to sing!
Skirt-lair of violets and lilacs puff
luring scents, it populates the atmosphere.
Finger-tantalized tendrils of hair
stroke repeatedly the whistling wind,
gently I clap my hands:
an accompaniment to thumps and stomps
of the two children laughing, dancing 'round and 'round.
Beside me, I hear his heart, beats! Beats! B-e-a-t...!
Beating like a little butterfly fluttering greet,
he planted a silky kiss atop my head.
Under the windows of gigantic trees,
the heavens witness the fruits,
we long dream.
When Cupids arrow land
finally hitting the right hearts:
"Imperfect but perfectly matched"...
Love mimics the tone of evergreens,
the sadness throbs tearing twang
it will be readily forgotten,
unmindful of the questions: how and why...
_______________________________________________________________
***FREE VERSE - other term "vers libre", a form that doesn't use or follow a specific consistent meter; a regular rhyme and a particular number of lines. It is based on normal pauses and natural rhythmical phrases as compared to the artificial constraints of normal poetry.
***I love this poetry form because it allows me to write artistically; pattern;incorporate;narrate and include a bit of everything about other poetry forms: rhymes, alliteration, personification, metaphor, prose, rhythm, sounds etc. I as well can limit two lines with its syllable count to achieve beat and intensity. I alone can limit my pen.
Lastly, it underlines POETRY FREEDOM and POETRY EXPRESSION not limited by rules.
***For the contest: Poetry Writing #1
Sponsor: Broken Wings***
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
1:16 pm, December 16, 2015
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Dramatic Monologue
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The Deception of Free Verse: Dreams I, Translation of Etiemble’s L’imposture du vers libre by T. Wignesan
(From René Etiemble’s only poetry collection: le Coeur et la cendre: soixante ans de poésie (the heart and the ash sixty years of poetry). Paris: Les deux animaux, 1984, pp. 123-126.)
Yet He, who contemplated his incandescent world
and the sterile streaming
of the lava,
drunk with the swirling of the primal incense
dreamed on…
His shape, during that period, took on all forms
ten thousand beings milling in him, inexistants;
the amoebas mixed with gigantosaurs
awaiting the hour
of the amoebagigantosaurs.
How you were divine, God, before the Creation
of your own non-being,
before your sacrifice, your suicide,
how divinely monstrous:
I see you such as I was you in your entrails
all the bodies of all the fishes in all the seas in all ponds,
blossoming on greenish scales of mackerels, the fins
shining on roaches
and red fish,
in all the wings in all the albatrosses feathery
in all the skies,
the wings of all the chicken,
walking on the thousand feet of all the scolopenders
on the four hairy columns of mammoths,
of rough rhinoceroses
on the four legs of lambs
on the two feet of all pterodactyls
of all ducks,
of all humans,
on the rings of all the earthworms.
Your voice which charms deaf rocks more
than songs of future sirens
sometimes raucously roared;
your caresses bill-cooing turtle-doves
trumpeting strident
when your ten thouand mouths opened.
Therefore,
hermophrodite inseminated by its universal sperm
the Being
bearing plants and beasts, all
and the woman whose womb as yet to be formed
dreamed in this way:
The scintillating effervescence of granite, of basalts,
of diamonds
freeze into position thus:
Mountains of rock, organs of Titan, cristals of fire.
Collapsing clouds, rapid cataracts
tumble down abrupt stony walls.
The earth swells valleys
mother earth made pregnant by ferns of great shadows.
Ocean rivers sweep along continents
open into flanks of mountains’ heroic holes
pour a freshness of love on thirsty roots…
the first pollen grain pollutes the first pistil.
The first flesh dazzled by the light
sketches the quiverings of joy that will be.
Two lives lie in the wet clay
two lives
ten thousand lives.
The eye – without becoming the enormous dreamer –
closes over this total image of its death
sees the saurian ichthyophages
horned beaks with sharp teeth
shivery mammoths
all the theory of winged horses
winged men
men without wings
Me
And I, on this earth where I was dropped by mistake
In your dream
however much I raised my eyes higher than the clouds,
however much I scrutinised the celestial transparence
however much I could recall the person who in your
entrails I was as you
no more do I see your face in its ten thousand true
Facets,
nothing more do I hear
the rustling of so many snowy and metallic scales over
so many feathers.
Nothing
nothing more…
“No! No! Not this reckless Golgotha!
God! You are mistaken.
God! I surrender myself (only) to you yourself.”
But the winds wailed with the wolves
“Tough luck!”
“Just as well!”
At last my egoism refuses to accept the cross the spear
and the sponge
with the venom
Why then every evening the same stars
entice themselves into the self-same ponds?
Stars, make yourselves scarce!
I know all about you and your promenades.
Too docile, horses offer their jaw bits on flanks where
spurs caress the necks.
Water which flows so miraculously so fastidiously servile:
seas part themselves,
alcarazas freeze lips.
Every night when fatigue overcomes me with sleep
the sun
retracts its golden claws in order not to derange my
sleep.
Drunk with power
like a Ceasar like a Nero like a Caligula
I make myself small
“O! such as I was you in your entrails
allow me the remembrance and the regret.”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
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