Long Iambic pentameter Poems
Long Iambic pentameter Poems. Below are the most popular long Iambic pentameter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Iambic pentameter poems by poem length and keyword.
Iambic pentameter is all about the syllables, which ones are loud, and which ones are soft.
Baboon has two sounds – ba, and boon, a soft sound, and then a loud sound. High school also has two syllables, or two sounds. High and School also has two sounds, but the rhythm is loud sound, soft sound. The phrase: A baboon teaches at the high school has how many syllables? If you do not know, you can easily clap it out. With each sound, do one clap. A (one clap or one sound) baboon (two claps or two sounds), teaches (2 claps or two sounds) at (one clap or one syllable or one sound), the (one clap or one syllable or one sound), high (one clap or one syllable) school (one clap or one syllable or one sound).
The phrase A baboon teaches at the high school has a total of 10 sounds or 10 syllables or 10 claps.
Let us look at the word baboon again. Baboon - a soft sound, then a loud sound, or a soft syllable, and then a loud syllable, right? What about the word high school? Which syllable is soft? Which syllable is loud? The loud syllable is the first one, because that is the one your voice puts the most emphasis on.
Consequently, the word high school has a loud syllable, soft syllable rhythm.
When poets speak of iambic pentameter they are speaking of a five-in-a-row rhythm of soft loud, soft loud, soft loud, soft loud, soft loud sounds. It is important to remember there are five of them, and they must be soft loud, not loud soft sounds. Would high school work in this rhythm? Not well as it is a loud soft sound. What about the word baboon would it work in iambic pentameter – soft loud, soft loud, soft loud, soft loud, soft loud? Five in a row? Yes, it would because baboon is a soft loud word. Baboon, baboon, baboon, baboon, baboon. It might be possible to instill the word baboon in your mind now, so when you are writing iambic pentameter you can remember that baboon would work and the cadence is soft, loud. Also please remember to write iambic pentameter it must be five in a row.
A baboon teaches at the high school.
She has never heard of the golden rule.
Her students make fun of her behind her back.
Her lunch they have blown up in a paper sack.
We were supposed to go on a field trip today,
But the only one who signed up was that suck up, Mae.
Written July 16, 2018
Entered Line Gauthier’s Poetry Contest
Contest: Reads Like Music
LUNAR MADNESS
His thought; desire; that driving dream he knew;
so real within his heart and living soul;
the thing he took and fed until it grew,
into the part of life that made him whole;
by doing things that people seldom do
to make it real, and reach his cherished goal!
For who but fools, whose minds are now in tune,
would take a thought, and bounce it off the moon?
If given wings; by one who's gone insane
with lunar madness, loose in universe;
his wish for life would search each hidden plane,
and seek more levels where he might immerse
in pools of knowledge, cleansing every stain,
bleached on his mind by times eternal curse!
And damp with truth, before his mind can rust,
he dries in clouds of flowing cosmic dust!
His world is silent, everywhere he goes,
and dreams he holds so dear, stare silently,
at passersby, who greet him, but he shows,
no recognition to the ones who'd be
some of the ones to take the truth he knows,
and bring him back from where he's flying free!
But don't know how to reach this paranoid,
nor find the things that make his feelings void.
It's plain for them to see, he's not all there,
but lunar madness doesn't cross their minds,
and ships of soul, don't take them anywhere;
perhaps too busy with their daily grinds
to think of flying free form any care,
and seeking many worlds of other kinds!
That he has found by leaving body still,
protected by his knowing mind, and will.
He'll watch the pouring rain, and snowflakes fall,
and bolts that light the sky, in summer storm,
to see the wisdom theree within them all,
as puzzles come together and to form
a tool to shatter down his prison wall,
that's kept him from a life that's soft and warm!
But as he sees the things before his eyes,
the other part of him still seeks, and flies
so free of chains that bind him far below;
the part behind, that's waiting for the end;
or waiting for the wisdom he will know,
return of one, his kind and loving friend;
that once set free, would only come and go,
far from the one who let it first ascend!
Not knowing once he set their powers free,
that lunar madness plagues him, constantly.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
A hiding place, a warm and darkened room,
A lit doorway, bright against the dark,
Cold against the warmth, a frame for odd
Assorted stranger-forms whose faces loom
As quarrels over (what?) convulse and rend them,
Leering laughter giving in to vicious
Sneers, bared fangs, silent snarls
Of wretched, clutching, atavistic mayhem,
A terror once removed. Inside that hole
Distant from the proximal horrid window
Where twisted evil shadow-puppets fight
Peculiar faint amusement seems to roll
Like waves around the cave, detached and born
Of safety via distance, of certainty
That out would never be in, that warmth was safe,
That war above, so far away, forlorn,
Could be watched as from a languid seat
Far recessed in a darkened empty theater,
Nestled snugly, listening to the voice
Which comments on the raging battle heat.
From somewhere up, behind, not left nor right,
But from the center, voice and fight both
Directly sensed, as if they each occurred
In a vacuum, touch and smell, sound and sight
Being interchangeable and void.
The fighters jab and poke, madly gouge,
And neither gains advantage, being justly
Matched, as both are faceless, the man
At left pitted fair against the shrewish
Plot of his opponent, evil woman.
Both in turn appeal for judgment, turning
Away from fighting to glare and wave and hiss
Silently for a verdict on the ghastly driven
Feud which now has stopped, as it began,
Abruptly, and receiving none, for in
The silence no answer can be given
(Besides which, being taken by surprise
And overcome by sudden fear, aware
Of change in circumstance) the watcher is mute,
The murderous woman lunges at his very eyes
In deadly assault, bent on maiming, killing,
Groping fiercely at his open throat
For no apparent reason; and the comfort
Of the soothing voice utterly halts.
Words without sound fly like spears between them
Accusatory fingers gesture madly
And spittle from their half-crazed livid mouths
Wings through air in visual acid anthem
To this grisly deadly tandem fight
That seems the worse being set in relief
By the rectangular hole that serves as both
Window and door, divider of dark and light,
No protection, as threshold battle threatens
Him within, as blind hatred rages
In deft slashes of lengthy fingernails
While foe from foe extracts macabre debt.
Estranged to a lonely room
Littered with trash and splattered gloom
Fettered and sentenced to early doom
Distressed and distraught to a sordid mood
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
To make sure the windows latched
To make sure the door to match
Hope to God to soon to catch
Before settling to an unworldly nap
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Late night battered darkness broken
Metallic taste in my mouth beholden
Bathroom rush with my mouth open
Rinse the mouth and nose thus salted
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
I never see the imp come or go
Only disturbance in light or dark shadow
Low to the floor slither and flow
Dash under the bed, I don’t really know
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Maybe it is up on the ledge
Or under the bed or behind the case
Or cowering in a corner or place
Peeking out from a closet embrace
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
In my dreams I see a sordid face
Withered and shriveled and contorted with hate
Laronian imp with purpose of fate
In my mouth it squirts the paste
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Again I wake and bolt for the sink
From the corner of my eye I see the imp
He disappears in wink or a blink
Invisible to the man with a limp
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Pint sized demon un happily born
Raised to hurt and kill with poison
Never seen in a man with reason
Punished in a life of torture and scorn
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
In the darkness I see a leap
Up to the ledge an amazing feat
For a tiny thing at most two feet
Hiding until I fall asleep
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Needles inserted into my feet
Slow painful sore legs they do retreat
Hope to lord my soul to keep
Late at night in darkness deep
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
In the blackness I hear a click
Grab a sword and after it
Under the bed in a squealing fit
Damaged with a warbling tweet
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Should I slowly pass away
Hopefully my children remember me
Horrible taste with it at bay
Awakening to a brand new day
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Should I survive to tell a story
Of terror, pain and faith and glory
Unbelievable unreasonable stodgy and gory
Peering in as I swoon with sedated foray
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
LUNAR MADNESS
His thought; desire; that driving dream he knew;
so real within his heart and living soul;
the thing he took and fed until it grew,
into the part of life that made him whole;
by doing things that people seldom do
to make it real, and reach his cherished goal!
For who but fools, whose minds are now in tune,
would take a thought, and bounce it off the moon?
If given wings; by one who's gone insane
with lunar madness, loose in universe;
his wish for life would search each hidden plane,
and seek more levels where he might immerse
in pools of knowledge, cleansing every stain,
bleached on his mind by times eternal curse!
And damp with truth, before his mind can rust,
he dries in clouds of flowing cosmic dust!
His world is silent, everywhere he goes,
and dreams he holds so dear, stare silently,
at passersby, who greet him, but he shows,
no recognition to the ones who'd be
some of the ones to take the truth he knows,
and bring him back from where he's flying free!
But don't know how to reach this paranoid,
nor find the things that make his feelings void.
It's plain for them to see, he's not all there,
but lunar madness doesn't cross their minds,
and ships of soul, don't take them anywhere;
perhaps too busy with their daily grinds
to think of flying free form any care,
and seeking many worlds of other kinds!
That he has found by leaving body still,
protected by his knowing mind, and will.
He'll watch the pouring rain, and snowflakes fall,
and bolts that light the sky, in summer storm,
to see the wisdom there within them all,
as puzzles come together and to form
a tool to shatter down his prison wall,
that's kept him from a life that's soft and warm!
But as he sees the things before his eyes,
the other part of him still seeks, and flies
so free of chains that bind him far below;
the part behind, that's waiting for the end;
or waiting for the wisdom he will know,
return of one, his kind and loving friend;
that once set free, would only come and go,
far from the one who let it first ascend!
Not knowing once he set their powers free,
that lunar madness plagues him, constantly.
Long ago in the short-time lively spring
In the grassy plains of a small island
Came from nonexistence a young sapling
Nurtured by the love of her mother’s hand
The world accepted her newfound nascence
Fueling her a love for joyfulness
Beaming out from the depths of her bright heart
A Happiness no being could contest.
With the blessings from the sapient world,
She quickly discovered a lifelong friend.
His solicitude for her unbounded,
They were surely a match made in heaven
They always walked together as one,
Carrying each other through life’s sojourn
Truly did the love between them abound
But all good times must arrive at an end
Her childhood soon sped by before her eyes
The novelty of memorable times
Fading into the dark depths of her mind
Pleasant memories like leaves in the wind
Her transition into adulthood near,
Deep concern for her friend’s future life flare
Taking no heed of her own life troubles,
She does what she can to help him succeed
At the zenith of springtime season’s bloom
She invited her dear friend to a club
A group of three girls all connected by
Their adoration of books and poems
It pleased her heart greatly to see her friend
Forming and bonding with new companions
Yet, unknown feelings of jealousy formed
As her indulgent desire for him grew
Like the swirling typhoons of the oceans,
The tsunamis that wash away cities,
Doubt flooded into her mentality
Confusing thoughts fogged rationality
She bottled up her true feelings tightly
Suppressed the complex emotions duly
Only ever showing her happy side
Wishing to see no concern from her friend
Each passing moment spent in the classroom
Watching his relationships with others
Deepening, evolving, and ascending
Left loneliness to consume her insides
For three days she tried hiding her sorrow
No longer could she veil her emotions
Despite her friend’s kind attempts to console
He only shatters her heart into shards
The following day, lying in her bed,
She looks up at her room’s ceiling and thinks
“Why get out of bed? Why am I still here?”
She recalls her friend, breaking into tears
That day, Sayori never came to school
Leaving her friend worried and bewildered.
In his concern, he traveled to her house
Only to find her hanging by the noose
LUNAR MADNESS
His thought; desire; that driving dream he knew;
so real within his heart and living soul;
the thing he took and fed until it grew,
into the part of life that made him whole;
by doing things that people seldom do
to make it real, and reach his cherished goal!
For who but fools, whose minds are now in tune,
would take a thought, and bounce it off the moon?
If given wings; by one who's gone insane
with lunar madness, loose in universe;
his wish for life would search each hidden plane,
and seek more levels where he might immerse
in pools of knowledge, cleansing every stain,
bleached on his mind by times eternal curse!
And damp with truth, before his mind can rust,
he dries in clouds of flowing cosmic dust!
His world is silent, everywhere he goes,
and dreams he holds so dear, stare silently,
at passersby, who greet him, but he shows,
no recognition to the ones who'd be
some of the ones to take the truth he knows,
and bring him back from where he's flying free!
But don't know how to reach this paranoid,
nor find the things that make his feelings void.
It's plain for them to see, he's not all there,
but lunar madness doesn't cross their minds,
and ships of soul, don't take them anywhere;
perhaps too busy with their daily grinds
to think of flying free form any care,
and seeking many worlds of other kinds!
That he has found by leaving body still,
protected by his knowing mind, and will.
He'll watch the pouring rain, and snowflakes fall,
and bolts that light the sky, in summer storm,
to see the wisdom theree within them all,
as puzzles come together and to form
a tool to shatter down his prison wall,
that's kept him from a life that's soft and warm!
But as he sees the things before his eyes,
the other part of him still seeks, and flies
so free of chains that bind him far below;
the part behind, that's waiting for the end;
or waiting for the wisdom he will know,
return of one, his kind and loving friend;
that once set free, would only come and go,
far from the one who let it first ascend!
Not knowing once he set their powers free,
that lunar madness plagues him, constantly.
© ron wilson
Now Jericho, besieged by Israel,
Had shut its doors, and none went in or out.
The LORD told Joshua, “If you’ll believe,
We’re going to bring these walls down with a shout.
His mighty men of valor are inside;
The king of Jericho also awaits.
You and your men of war shall march around
The city once a day, outside the gates.
For six days, thus you shall just hold the line,
While seven priests before you bear the ark,
But on the seventh day, we’ll mix things up,
And march around the walls from dawn till dark.
Yes, seven times around we’ll go that day,
And all the time we will not say a word,
But when the final circuit is complete,
The priests will lift their horns and make them heard.
And when the people hear the trumpet sound,
They’ll shout a mighty shout with one loud voice.
This fortress, Jericho, will see its end.
The walls will simply fall; they’ll have no choice.”
Now Joshua was faithful to the LORD,
And honored Him by bringing this report,
But one can scarce conceive his fighting men’s
Response to battle planning of this sort.
But wonders also work in people’s hearts;
The plan unfolded as the LORD conceived.
For faithfully, the LORD had led His flock,
And so they heard their leader and believed.
So for the days that numbered one through six,
The vanguard, ark, and priests all went around,
Encircling the city with their march,
They made no noise except the trumpet sound.
The seventh day arrived; long was the march,
For seven times around those walls, they went,
And when the priests set lips upon the horns,
The host cried out: one voice without relent.
And lo, it came to pass just as God said;
The walls of Jericho fell, tumbled flat.
Devotion to destruction happened next;
We’ll have a bit more to say about that.
For God had looked on Canaan as a judge,
And found them guilty of a great offense;
They gave their children over to false gods.
Incensed, His wrath against them was intense.
And so, in handing over Jericho,
He gave to Joshua a harsh command,
“You must destroy, yes, every living thing
To rid the evil in this promised land.”
So Joshua then did as he was told;
The Canaanites, once giants, now ran scared.
But he made good; Rahab befell no harm,
And her entire house, he also spared.
(from Joshua 6)
Beyond an overgrowth of weeds, I see
a house with faded paint. It beckons me.
Victorian, its windows are like eyes
that hypnotize, and soon I find myself
there at its door. I tentatively knock.
Though knowing nobody will come to it,
to my surprise, I turn the door knob and
just walk into this strange but lovely house.
I look around at antique furniture
grown dingy. Cobwebs decorate the walls.
A sudden slam! I run back to the door.
It won’t come open. Panic floods my soul.
I go to every window. They won’t budge.
It’s like they’ve been sealed shut from standing still
through many years of never being used.
I shiver; from the corner of my eye,
I see a figure. Shadowy, it flits
across the dining room. I follow it
while swallowing my terror, and I go
into a small room, where the shadow crept.
Surrounding me are paintings on the wall.
I can’t take them all in, for there is one
that seems to call to me! How can that be?
It’s quiet there, and yet my mind is filled
with someone’s voice. It pleads to be released.
The voice is in the painting! I am led
so weirdly to its spot upon the wall.
I get right up to it and feel a chill.
An evil presence has me in its clutch.
I know this when I see the painting’s scene. . .
Fresh horror like I’ve never known before
now grips my throat and I can’t even scream.
Inside the painting is a woman who
looks eerily like me! She stands inside
a room with many paintings, and behind
her is a hooded being. Is she me?
I dare not look behind me. . . yet I do.
The hooded figure stands behind me too!
A scream at last escapes my lips, and I’m
inside the painting now and looking out!
I’m looking out onto the tiny room
with all its paintings. I am caught inside
the confines of a frame; I’m miniature!
I know the hooded beast has captured me.
I see his shadow leave the room and know
the door to this big house he has unlocked!
Another fool will enter as did I.
They’ll get locked in and then led to this room
to that one picture where I will await
to cry out plaintively to be released. . .
(Sorry this is so long; I had to do it this way to tell the story how it formed in my mind.)
Aug. 22, 2018
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
In Blank verse, which is unrhymed Iambic pentameter
I've been a bit free with the vitriol with a couple of poems recently, and need to check myself. Some months ago I met a bard, Kevan Manwaring. In his book, the Bardic Handbook, he recommends satirising oneself to see how it feels...
With satire comes responsibility
Thus spake the bard, regarding cosmic law
‘Tis true that thought and act and speech are free
But heed the truth learned by the bards of yore
What goes around and round will soon return
To that dark human place where it began
And pain shall be the lesson he shall learn
Who points his pen in anger at a man
Lest he forget, we none of us shine bright
That are not sullied by some silent shade
And he who seeks another man to slight
May curse the pen that bore the words he made
For what we see in others, we have known
Some simple human neediness or greed
The weakness we perceive is like our own
Who knows a tree that has not seen a seed
So satirise yourself, so spake the bard
Before you dare another man to mock
And turn upon yourself a light as hard
As that with which you wish a man to shock
Unshadow your shortcomings, write them true
Or fall upon your failings like a sword
For this is what you would to others do
And thine own self hast thine own pen ignored
Now weigh the pain you draw like blood from light
With cut of blade, of swift and vicious pen
Look down upon yourself from lofty height
As you would fain look down on other men
What do you see, but merely flesh and fear
A naked frightened soul that cries for love
All sorrow bound and clothed in darkness drear
With eyes up turned in hope to light above
Have pity, spake the bard, for every word
You wield will have the power to wound or heal
Remember what you here have seen and heard
Think twice before you cause a man to feel
The lacerations of your jagged wit
The schadenfreude of your savage ire
Lest you be made to join him in the pit
Lest you be so consumed in that same fire
He snuffed the candle flame, picked up his book
And left the poet, wise from sorrow shown
An unveiled mirror’s face in which to look
At imperfection that was his alone
With satire comes responsibility
For what goes forth returns, of that be sure
And you are that which you in others see
The naked frightened soul the poet saw
by Gail