Long Dactyl Poems
Long Dactyl Poems. Below are the most popular long Dactyl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dactyl poems by poem length and keyword.
“50 Words for Poe: dactyl”
When Terror Fell came
he had no complaints
the joint was jumping
it was do or dare
he offered Her his old pear
the porridge here was so glum
She closed the door
to the window of his cell
and sucked on Her plum
She was thinking, a dangerous thing in itself, indeed,
that next time peaches, not pears would be fun
She’d tighten his straight jacket some
fingers and toes to be free
She’d observe him for a while
there was the pressing issue
of The Others let loose on the run
joie de vivre, gone all bat**** wild
there was still the report to write
an extra dose of Laudanum prescribed
She’d blindfold him and buzz him electric
then instruct him to write poems didactic
delusions of grandeur
fingers and toes playing piano
with the other dementors to be denied
he was manic - full of too much ego and arrogant hurt pride
All in a day’s work
He was safe in his cell
or so he thought ...
counting numbers
the seconds tick by
he'd gladly wait
for Hell's Bride
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/mGYUV76Lhic
“In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.”
https://youtu.be/CoA4goulmMo
“Silver dust
lifted from the earth
higher than my arms reach,
you have mounted.
O silver,
higher than my arms reach
you front us with great mass;
no flower ever opened
so staunch a white leaf
no flower ever parted silver
from such rare silver;
O white pear
your flower-tufts,
thick on the branch,
bring summer and ripe fruits
in their purple hearts.”
(H.S. 1886 - 1961, The Pear Tree)
https://youtu.be/PgqHi5HkBRk
"before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass"
For the Lost, out of their cell still serving time in Hell.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51869/eurydice-56d22fe6d049d
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d#tab-poems
"The Prosecution "NOR" "The Defense", makes the accused come to court,and this is something I must "Report".The accused is not going to get a jail or prison sentence,and this is a fact that cannot go unmentioned. This trial shows "good intentions"! In this trial there will be no appeal,and there will be no one who will offer to make any kind of deal : I wonder if this "Trial" is really real? The "Trial" must go on,and cannot be dismissed,because "Democracy " Itself" was put "In Harms Way" on Jan 6 2021": The "Trial must go on to "Relieve the "Threat" that was made on "Democracy",and make that "Threat" known"to all Americans,and All Nations world wide who want "Democracy" in their "land"!! On Jan,6, 2021 something went "Wrong" and must not carry On in any "Democracy" so that "Democracy can remain "Strong"!!!! The "Trial of Donald J. Trump" is a "Public Display" that points to Jan 6,2021 when "Democracy in "The U.S.A. came "Undone" in front of "Everyone" under God's Sun!! The "Seat Of Democracy" wants to have this "Trial",even though no one will be sent to "Jail",or receive a "Prison sentence": Democracy "Might" some how be restored,after "Criminal" knocked down the "Democratic Doors"! The "Seat Of Democracy" "Was Put In Harms Way" ON Jan 6, 2021,and something "MUST" be done about that real true fact,and "Never Forgotten" if "Democracy wants to continue to "STAND".There are "Criminal Racist,White Supremacist,Black Supremacist,Yellow Supremacist,Brown Supremacist,Red Supremacist:God is "The Only Supreme Being"! Anti- Democracy is their plan. The real "ENEMY IS HATE". Hate will take all of those who practice it to "HELL"where they belong! Misery loves company,and when we are "Angry" we are not at all "Loving". When we are "Loving" we are not at all "Angry". The "Trial" of Donald John Trump must go on ,because on Jan 6,2021 something went "WRONG",and "Democracy Itself almost came "UNDONE"!!!!The Trial of Donald John Trump must go on,so that we can still "Write Money"and say:"IN GOD WE TRUST".We write these words on the money that we spend,and "NEVER" GLORIFY" ANY WOMEN OR ANY MEN"! It is a sin to glorify any women or any men! The saying "In God We Trust" "Unites Us All"!!!The Rich ,Poor, Middle Class,Weak, Strong,short,tall,and small!!!
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.)
What a name called?
Football a game called,
To known arena called stadium,
Played eleven to eleven side to side each,
Formations of it kinds,
Aims of a two goal post net,
Aims of a trophy,
Aims of winning,
In a color Jersey of its kinds,
In a color booths of it kinds,
Side to side balls picking sons round,
Spectators sat rounding pitch watching,
Centered with a nominated referee officiating,
Lined with a two lines men flagged,
Officials of substitutions in questions,
Pronounced by named commentators,
Red and yellow cards rules in question,
Supported keys of volunteers,
Supported with all sorts of supporters,
Declared a stadium manager jobs,
Declared a team manager jobs,
Host the nations, Host the world,
At moment of a country designated!
At moment of a country authorized!
Called for all practitioners....
Photographers, Cinematography, Press, Medias, Adverts, Sponsors, critics, etc. centred.
What a name called?
Football! football! ! football! ! !
A rounded leather circled!
Circled in its color of its choices,
Declared fifa authorities,
Declared statistical over all game,
Respect covered face to face,
Stretchers officials in uniforms of its officials medications,
Football a game called,
With boots of its kinds worn,
Saddled a whole lot supporters,
Saddled a whole lot analysts,
Presumption for a nation's glory,
Preemptive individuals' desirably for survival,
Football a game called,
Called to the passionate in spirit,
Football a game called,
Embrace understanding to unnamed,
Embrace love to unloved,
Embrace unity to diversities,
Embrace creativity to un-creativity,
Football a game called,
Adore a nature,
Football a game called,
Called to a glorious home,
Football a game called,
A rounded leather circled!
With boots of its played,
With jersey of its kinds,
With choices of many kinds,
Football a game called.
My humble tribute to a great personality:
When India won freedom, he did not attend the celebration, rather he was on road helping all, trying to end communal violence. He said how can I celebrate when so many are in distress.
_________________________
Aagadhi Bagadhi
Mahatma Gandhiji
was loved by countrymen
for his good deeds.
He lead life practicing
spirituality
as laid out in scriptures
and had no greed.
Cagadhi Dagadhi
Mahatma Gandhiji
was feared by Britishers
for all loved him.
He always lived life of
admirability
like a poor and like them
he had no whim.
Eagadhi Fagadhi
Mahatma Gandhiji
fought with high principles,
Govt felt helpless.
Such was his heart touching
emotionality
that he worked tirelessly
serving helpless
Gagadhi Hagadhi
Mahatma Gandhiji
was idealistic
with willpower
He never aspired for
materialistic
possession, position,
any power
Igadhi Jagadhi
Mahatma Gandhiji
believed that we should teach
through our actions
He was never caught with
uncharacteristic
display of violence
Or bad actions
Kagadhi Lagadhi
Mahatma Gandhiji
could not bear to see sad
face of people.
He spoke truth, was never
sensationalistic
while giving speeches to
country people.
Magadhi Nagadhi
Mahatma Gandhiji
strived for happiness,
freedom for all.
Professional lawyer,
academically
brilliant, he sincerely
strived for all.
Oagadhi Pagadhi
Mahatma Gandhiji
wanted to give all his
people freedom.
He took upon self the
responsibility
and India regained
back her freedom.
______________________
Dated : 31st Jan 2021
Written for Double dactyl contest by William Kekaula
Syllable count checked at poetry soup syllable counter.
WRITING POETRY WITHOUT RULES*
I thought I'd write some poetry
Just for the fun that it would be.
So I went to the web to see
what it said
about how to write poems just for me.
I ran into words like iambic and tercet
and other ones that I had never met.
There was even a thing called a quatrain
that confused and corrupted my brain.
Stanzas are neat if they get the right beat
with the meter which I'd no doubt delete.
You also have tetrameter and pentameter
which are terms I don't think are neat.
Long ago I did write in rhyme
but just to friends who didn't mind.
I'd write some limericks or lyrics to sing
that were not important
and didn't mean a thing.
But as I write now and look into how
I find myself stymied by words to allow.
I read such things as trochee
and anapest and even dactyl.
They are words I just read
and don't really feel.
Those words belong to meter,
a measure in feet.
With stresses on heavy or light
and then they repeat.
They do form the meter
which makes the poem complete.
I may just give up and write more in prose
My friends will give thanks and I'd smell like a rose.
But I do get such joy with the lines in a verse
So I'll just continue, and the poems I'll disperse.
I could go further and write in free verse,
which doesn't make sense
and just makes it worse.
Free verse would just boggle my mind.
It really won't matter
what rules I would shatter
as long as I make the words rhyme.
* I actually learned all the technical poetry terms as an English major in college. This is just a satire on their usage and the way I enjoy poetry.
When I was young the broom sage grew so tall
It towered over me, fuzzy tickling
Right there in front of momma harvesting
Harvesting just enough sage for a broom
Broom sage to sweep the hearth clean of debris
A hearth white washed with Georgia kaolin
Nothing to cover the dirty black sooted bricks
In summer even the inside was white washed
Taller now towering over the sage
Whose sick sparse shoots reach up to claim sunlight
Purple hues shimmer in breeze, wait for spring
Renewed to live again, again, again
Like sage cut, fashioned into a hearth broom
Life is short, wears away the youthful joy
Soon the end in sight, retired to kindling
Laid down upon the white washed inside brick
Awaiting morn when a spark will ignite.
A roaring fire will spring forth ablaze
While all the family gathers around
Warmed by the hearth of a happy snug home
Written:December 9, 2015
Definition of Blank Verse
Blank verse is a literary device defined as un-rhyming verse written in iambic pentameter. In poetry and prose, it has a consistent meter with 10 syllables in each line (pentameter); where, unstressed syllables are followed by stressed ones and five of which are stressed but do not rhyme. It is also known as un-rhymed iambic pentameter.
•Blank verse poetry has no fixed number of lines.
•Blank verse can be composed in any kind of meter, such as iamb, trochee, spondee and dactyl
I chose this form because I did not want to rhyme..
Rhyme
is not
the be-all
and the end-all –
the cadence supersedes, mellifluous.
Counting syllables, as superfluous
as the vowels
contained in
the word
queue.
Sounds
in chants
we danced to
before writing –
morae have primacy over meaning.
Rhythm takes precedence, despite your leaning.
And forced rhymes jar:
him and dim
do not
rhyme!
Rules
are made
to askew
and be broken:
double dactyl*:- flib-ber-ti-gib-bet-ing
Defending contests fiercely --- gibbeting.
Breaking your head
to conform
to design,
rhyme.
Puns,
blasé
efforts, but
double entendres,
sexual innuendo in your face.
As some scribbling can at times be quite base,
persecution
should never
stymie
flow.
*a double dactyl: /**|/**
flibbertigibbet: (n) a frivolous, flighty, or excessively talkative person.
__________________________________________________________
FUN FACT
Euclid of Alexandria (Mid-4th century BC—Mid-3rd century BC), the great Classical mathematician, believed that the numbers 1, 2, 3 & 4 must have some mystical significance because their sum total is 10—ten was thought to be a number of power. He called this relationship a tetractys.
Ray Stebbing based his poetic form, Tetractys, on this. No spaces between each stanza and the poem is presented in line with the left-hand margin (or it might be centred) - either way, it would visually give the design of a triangle.
ADELAIDE REQUIRED AID
Adelaide adored me
Ingrid ignored me
Adelaide and I made quite an odd pair
Yet Ingrid had silver silken threads instead of hair
Looking up to a cloud laden sky I prayed to heaven for Ingrid’s heavenly pleasure
Looking up to a syrupy and sunny sky I begged God that I might discover Ingrid’s buried treasure
A female fortune sealed in a locker by two silent lips and secreted between two sultry hips
But in the material that makes up time some fabric often frays while a seam sometimes rips
And even an expensive faucet drips
With assurance I assign Ingrid as an extravagant and excellent source of radiance to beheld by me
And oh to be held by her
To meld with her
As my desire swelled and I swooned to a lady attuned to and beholden to beauty
But as for Adelaide I found her ignorant and distasteful for ignoring and boring me
Whatever she chose to discuss would disgust me with distinguishable diatribes
before I forbade Adelaide from approaching me or broaching another subsequent, sequential and inconsequential subject
Adelaide adjudicated me well adjusted with an adjunct to adulation
While I grew agitated by her aggravation
Until I made Adelaide fade
And found further feminine flair in a woman with silver silken threads as her hair
© 2012 copyright© …..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
a kiss on the way to work...
as the morning birds chirp...
you say a little prayer, as what its worth
coffee,cream,two sugars, to get your day going...
good hair, beautiful make up, you cant stop glowing
you check your rear view miriors,as you turn your ignition on...
you put your car in reverse,listening to your favorite song
you honk at your neighbors,as they softly wave bye...
you think to yourself, i have the greatest life
you get to work and there's roses on your desk...
attached was a note that you, patiently read
"your lovely,then a rose bush garden that blooms in the spring"
"so i handpick them all, my love, my life, my everything"
at that very moment you feel so alone...
so you rush through your day and can't wait to get home
five o clock comes and you rush out the door...
your so nervous and unpatient, your keys fall to the floor
you stop at a light and the light stays red...
as you turn to your left, theres a gun to your head
she had a choice to take the express way, but the backroad was faster...
in just one sec she was caught in a terrible disaster
he shot her in the head and stole her purse...
for just ten dollars her life was what it's worth
the guy eventually got caught,
and i want you all to know this
he needed the money just to buy his wife, some roses!!!!