Best Rhythmic Pattern Poems
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
O river of rivers,
The queen river,
Flow as you wish,
Gather silt forever
That on your shores
Men may harrow, then sow
The seeds of happiness
And sorrow to grow.
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
O river of rivers,
The starry river,
Your blinking waves drum
Of Behula's shiver.
I too am lost,
The tattered merchant fool,
My peacock barge rides
Fate's whirlpool.
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend.
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend,
O river of rivers,
The wise river.
Who would speak for us?
If not you, may be never.
Yet the mountains rise
From the hearths' ash,
You are silent, while
The history is brash.
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend.
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
O river of rivers,
The hungry river,
The consort of Ruin.
An arrow in Falguni's quiver.
The infinite wasteland beckons
Hold onto heart's dream,
One more sun above
Anguish and scream.
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
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Form: Bhatiali
Date: 19 / 11 / 2016
Bhatiali is a form of folk music native to Bangladesh and Bengal. There is no place for Taal (a term used in Indian classical music for the rhythmic pattern) in pure bhatiali. Even rhyme is not that important. Generally, these songs are sung by the cattle herders on the fields or the fisherfolks living off a river. Among the several subjects of folk music in all of Bengal, that includes Deha-tatva (about the body) and Murshid-tatva (about the guru), Bhatiali deals with Prakriti-tatva (about nature). Probably the most renowned poet of this form is Jasimuddin. Some of Rabindranath Tagore's songs can also be categorised as typical bhatiali.
Iamb, Trochee, Spondee, Pyrrhic. Do those words have meaning for you? If not, you may find it handy as a poet to learn how to employ at least a few of them. They are names for the most common of the two-syllable feet used in classic poetry forms and many rhymed forms of today (there are other metrical feet used for 3 syllables). Poets can practice to become skilled at any one of them, but often poets are drawn to just a few when they write naturally. Iamb is the one that I prefer. When your words rise and fall in an unstressed to stressed rhythmic pattern, you are using iambic meter. Five feet of these unstressed-stressed syllables is called pentameter. That is why a sonnet is written in Iambic Pentameter. The traditonal sonnet writer uses ten syllables which are divided into five feet of unstressed/stressed syllables.
Here is the way Iamb looks if I show just two-syllable examples: de/TEST, un/LOVED, a/ WORD, go/ HOME. It would sound unnatural to say DEtest, UNloved, A word or GO home. The poet chooses his metrical foot and simply goes with the flow! If I choose to write a triolet, I would use Iambic Tetrameter (8 syllables with 4 feet of Iamb). When you consider all the different combinations of feet and meter, there is much to be learned! You can even mix up types of meter or use them unrhymed! To some poets it comes naturally -no textbook required. I have known free verse poets to say, "I just don't 'hear' it." But a few of those poets practiced and practiced; with time I saw them grow!
For those who want to practice poetry
in such a way to make their poems sing,
Iambic meter is one way to go.
Unstressed, then stressed creates a pleasant flow.
So give your words some musicality.
Keep practicing, and then your skills will grow.
Aug. 5, 2018
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.)
The ocean was destined to dance,
But what happened to the moon!
Whose evil eye has caught
The full moon of fourteenth night, Bordered by the black clouds,
O! Night,
Open your eyes,
See for a while,
Beyond the seashore,
The old ocean is frozen
Into an angle of its dance,
And waits for,
Bring out the moon out of your darkness,
Bid the stars
To come out of the curtain of the clouds,
Just for a while They should show the rhythmic pattern of classical dance,
Just for a while,
Arrange the galaxy,
Of twinkling stars in the eyeful sky,
For the old ocean is impatient to dance
Such a sadness has come upon me
and my tears are salty and stain my cold, cold cheek
as I think of her, the one who I loved so dearly
Near a year ago today
she had forgotten of me,
acted as if I were such a ghost or invisible
she knows I stay there in her heart,
but she denies the fact I still exist
and I am saddened and my heart broken in two
cannot beat to the rhythmic pattern of love;
for love is too fast for me to catch up.
An empty void in my heart,
a hollow man I am
and the hounds around me bark and howl
and she goes with them,
walks away in the cold nights,
with such pride in her step
I still love thee,
and she still loves me.
I see in her face,
those eyes of hers so beautiful and caring,
she looks through my soul
and sees that I still love thee,
still she turns and frowns and ignores
such a gentleman caller.
My heart, such an empty void,
I need her to fill me,
for my better-half is lost without her;
I am a broken man without my love.
Nothing but an empty void I have become,
a single hollow man in a white room,
full with memories
that are painted on stain glass windows
and I sit and pray for her, Oh Lord,
for her to return to me
and love me,
like the days before,
when frowns were smiles,
when cold grins were warm embraces.
I just want her to love me again.
Fill this Empty void in my pale heart,
for I am a sickly rose,
which needs to be watered by your grace and company.
.12.18.2013.
MY FONDEST MEMORY
("MY HOMETOWN - ODESSA, UKRAINE/MY FAVORITE PLACE")
I wake up to the crispness of the air
Nature is still
Outside the snow has formed into perfectly shaped mounds
The frost has framed the windows into decorative designs
Branches sway in a rhythmic pattern
There’s a stillness inside
My grandma is preparing bouillon and hearty beef stew
I look outside and catch the smiling rays of the sun dancing on the snow banks
Trees scrape the sky as they stand like an army line receiving its orders
There’s a comfort and familiarity in the air as the day is beckoning to start
Nature smiles
Winds sway in unison moving to the undulating rhythm of the atmosphere
I marvel at the tranquil scene as I immerse myself in a novel
The story takes me away to a far-away destination
I feel safe and content as I wrap myself in a cushion of comfort
I am at peace….
December 7, 2016
Warm hearts thumping in rhythmic pattern
all together in a chorus so divine,
that it speaks to the soul and sings to the heart,
and we join hands and dance in the winter paradise
of such beauty in the changing of the world.
As we all dance and sing,
we show each to each a beautiful thing
that makes us all sing.
Warm hearts we are and warm hearts we do have;
all we do is love and love again,
in the times of different seasons
we dance and sing and love,
for our warm hearts they love one another,
and together they shall beat together,
one by one-
and with the taking of a springtime storm
we shall indeed enjoy such beauty
our warm hearts produce.
.2.14.2014.
It shall not come
Darkness hovers above the glade,
ripples cease as reflections run for cover
behind hazy marshes, stale and silent
air permeates morning’s fabric
Beams dim, lost luminescence
pains shadows searching for meaning
in a crooked branch, leafless and lifeless,
protruding from bleak crevices separating
Whispers from the opaque world faintly call
in voices of the past, echoing what was lost,
a rhythmic pattern of sorrowed reminders
endlessly ripping me apart
I fall to my knees, pleading with the sky,
desperate for some light, a mere flicker,
my heart begs the stoic horizon…
knowing it shall not come
Oh keeper of my heart's beating rhyme
For which I long for
With every ounce of electricity
Stimulating the rhythmic pattern of light
Shining from each crevice of my fragile soul
Split in half from the ages ago
When the illumination from the sky came raining down
Tumbling past each and every sparkle of the notion
Of two chasers of the light encompassed into one
Stumbling upon the earth in every which way
The wind blowing to the sound of a lyrical flight
For which my ears rang such a song
And in my dreams I was but consciously aware
Of a child entranced by a sight of a figure
That my heart was calling in a distant delight
And when the shower would part from the familiar wake
While despite the flowing and the tragic affair
I was but no one's as for always there was more
To the astounding memory of a set of eyes
Which spoke but a reminder to the unspeakable truth
Speaking through the wind in the trees
Waking me with the sun's shattering splendor
Tumbling from the sky, a soul dancing in the dark
The lullaby that once sang me to sleep
Through the constant searching of the heart
To the falling to the knees in prayer for longing
And then once eyes opened with the subtle recognition
That confronted with the figure of the being
The longing of a child's heart suddenly apparent in the present time
Upon the whisper of the hearts calling
Sparking into the majesty of the flesh now colliding
Past the very depths, unstoppable, unbroken
Flying through the sky while engaged in basking delight
The reuniting of destiny's pleasure, flutes delighting in a distant shore
And as my body stumbles past the present's wake
Into a dreams lulling in tune with the rhyme
And the shattering of earth may stumble my bones
But his love and our one light
Simultaneous as one dazzling splendor
For, forever I shall remain.
On a cold January night, l study the nightscape of the city below my eagles nest apartment window. I'm drawn to the lights of four cafes, arranged in close proximity on the cobbled streets. The old city is crammed closely together, traditional and modern jostling for space. How do they survive, competing with each other? I consider each in turn. One has fairy lights strung, multi colored, swinging along, entwined, moving in the wind. Another has a purple flashing neon sign spelling out its name. It flashes in rhythmic pattern - quick - quick - slow. The thirds harsh cold fluorescent light breaks the dark, a hard rectangle of white. And the fourth is lit by lanterns, glowing warmly in golden orange inside the windows. Muted and intimate. I realise each attracts it's own crowd, drawn in and defined by the lighting. I think about which one attracts me the most, and why.
155 words
The Deep Blue Sky
Just the two of us lying in the sweet green grass under the sparkling stars knowing there
could be no better place than right here with you.
Your head resting on my chest listening to the to my heart talking to you saying
“I love you”
In a rhythmic pattern as we link fingers hoping this day never ends.
You turn your head to me as I do the same you look deep into my eyes and your lips start to
tremble with words trying to escape an suddenly they move and you say…
“If you could describe your love to me how would it go?”
So I turn my head back to look up into the stars and say to you…
“Look up an stare into the sky and count all the stars that are lit up tonight”
You stare into the sky trying to count all of them and you stop and turn to me and say…
“How can I count all the stars? There must be millions!”
As I smile and laugh I say…
“Look back up”
You turn your eyes to the sky
“If I could grab each and every star and place inside your warm heart it would overflow and
in time your heart will get bigger and hold all the stars and that’s the only way I can describe
my love for you”
THE END
By Mathew Boore
The sun went to sleep
While the moon rose to take the night shift
On my bed I lay
A smile on my lips as I remember her
Chords vibrating in my soul
Resurrect memories of love souls
Sung by two newbie lovers
Under the starry night
Accompanied by the harmonious croaking of frogs
and the chirping of crickets
My love ever beaming in crescendoes
Ascends to the zenith of love
Your touch ever soothing as the harp
Played by good old David
Your face more beautiful
than the works of Mozart
My love runs on infinite notes
Unbound by the strings of time
A rhythmic pattern to be followed
Only one could inspire such love
Her name echoes through the halls of love
Her name 'Nature'.
The Old Rocking Chair.
The old rocking chair with its rhythmic pattern reminds me that life has its ebbs and flows so enjoy and move on.
Contest:One,One Liner
Sponsor;Rick Parise
6/11/2016
The shadows seem to shift in the breeze
And the trees begin to dance
My frantic footsteps pound pavement
As the first drops begin to fall
I find shelter at the bus stop
Looking out into the gray world
Rain fills my ears in a rhythmic pattern
I'm frustrated but at peace
Traffic lights shimmer on street corner sidewalks
There's a distant crash of thunder
Followed by a flash of light in the clouds
And the bus shelter rattles
The world is both familiar and alien
I'm surrounded by thousands
But I could also be the last person alive
With my solemn expression
Minutes tick by agonizingly slow
But eventually the thunderstorm passes by
And the rain meanders to a sprinkle
Leaving a glistening world of ghost lights
The blushing sun finally peeks out
And a beautiful rainbow blossoms
Over the horizon in stark contrast to the gray
Perhaps a love more profound than I've ever known
People begin to appear as if awakening from hibernation
And my gray world explodes with light and exuberance
As if my melancholy experience was but a dream
With courage I step out of the shelter
A single droplet drops onto the tip of my nose
But it's enough to paint a smile on my lips
The world of gray is finally gone
And in my heart I know I have become fearless
They tell me i'm crazy because i choose to sleep in my car, quickly they add up
how much money i should be making. to that i can only reply, in order to achieve
the goals i want to reach i must endure a little suffering now. i call myself crazy
cause i wish to write to and about you passionately. to that i can only say i hardly
know you. this is not a poem and i tried not to write in any rhythmic pattern. just
thoughts that need releasing, thoughts i've long tried to ignore.
i try to be happy but its hard when it seems so much is going so wrong. six
weeks ago i totaled my ride; my folks tell me God was looking out for me. that’s
kinda hard for me to believe when there are so many more that not only need
him/her but want him/her to be a presence in their lives.
i work day in and day out but i cant show you anything worth while. voices tell me
i'm an emt i should be happy saving lives, but they don’t see the hell i see. the
voices love me, i can tell they do, it's in the messages they give to me. they talk of
things i need to be doing, and refuse to hear the things i want to be doing. voices
are all i have to tell who's who, you see their faces have long since faded in order
to release all emotional attachment.
i hope you stayed with me this far, because i'm talking about happiness. some
day is too far away to wait and tomorrow is too soon to obtain all i have set for
self. i think i'll choose to find happiness now writing, more so writing with you in
mind. from this i hope questions will arise, questions that will be asked and
answers demanded. my thoughts don’t stop coming though i wish they would.