Long Hexameter Poems
Long Hexameter Poems. Below are the most popular long Hexameter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hexameter poems by poem length and keyword.
A warm, September day, so many years ago;
our home was then aboard a large Marine Corps base.
Expecting our first-born with new moms shared, and so
my neighbor, friend next door, came over to our place.
A favor asked of me; to watch her newborn girl,
her little babe, just two weeks old, a precious one,
with chubby cheeks and rosebud lips, a tiny curl
upon her head. To play with, watch her, oh, what fun!
Day after, all went well in early morning hours;
drank bottle in my arms then slept in her quilt bed,
bound snuggly in her wrap of white with pink flowers.
Before long, Mama picked her up, and off they fled.
That next day haunts me still. Forever, will I mourn
the overnight crib death of my dear friend's newborn.
September 21, 2015
Contest: I Will Never Forget
Sponsor: Silent One
Form: Sonnet in Iambic Hexameter
True Story from September 1958
O to live life in relentless outreach
And still stay put, stagnant, nowhere to reach,
To struggle hard, getting not so in hand,
To feign busy as if a butterfly,
Or a productive bee nevertheless,
O to say thoughtless yes in place of no,
To make hurried choices on onward ho,
And still fail to find meaningful flurry
Amidst meaninglessness of life lived in hurry.
What need be done not so in life to fret
Is slow to say yes, to deliberate,
Not so quick, vacillate nor hesitate,
A secret to live life free from regret.
‘Wish, I’d courage to live life but my own,
‘And not lived per someone’s expectations’,
Some, terminally ill on deathbed, wish.
A firm and deliberate no often
Saves one from a thoughtless and a suicidal yes.
And oftentimes to opt what not to do,
More telling turns out O than what to do.
*****sapiens are we, for, we can think,
And humans, not apes, for, we well can choose.
Why, one wonders, man opts for default mode,
Over a more proactive design mode.
For, less is often more, even better,
Why not that be the choice, a chosen mode,
Mere invitation’s no reason enough to go.
Let’s chase nothing in life nigh meaningless,
Nor forget to pursue the meaningful,
Nor miss out what’s central and essential
In blind pursuit of things peripheral.
In focusing upon the dead knickknacks,
Not to forget what’s alive, very life--
Things ever so meaningful and blissful,
Not deceitful, truthful, nor beautiful,
And say a deliberate no than a quick yes.
________________________
Blank verse |15.02.2025| life
Note: This blank verse in iambic pentameter by and large, each stanza of nine lines, the ninth line being a hexameter.
In Nineteen ninety-six, our son and wife, Majors
In US Army, moved to Izmir, their new base.
As usual, whatever place they were assigned,
We flew to visit them as well as dear grandkids.
So off we went to spend two weeks in Turkey, this
Outstanding country we had never been before.
So much to see at Ephesus—Metropolis
Of Antique Age; The Stadium, the Harbor Bath,
Basilica, the Marble Road, Heracles Gate—
All ruins now. Were sad to see these wondrous works
Of art and architecture now in disarray
And strewn about on fields on which they proudly stood.
Of varied striking sites in Pergamon, we saw
The City Walls, the Aqueducts, Acropolis,
The Temple Dionysus, that of Trajan too.
So many ages, periods had ruled this place,
Artistic wonders, structures turned to ruins—works
Of Persian, Greek, Roman and more, in pieces lay.
Besides the many ancient ruins visited,
We were amazed that many locals spoke our tongue.
They did their best to make us feel so much at ease,
Were gracious in combined Mid-Eastern/Euro style
Of hospitality and types of food they ate
And served, like cheese, tomatoes, olives of all kinds.
Izmir, a city mixed with culture old and new,
Like modern shops and open markets, outdoor stands
With fish and meats on ice, yet weighed on modern scales.
And women with fine bread on plates held up on heads,
Who walked the streets in morning, dressed in peasant garb;
Yet working business women wore more modern dress.
We ventured to the famous city, Istanbul,
Surprised to see the many high-rise buildings there,
And streets so overcrowded with their vehicles;
Large offices and business centers everywhere—
Ladies with fashion boots, purses and western dress;
Big contrast with those living back in country hills.
Such history surrounds this ancient, distant land;
So many varied cultures ruled their sacred world.
Museums filled with artifacts from centuries,
Safeguarded and in view to honor and behold.
This trip shall always hold such special, vivid thoughts
For us to cherish and remember for all time.
Of course, this one-time trip was many years ago;
We're happy we had ventured then instead of now,
For times have changed; such unrest grows within our world.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Memorable Vacations
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Judged: May 8, 2015
Iambic Hexameter
For years I’ve sadly known of one who dislikes me—
A member of my family, whom I do love.
No matter how I’ve tried—solution not to be,
My fervent prayers unanswered by dear God above.
Except I’m granted a recurring dream, so real,
Whereby the two of us are friends and get along,
And in my dream, I thank dear God that my appeal
Was heard whereby he helped to make our kinship strong.
This haunting dream recurred for many hopeless years,
And still, invades and stirs my sleep at present time.
In it, my heart accepts apology with tears—
Rejoicing, we embrace and kiss in scene sublime.
What disappointment when I stir and then awake
And realize once more it was this same old dream—
My morning seems less bright, my heart forlorn with ache;
If only this were true, not sleep’s nocturnal scheme.
However, I do feel that God sends me this gift
As his firm sign of things to come some future day.
My hope is strong, my heart wanting to mend this rift,
And make my dream come true—take this heartache away.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Emotional Anger, Hurt, Rage
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Judged: 11/30/2017
~3rd Place~
Contest: Dreams
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Judged: 04/28/2015
Iambic Hexameter
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.)
Canis Lupus, gray wolf of forest and brushlands,
Where denning sites throughout are plentiful and safe,
With gifts of strength, endurance and great stamina,
You travel on for hours before fatigue sets in.
As Alpha male, joined with your Alpha female mate,
You lead the pack which heeds and follows your commands.
You join in pairs, or go alone at times, to hunt,
Exhaust your prey on lengthy runs to wear it down.
Sometimes in gathered pack of ten or even more,
You hunt for prey to feed extended family—
A group that works together and shares equally—
After the Alpha pair, main hunters, had their fill.
You choose large prey of herbivores, but if they’re scarce,
Small animals like rabbits, squirrels, mice will do,
Along with all domestic prey on farms close by.
You mate for life, produce young pups, from four to six,
Most times in later Winter or in early Spring,
Within your dens, the young are whelped in two months plus—
Born helpless, blind, but are full grown within one year.
You indirectly helped to shape domestic dog—
Through common ancestors evolved the “man’s best friend,”
With many varied breeds that formed throughout the years,
The dog and man create relationships that bind.
Canis Lupus, gray wolf of forest and brushlands,
You stand with warrior command, head held up high,
With gifts of strength, endurance and great stamina,
You have endured and thrived eight-hundred thousand years.
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
~2nd Place~
Contest: Canis Lupus – The Wolf
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Judged: 04/12/2015
Iambic Hexameter
.
Speak not to me of love, I cannot bear to hear
The fervent pleas you stoop to whisper in my ear
Speak not to me proclaiming staunch fidelity
Or how you will adore me through eternity
Speak not of how your love is stronger now by far
Than what it was before, so I must lift the bar
Speak not in vows regarding purity
Of how you swear to worship me, and only me
I've heard confessions of this sort quite oft before,
No proof are they of love, I'll show you now the door
My heart has bled enough, I want the pain to end
Our love has run its course, why must I now pretend
While you were loving her, he started loving me
My broken heart he healed and showed me ecstasy
The shroud of pain you gave, he turned to joyous gown
My head with kisses wreathed and gifted me a crown
His ravished all the places unbeknownst to you
Each fantasy he played, each dream he made come true
His tongue, it sweetly roamed to each delicious place
Our bodies fused in rhythm, lost to time and place
Speak not of sad regrets and turning back in time
Of seeking to recapture love that was sublime
Each night he speaks to me in passion's lovely rhyme
With heart and soul I speak and tell him he is mine!
For Georgio V's Iambic III Contest
This is written in Iambic hexameter
October 6, 2014
Eileen Manassian
Those drops, like tears from heaven, fall this dreary day;
I see the puddles forming, dimpled with the rain.
And with no sun or sky of blue, my heart does play
with sadness while my mood reflects my inner pain.
Rain puddles shimmer 'neath the sky of smoky black
reflecting somber visions of the world around;
of muted grays and washed-out blues that soon bring back
those memories of heartache that play lost and found.
Amazing, how a gray and rainy day can bring
a sorrow from my heart to rise and hurt anew.
Contagious is the dreariness that seeps and clings
when rainy days convey their darkness there in view.
Oh, rain-filled skies, your gloomy time is surely short
with all the solemn thoughts you somehow bring to me,
for soon the bright sunshine will dry up your support,
and make me smile once more as raindrops set me free.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Strand Select 1
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 01/15/2020
~1st Place~
Contest: Rain
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 08/15/2016
Iambic Hexameter: 12 syllables, 6 feet per line.
A serpentine row of pillars of stone
Winding through farms, woods and much weeded track
Like suture marks upon earth's bordered skin,
And white-washed, each proclaiming its number in black.
Stones planted to divide lands, not unite,
Divide lives well as raising red ripples,
Dissect what not long ere was seamless one,
When culture and a common tongue once fused peoples.
Then as fate fated, a seed from a bird-
Dropping under a pillar once sprouted,
And a sprawling Peepal Tree spread its wings,
Perhaps, hoping to unite what was divided.
A bird from which land had sauntered therein?
Harvested by whom, whose seeds did it eat?
Birds belong to no nations, nor they care,
With unique disdain do they borders tend to beat.
Nourished by common soil the tree had grown,
Mocking at stone pillars, gathered had dust—
Obliterating man-made marks on them,
Per chance carping that the borders drawn were unjust.
No soldier watching borders had the heart
To root the sapling out, nor grown-up hunk,
None thought of replacing back the pillar,
Many chose to scrawl their stray thoughts on its vast trunk.
The Peepal Tree, a mark of mundane life,
As scriptures say, should one day severed be,
But should this stone-pillar be sacrificed? --
The tree that stood teaching tenets of unity.
It still stands cooling borders on each side,
And tempers too that in restless mind dwell,
Trees tie together what borders divide,
The mother earth as well wants that peace should prevail.
Alas, men failed to do what a bird did,
Winged feathers for no man-made borders care,
The bird, a true angel of peace indeed,
Descended to show, hearts when heal enough, they share.
__________________________
Happenings | 04.02.2011 | narrative, tree, peace, borders
Note: This piece takes off from a true happening on Indo-Pak border at Suchetgarh. In an allegoric reference, Peepal Tree represents a mundane world of desires as referred to by Bhagavad-Gita # 15.3). The quatrains are set in iambic pentameter, the fourth line being a hexameter.
No human heart had he, though his, was full of love;
no human soul, but golden, soulful eyes, aligned
with mine, revealed a fervent tenderness, above
that which a non-human could show- so truly kind.
A gentle one, he stole my heart and soul away.
Each day, inside our home or yard, he'd follow me;
when called, would run from anywhere, without delay,
and jump into my arms or lap so faithfully.
At night, in bed, he'd lay below to warm my feet
and later, move up closer by my pillowed head.
Come morning, he would gently tap my face to greet;
I'd wake to golden eyes as purrs of love were shed.
For twenty years, my Charlie cat assuredly
was family to me, entrenched within my heart;
two-decades-long, we shared our days wholeheartedly.
The ache still lingers since that day death made us part.
I hold those years I spent with Charlie cat so dear;
no other pet has come into my life since then-
for, after years of joy, the pain of death is clear.
I could not bear to feel that emptiness again.
April 8, 2018
~2nd Place
Contest: My Companion and Close Friend That Never Complains
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 02/18/2020
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Non-Romantic Love
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Judged: 04/11/2018
Form: Iambic Hexameter, 12 Syllables, 6 Feet per line