Best Anapestic Poems
There's a river that twists in the mind
that I plunder and ravish with sieves,
on crusades to the summit of rhyme
where my Phoenix of tropes and schemes live.
In a war to free diction's fair Queen
where the Soldiers of Babel bemuse
and the modern day graceless regimes
are in battles to stifle my muse!
In my quest for her verse of prestige
I have traveled a nexus of words
with this Lexis of language on siege;
where the dissonant hum drum is heard!
Oh, the poise of my bayonet firm
as I pin down my thoughts in a rush!
Oh, the will of the language it squirms
as her essence of glory I brush!
She's the Queen Muse that whispers within
as she watches me battle with style,
she supplies me the yarn that I spin
as she lends me her rhythm awhile.
It's the moment her Highness is freed
that the Armies of Dissonance fall
and the sound of Perfection can bleed
in those lyrical sounds that enthrall!
I was once really new to our Poetry Soup,
and I knew I should try to join in with the group;
post my poems on-site to be read by a few,
and then give it a whirl, join a contest or two.
Soon a couple of them were a win, a good score;
was on top of the world, so I entered one more.
But to my big surprise when that contest was done,
my sad eyes saw in fact that my write had not won.
I clicked on 'Contest Entries' and saw it was there.
But, behold, a strange sign near that one, I declare!
A N/A- what was that? Very weird, was this right?
Could not find what it meant anywhere on the site.
So I looked up N/A on the Internet, but
what I found was not good, left me still in a rut.
This N/A symbolized a long list, now for me,
my head spun to fit in which of these it could be??
N/A…Not Applicable………Did I not follow rules?
N/A…Not Available………Did my entry get lost?
N/A…No Answer………Did they try to call me?
N/A…Not Authorized………Did I need an okay?
N/A…No Action………Did I fail to take steps?
N/A…Negative Approach………Did I say something wrong?
N/A…Not Analyzed………Should my write be explained?
N/A…No Acknowledgement………Did I fail to respond?
N/A…No Account………Did PS lose my file?
I Soup-Mailed contest judge and her answer therein,
“Well you see, the N/A means your piece did not win!"
Now I still do not know what N/A represents
When my poems don't win in Soup contest events!
December 22, 2014
~1st Place~
Contest: All Yours (Jun 8)
Brian Strand
Judged: 06/09/2021
~1st Place~
Contest: Quirky Things That Confuse and Confound Me
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Judged: 07/14/2018
~1st Place~
Contest: New or Old 4
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 08/05/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: The Contest
Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis
Judged: 01/10/2015
Anapestic Tetrameter (5 verses of 12-syllables lines)
Anapestic Dimeter (N/A Section - Questions Only)
I cannot say how poems come to be-
from just one thought to full reality.
I cannot say how I hunt down my words
to image themes like nature, flowers, birds.
Or then select a form to fit the theme;
be it free verse, haiku, or rhyming scheme.
Or count the syllables for metered flow;
select the feet of two or more to show
a rhythm, smooth or anapestic dance
to make the words behave or wildly prance.
Or think I'm done, but then see that I'm not;
to then rewrite and add what I forgot.
From just one thought to full reality-
I cannot say how poems come to be.
April 29, 2016
~1st Place~
Contest: Rhyming Couplets
Sponsor: Janice Canerdy
Judged: 05/25/2021
~9th Place~
Contest: Preterition
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
Judged: 05/17/2016
Preterition is a poetic technique: drawing attention to
something by claiming to omit it, but then really defining it
by actually saying what you claim you cannot say.
Form: Couplet / Iambic Pentameter
When my muse ruled
my conscience's compass,
waterfalls of rhyming rivers
revealed unspoken secrets -
long forgotten in my heart.
Exposing vulnerable verses
from vaults where vines
had wrapped my tongue
into subdued silence.
In the Injustices of
judicial juxtaposition,
speech spoke in a
paradoxical oxymoron -
'deafening silence'
Pouring in drops of crimson,
I became a convicted cliché,
taken hostage in a
Machiavellian marketplace,
where I felt illiterate - harassed,
by insidious guards and
anapestic gangsters.
In the personification
of confinement,
where word weavers
are poetically unapologetic,
virtual villains ventured
to plagiarize my vocabulary.
An enjambment of envious
eyes attempted to burn
my anthology of alliterations,
so I buried each chapter
in a communal garden,
under a galaxy of ghazals,
hoping pantoum petals,
would bloom in scarlet
stanzas with sophisticated
syllables of rhythmic refrains.
Agitated by
artificial assonance,
my artistry is an
analogy of angst,
where cathartic couplets
of consistent consonance
care not for iambic ideologies.
My elusive elegy is the
legacy of my resistance,
as in my melancholy,
I'll forever be a
misunderstood metaphor.
Silencing intrusive ink,
to prevent another massacre.
With no concern for applause,
I've removed the
garlands of sakura chains.
For I'm no longer a
prisoner of poetry,
but my muse's musk
still remains....
Fall the leaves of the forest tho death has yet passed...
Unto moonlit shadows within crypts' hidden rot
Apparitions they say, where the innocent massed
Oh but lo! To the truth they are blind; it is naught
They're but fragmented feelings of love left aghast;
From her heart they were torn; bits he stabbed then forgot
Laid still, bloodied no longer to beat; darkness cast
The shadows cannot hide nor contain the scars wrought
Left to wander until retribution is brought
12/18/2017
Today I feel iambic! I would say
of all the meters, I like it the best.
An iamb starts with some soft sound to say
then ev'ry second syllable is stressed.
Trochees likewise, alternate their stresses;
even-numbered syllables are muted.
Nowhere near as popular (my guess is) -
Trochee fans, though, fervently dispute it.
Feet are the units of meter - such fun!
Dactyls have syllables STRESSED/, un-/, and un-.
"T'was the Night Before Christmas" is in Anapest:
that's a foot with three syllables: un-/, un-/, and
STRESSED.
The meter is the pattern of the beats within a line
"Iambic" and "Heptameter" describe this line just fine.
Anapestic Tetrameter: four anapests;
and the best part of THIS lecture series? No tests!
Trimeter has three feet
Tetrameter has just four feet
Pentameter adds one foot, making five
Hexameter adds one: six feet in this beehive
Heptameter has seven feet, but now it's getting late;
and so I'll close with this (you may have guessed):
Octameter has eight!
written 1 July 2023
I was born, Bronx, New York, in the year 'Thirty-Nine',
the first child with a brother who followed in time.
Ten years later, moved North, Hudson Valley, same State
where I've settled, lived on with my loved ones to date.
But when young, in my school, two fine talents emerged,
and my teachers spared hours to encourage my urge.
I enjoyed my young years while I painted and penned;
lots of canvas and paper used up without end.
At eighteen, I then married the love of my life
and enjoyed my new path of becoming a wife
to my US Marine, very handsome and true;
Parris Island, our home for a year, almost two.
By the age twenty-five- was a mother of three;
a fine son, two sweet girls, a complete family.
We worked hard every day and our life was so good.
I wrote poems and painted whenever I could.
Later, painting with oils was the pastime for me-
while I studied for years at an art gallery.
Varied art shows, displays, and a job filled my time.
Soon I sold many pieces and life was sublime.
Yet, the years went by fast and at age thirty-nine,
I enrolled in a college to study part-time.
Six years later, I earned my prized English degree-
a BA—and a Minor in Business for me.
Then my pictures with words replaced those done with art,
and I soon published poems of life and of heart.
Yet along in this time of my great writing spree
I worked hard every day as our business VP.
For a full twenty years, we worked hard faithfully
after hubby retired as the Chief of FD,
selling our fire equipment, all types, big and small
to FDs, factories, district schools, and the malls.
Our dear children all married, with families too,
are involved happily in whatever they do.
Happy grandma of five- twenty-five to eighteen-
and one granddaughter married two thousand thirteen.
We retired, sold our business thirteen years ago,
still so busy with life, with its ebb and its flow.
We are proud and so blessed and thank God up above,
for our days and our life of good times filled with love.
April 11, 2015
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Where Are You From
Sponsor: Joseph Soper
Judged: 08/01/2017
~2nd Place~
Contest: Bio of a Poet
Sponsor: Tammy Reams
Judged: 04/18/2015
Form: Anapestic Tetrameter (12 syllables, 4 feet per line)
In a small grassy field
With the trees all around
There's a fairy ring ancient and old
And at times you can hear
Perfect echoes of sound --
'Tis the music of ages untold
For the crickets keep time
To a waltz or a reel
And the birds fill that lovely expanse
With the notes to a tune
With a light, airy feel --
In the field where the butterflies dance
(Refrain)
Where the wildflowers bloom
With a sweet perfume
In a rainbow of colours and shades
Where the maids hurry down
From the hill-top town
And the butterflies dance with the maids
Where they splash in the stream
Or they lie and dream
Where the bullfrogs thrum
While the butterflies wing
And the hummingbirds hum
While the merry maids sing
In the field where the butterflies dance
On a winged pirouette
Or a six legged slip
How they dance, and they wheel and they turn!
And their wings flash in time
To a bright Scottish trip
While the lassies turn 'round by the burn
For the crickets keep time
To a waltz or a reel
And the birds fill that lovely expanse
With the notes to a tune
With a light, airy feel --
In the field where the butterflies dance
(Refrain)
Where the wildflowers bloom
With a sweet perfume
In a rainbow of colours and shades
Where the maids hurry down
From the hill-top town
And the butterflies dance with the maids
Where they splash in the stream
Or they lie and dream
Where the bullfrogs thrum
While the butterflies wing
And the hummingbirds hum
While the merry maids sing
In the field where the butterflies dance
Note: I have used some spondee rhythm in the refrain. That is two stressed syllables in a foot. [ / / ] There is some information in the article on Meter and Foot on this site. Lines 2 and 5 in the first verse of the refrain, and 2 in the second are an anapestic foot followed by a spondee foot; (two unstressed syllables followed by three stressed).
May I dance with you now as ghosts ride with the breeze,
and that witch on her broom flies up high near the moon.
While black cats with green eyes stare at us from the trees,
we'll glide past jack-o-lanterns as we sway and swoon.
This night sky is on fire with the moon's eerie glow;
silhouettes of the treetops and roofs hug the sky.
As the spirits surround us, in darkness we know
we will dance, cheek to cheek, on this night, you and I.
Dance with me, come in close as bats swirl all around;
the night creatures are watching while I hold you tight.
As owls screech, my fangs pierce! Dracula loves the sound
while enjoying this blood feast on Halloween night!
Oh, it's me, don't you see? Blood will seep, time to weep!
Here I am, perfect scam! Fangs pierce deep! Now you sleep!
October 9, 2016
Contest: All Hallows' Evening
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Anapestic Tetrameter
--/--/--/--/
A poet was making such clatter.
His friend ran to see what's the matter.
“I must clean all,” said he
“or my poems can't be
in Antiseptic Pentameter.”
His friend laughed at all of the chatter.
The other didn't grasp the matter.
“Eat Italian,” said he
“so your poems will be
in Antipasto Pentameter.”
“My problem with gluten's the matter
and why I must make so much clatter.
I'm allergic you see.
I'd get shakes and would be
writing in Spastic Pentameter!”
How they laugh and they point as they whisper ‘bout me
And they only can see what their shallow eyes see
Though my surface is not picture perfect for show
How this heart bleeds with purpose they never could know
Of the horrors and trials my soul has survived
Of the hell and the fury that killed me alive
I’ve been stripped of my honor and burnt at the stake
Made to live in a nightmare but could not awake
The atrocities bared on my face in display
Oh they cause you to cringe as your eyes turn away
And the truth is my scars are much deeper than face
Just a trace has been left of humanity’s grace
As they came in the dead of the night whilst we slept
Through the house down the hall they so silently crept
I was tied to a chair and with sickened disgust
Made to watch as my daughters defiled with their lust
Oh my sweet baby girls who I failed to protect
Now your innocence lives in my heart where you’re kept
As the flames and your screams took the last of my peace
Melting skin joined my tears as your souls found release
________________________________________
Written 1/2/2017 for Anapestic Tetrameter Contest
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
(in anapestic tetrameter)
As it rolled through the darkness and grinned through the trees,
where the shadows lay crawling and scratching the ground -
the last remnants of summer now shook in the breeze,
on this evening of Hallows that crept all around.
On the hearth and the hilltops, the fires burned bright,
through the dark, as the spirits so restlessly flew,
like the sparks of their souls that were lost in the night.
While disguised midst the living, the timid withdrew.
Yet the masks and their measure in masquerade mists
were exposed in the light of the hallowed full moon
and now joyously danced 'til the sun's morning kissed
a lost day that portends an impetuous noon.
So misplaced is our leisure that our rapture has flown
from a garden of worship to an evil unknown...
'Course as a grim teller of tall tales,
(albeit poetic) reasonable rhyming
quasi roundelay I readily admitted to feign
cuz, stringing words together with
pride and prejudice plus
sense and sensibility, jocularity,
and conformity I dissed deign
(spoiler alert) iamb, trochaic,
dactylic, and anapestic metrical reign
jest your ordinary garden variety
dollar short day late dime a dozen
penniless citizen banker Abel and Cain,
yet mine mean mien blithely, daringly,
fatuously, ludicrously, nauseatingly,
pretentiously playfully urbane
many (if not all readers)
will coon sitter
yours truly harmlessly insane,
whose feeble attempts
to wax and wane
oft times falls flat (splat goes Matt)
as if dropped out plane,
without a parachute
instantly recuperating while lain
supine (winded, but...
none the worse) asthma brain
suffers concussion, confusion, contusion
actually, immediately, and unexpectedly
knocked fluent German speaking ability
within germane guy verständlich?
If ye really comprehend
trademark non Turkish gobbledygook
then explain (using
language of least familiarity),
but best to commence
with eye catching hook
impossible mission
apt lit pupils (mine)
to evade even momentarily
riveting, spellbinding,
and transfixing look
courtesy ingenious way
with word ye snook
cored me and took
wind out my sails.
Nor could I breakaway courtesy automobile,
cuz 2009 Hyundai Sonata
would not start... yea for real,
thus finding me ready to yoke
neck (think gibbet) each heel
dangling as body goes limp
blessedly, finally, happily
ridding me of any/all hangups,
one less goo goo gaga born this way
poker face cards for him to deal.
UNGABLUZUM describes this schlemiel!
I am Africa, I am man
Hear my drums, know my heart beat
My sorrow is not metered in iambic lines
Life does not speak that way
So artificial this enumeration of joy
So false this constant rise and fall of tone
I fish the tides
Sometimes the water rises above the rock
And stay a long, long time
Like a dream that won't give up
Sometimes the water recedes far out
Lingering at the bar
Waiting for the moon to show her breast
Watching silently like a star
For one ear Nana Oba to divorce me
From this culture that is my hell.
I am Africa, I am man
My fingers running fast on antelope skin
Cross the bata light and sweet like a caress
Like rainfall on the Serengeti
Like bird call for Nana Oshun's memory
So when I put my hands around your waist
Sliding my finger over the contours of our embrace
Searching for lake Nakuru under your dress
Down from the Kilmanjaro of your breast
And whisper my feelings in your ears
In cross-rhythms, kora and mbira playing
Hot like khamsin, passionate like the yamo
Sucking on your tongue for life
Seeking the umbilical water for my pain
What care for anapestic sentiments
Trochaic promises, dactylic stories
I need you in all the wonder of your loveliness
In all the moods that living tell
In our orbiting exodus of earth and hell
No time now for phony precisions
I speak as I am, as I feel emotions
Dancing on my finger tips
Dancing on the velvet smooth of drums
Ladling at your Nakura, lapping at your lips
All tribal, my body hums
For the stolen glory of my history
For the cinder of theories
That make me victim twice in my misery
I am Africa, I am man
Hear my prophecy, I will succeed!
short-long
iamb song,or
long-short trochaic,taut,
spondaic long,with syllables
slow-slow-
mono
di,tri,tetra
penta,hexa,hepta
octa,which choice numbers for my
metre?
dactyl
and anapestic
with syllables three-
this poetry's a stress to far..
for me !