Best Metric Poems
A good poetry emanates from the heart of the poet, vibrates in its rhythm that resonates in the mind of the reader. The form of poetry has evolved over the years with literary experiments on poetic expressions where the muse weaves tapestry of words. The traditional forms of verse use some kind of rhythmic pattern called meter (meaning ‘measure’ in Greek), a scheme of stressed and unstressed syllables. Each set of such syllables comprises a foot, the building block of meter. The lines of most of English poetry are like garlands that string together the foot, the individual rhythmic unit, the flower. The arrangement of syllables (stressed, unstressed) in these units in lines of a poem may vary, deciding its meter, such as, Iamb (a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable), Pyrrhic (2 unstressed syllables), Spondee (2 stressed syllables), Trochee (a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable), Anapest (2 unstressed syllables followed by a stressed syllable), and Dactyl (a stressed syllable followed by 2 unstressed syllables). The length of the line is controlled by the number of feet, giving the metric pattern to the poem, such as, monometer (1 foot), dimeter (2 feet), trimeter (3 feet), tetrameter (4 feet), pentameter (5 feet), hexameter (6 feet) etc. In this basic pattern the rhythm is how the words flow with the meter. Rhythm can be created by repetition of words that flow in metric pattern or by breaking up the flow with longer or shorter lines. A poem is indeed like a river that flows with words in lines rippling in rhythmic pattern.
In the mountains cascades the brook in glee,
water of the foothill river is free,
the feet of banks dancing ripples embrace,
the rhythm of flow wraps the river in grace.
Ripples may come, ripples may go, it flows
to the ocean, placid ocean it goes.
July 19, 2018
(The poem is set in iambic pentameter with rhythmic repetition of words in the last two lines.)
I grew up with inches, yards, miles, and feet.
I knew the difference, it was easy, and neat.
But today I am far behind in the dust because
Metric scale is what the new math does.
Millimeters, centimeters, cha cha cha.
Pencil thickness is about one centimeter. Rah Rah Rah.
Ten Millimeters is one centimeter, reminds me of cents to a dollar.
I may be catching on, so I stand up and holler.
One hundred thousand centimeters is a kilometer, friend.
One hundred centimeters is a meter, did you know that, Uncle Ben?
Millimeters, centimeters, cha cha cha.
Paper thickness is way less than a centimeter. Rah Rah Rah.
Now I think of my recipes. Did they change the tablespoon too?
Do I have to worry about cups, pints, and gallons for my glue?
I used to know my measurements, but everything is new.
Don’t even show me the rest of the new math. It is a boo hoo.
My Passion- - -
- - -
Poetry...
of
in
on
all I know to be
metric units
flowing smooth
solid
liquid
breathing
seeing
uniting
divided
by everything
multiplied
infinitely progressive
impressive digression
aggressive
damned and doomed
hard to read
hard to live
poetry...
known to grow
shown the need
the seeds to sow
a reach
a stretch
an eek
a reeking peek
at those who seek
to spread their wings
or shed the things
that keep them weak...
or possibly
a teeny wink of a peek
of the week
from a meek geek who thinks
he or she's work week stinks
whatever the lesson
or message of expression
if truth
if raw feeling
is stacked to the ceiling
in the poetry their dealing
well....
then
and purely then
only then
poet trees
real
awe-inspiring
gravity defying
pinky swear
no lying
poetry exists
poets live there
forever!
4% mnm
Mountainous syllables can never really tread lightly across a rope bridge. But living in a cabbage house is fantastic fun for many leaves make many rooms and many rooms make much rubbish. Don't trip over the staircases. Nor the bins. Nor the fireplaces. Be safe in an oceanographic breeze. It is often wise to counter count. And never leave a leaf door ajar. Ok? Good. Fodder not a fried fish. Especially when driving a forklift truck. Ponder not the wonder of a damsel on a butterfly couch. How very sedate! But neither seductive nor secretive for serpentines are often deceptively shark like. Particularly when partially shaded by a curtain. Pull shut then open to reveal. Wow such revelational defects. How quite ornate. And a man in a suit with a small briefcase is often as round as a round house. No spring in a portly framed partridge. But carrying a cartridge through the airspaces can bring a ship to life. Smiling. Waves kiss the sides. And sailors play swan lake on harmonicas and violins for the dusk often brings dust. And to halt is to delay only for points are gained by talking treadmill like in large halls with lecterns'. Drink then. Capsicum rice flavoured juice creates much lemon spittle. How rather remarkable are the quotes from the pickled saged cavern dwellers in yachts awaiting the demise of development. The continuation of a fluctuation is a fascination for a fattened form. And so the bead arrives on slightly bended knee in a small sixteenth century chapel. Hum not a tune of trotting uniforms and hooves. No haha to that. It is merely a zero percent of a demonic deficit sweep. Swimmingly seemingly surpassing swamps. And a door swinging happily. Haha jumping jamming junipers. Hahaha statutory static void. Hahahaha xx pea leap. Xxxxx monopolistic Z with the p y q. 89.0. Xzx
Perhaps I ought to publish my position
(as if there's anyone disposed to care!):
I'm not convinced that open competition
is profitable. Poets, self-aware,
and full of self-esteem (as many are!)
increasingly seem disinclined to share
the fruits of midnight labour. From afar
(and I do not possess a crystal ball)
I think that I perceive a lowered bar:
requirements (this is just my judgement call)
to dress one's thoughts in rhythm or in rhyme
do not delight our writers. They appal.
We need not think of strictures as a crime.
Does discipline torpedo erudition,
or might it help us grasp at the sublime?
An absorbent allotment. And a pile of interestingly aligned vegetables is merely a soup pot in a ground. Garden then. Wow. Swooshing a washing basket. Swapping sunglasses for a basin bomb. And sausages form an orderly queue. Wow. Wishy washy turpentine. Trousers in a cycle are dresses drying in paint. Code of coffee tables. Arriving then is an out of tune pancake song. Flat. Experience no exciting existential exotic earthworm then. Tidal bead is a clap clap clap. And pistol whipping is a whale in a circular skirt and a suit and tie on a supermarket often goes for long walks in the countryside. So speaketh the elephants, bins, saliva's, and a salvia plant. 7001 statements of intent huddled together with 5 rhyming couplets, a haiku, and a waving comma. Hahaha liquidise then deliver. Hahaha tong of tusk. Hahaha platoon partying. Xxxx dusky dwarf dance. Xxxx and a rate of interest rates speedily heading up a mountain pass. Xxxxx meteologist z z z with the obligatory p y q.
The Distance kept its Secret well —
Till Curvature confessed —
That Space was not a level Floor
But Sloped in every Breast —
A Line once straight, grew shy of Truth
When Gravity drew near —
And Length itself forgot its Name
Where Mass had bent the Air —
The World was clothed in Indices —
Each Point in silent Dress —
With Covariant Etiquette
And Contravariant Address —
No Step could move without Consent
Of g?µ??’s Law —
For Space would weigh each Footfall’s Thought
Before it let it go —
Time stitched itself to Distance fast
In four-dimensional Thread —
And Proper Paths were whispered where
The Shortest Roads lay dead —
The Interval — a sacred Thing —
No Eye could apprehend —
Yet kept its Shape in any Frame
Observers might attend —
For Clocks would differ — Rulers lie —
Yet Still the Form remains —
Invariant beneath the Spin
Of Reference and the Brain —
Thus Geometry learned to feel
The Weight of Energy —
And Matter wrote its Biography
In Spacetime’s Calligraphy —
Where once the Plane was Euclid’s Dream
Now Manifold holds Court —
And Curves decree what Bodies do
Without a spoken Port —
So Space became a living Page
Where Stars sign every Line —
And Motion reads the Poetry
The Tensor did design.