I have never wrote a sonnet in my life
fourteen lines of iambic confusion
I’m not as poetically gifted
as Shakespeare or Petrarch
because pentameters and quatrains
are perfectly not my style
and too flat out antiquated for my liking
It’s rhyme schemes
always oppress me
line after line
stanza after stanza
as if I’m never allowed
to journey beyond
the black lines
while shading a picture
inside of a child’s coloring book
with a box of Crayola crayons
Inspired by “Poems and Poets” by Anne Winter
“For once in my life,
I want to be a poem” — Anne Winter
If I were a poem
could my poem be a poet?
If such could be done
who besides me would know it?
If my poem—as a poet—wrote something new
could I as a poem be the other poem too?
Or would I simply exist on a document list
along with other poems that coexist?
(As a poem I would be …)
Living on the edge of poetry forms’ parameters
Running ever changing rapids of trochees and iambs
Line dancing varied rhythms of iambic pentameters
da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM ad infinitum
Dancing two-step footles with the poem of my dreams
Braving slalom ski runs of Klein’s Vase Verse
Climbing lofty peaks of Heroic Crown of Crowns
Then doing it all over again in reverse
(I do have a poetic license you know …)
I think of such thoughts from time to time
when my muse is confused and obtuse
Especially when finding it hard to rhyme
my head flooded with thoughts most abstruse
What would it take for me to be a poem
vice versa my poem to be poet?
The very next time my muse starts to roam
I’ll try to find out—don’t you know it!
You are my poetry
and every word I know.
I can write sonnets
about how your lips
speak to my soul,
and I always seem to
carry you inside me
wherever I go.
You are my poetry
lyrical caresses
in my mind.
word spoken
and unspoken,
both horrible
and kind.
You are my poetry
hearts and stars
behind my eyes.
loving you so deeply
took me by surprise.
You are my poetry
pentameters,
verbal description
in panoramic
caricatures.
You are my poetry
because words mean
everything.
you warm me
in the summer,
and renew me
in the spring.
You are my poetry.
loose leaf pages
in the wind.
our beginning,
and alas,
until our bitter end.
You are my poetry.
how more may I describe?
You feed me
and nurture me
and make me
feel alive.
©SamHarty
There was a time when clock ticked Oh! So slow
When each hour new would seem to have no end
I’d wait for dark to go and light to grow
For then the dread would pass, all fear was spent
Yet with the light born in the break of day
I’d grasp each span that came to pass then new
To give me hours of joy with games to play
And see a world then bright with dawn fresh dew.
Now time goes fast and dark is less to fear
There’s world that shines in sun new born each day
Though that pale end that comes too fast, draws near
And brings the mind to thoughts of come what may
With truth bared so to rest our quest for sight
Shall we yet yearn, still drawn to see the light
Sonnet in 140 words; 140 syllables; iambic pentameters
23 September 2019
They Posess Power, They Posess Might
THE Chosen Enlightened, Those With Insight
BE Scared, BE Frightened...Their Senses Heightened
A Church OF Light
Anyplace, Anytime
Fear Their Weapon, They Cover ALL Crime
A Secret Society HAS Crept IN Quietly
Their Faces Are Sublime
THE World, OUR Nation...A Quest TO Rule
Between THE Lines
The Infiltration OF OUR Schools
THE Writing'S ON THE Wall
Assassin's Commanded WHAT TO DO
Their Parameters Expanded...NO Leaks
A Secret Assault
With Pentameters Iambic...They Speak
A Secret Vault
I Swear, I SEE
No Fool'S Conspiracy?...MY Country TIS' OF Thee
I Feel IT Spiritually...This Nation
Alive N' True
A Numeric Relation
Five AND TWO
This Brotherhood MAY Follow YOU
(Tritina)
You know by now just how much I do love
You because you mean more than you
will know and I'll always love you forever
Looking in your eyes I see love forever
And the stars in the sky sparkle with your love
‘Cause sometimes there's only me and you
You're the one that makes me strong and in you
I trust with all my heart and soul forever
There's nobody in the world like you my love
I know that I'll love you now and forever.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
November,20,2014
(written alternating pentameters and tetrameters)
So Mark keeps composing quaterns.
Why is he doing such a thing?
Obsessed with syllables, patterns;
He’s becoming a ding-a-ling.
He seems to be bored with haiku,
So Mark keeps composing quaterns.
He appears to act like me and you,
Then disappears and returns.
His psyche so brightly just burns,
Contemplating words and rhyme.
So Mark keeps composing quaterns,
And comes back there time after time.
He used to really like sonnets,
(‘cept iambic pentameters,
That so used to make him vomit!)
So Mark keeps composing quaterns.
"Thy wit is quick and capable thy rhyme
Conversant with my heart art thou and sly
Thou giveth words where I have never spoken
I swear against the truth so foul a lie
For pride and reputation hath thou token
My beauty's pattern idly sold to men
My Spirit, qui'tly dreaming, now awoken
Cries: 'Draw no lines there, with thy antique pen
Sir, I forbid thee this most heinous crime!
Though people see thee fair and thought thee bright
Thy art is black as hell, as dark as night!"
William Shakespeare (by ouija-board), commenting upon the work of 18 year old William Ireland who, in 1794, forged a great number of Shakepeare parafernalia, including a complete play; 'Vortigern and Rowena'.
This elegant form, called 'eleven', or 'onzine' was developed by the Dutch light verse poet 'Drs. P' (real name Heinz Polzer, born in 1919 and still going strong).
Rhyme scheme: abc bcd cda ee. The lines are usually in iambic pentameters.
a and b end with a stressed syllable, c with an unstressed one.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.