Short Meter Poems
Short Meter Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Meter by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Meter by length and keyword.
Hallow's Eve here upon us
A specially eerie full moon spooky night
Not for faint of heart
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
A sentence or two, nothing more.
Five rhymes, and then back out the door.
A meter that’s strained,
Some topic profaned:
Ah me! What’s a limerick for?
ancient redwood gleams
softly through the mists of time…
mayfly flitters by
-08 Jun 2014-
Average Lifespan:
Redwood Tree - 600 years
Mayfly - 1 day
I truly apologize to any reader.
I've run out of change for my poetry meter.
Please send me some quarters or a quartette.
The meter maid has not been by yet..
M-ake
E-very
L-ine
I-n
S-onnet
S-ublime
A-s
R-hyme
A-nd
M-eter
O-ften
S-how
Topic: Birthday of Melissa B. Ramos (January 17)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
A poem should always end in rhyme
And this means each and every time
And if it doesn't end in rhyme
It can not be a poem of mine
Mike Dailey
1-2 / 1-2 / 1-2 / 1-2
Not quite pentameter
C-ontemplating
H-eart's
E-choed
R-hythm
R-ecollects
Y-our
E-xperiences
S-o
T-he
R-eminiscence
E-difies
L-onely
L-ife
A-new
©bfa051425
Monocrostic (Birthday of Cherry L. Estrella)
Through a limerick a poet once bumbled.
With the meter he fumbled and stumbled.
So he thought: “How pathetic
to be waxing poetic!"
And he hung his head thoroughly humbled.
Limericks are no fun counting syllable or meter
Although it may seem to look rather neater
I have people in fits
Writing with one hand on my bits
Long as the punch line is corny makes it sweeter
© 2000
eyes seek the light of day... waiting for the sunrise
sheep bleat... the night is done... not cloudy wise
not recognising reds warning...
a shepherd stirs groaning
red sky stormy
weather
A very novice poet am I,
a fledgling, just learning how to fly.
My thoughts may climb as I flap my wings
but my anchored feet to this earth still clings.
I hope in time these wings won't teeter
and I can soar in a different meter.
A street meter thief, Peter Jeter
Would saw off the head of one meter,
Take it home in his sack,
Keep the coins, bring it back,
Which was pointless by that time, of course, having
completely destroyed the meter.
Written 27 Feb 2022
In four and sixty syllables
He strains to squeeze some thoughts profound
Into unyielding manacles
Of 8x8 form, tightly-bound.
He seeks to hand-pick words that sound
Unforced by metric obstacles
That sing and sensibly expound -
In short, do verbal miracles!
The poem that beats and rhymes
must flow with rhythmic time
to the cadence and to the chimes
of ev'ry line right on the dime.
The poem that beats and flows
must move with perfect meter
to the feet of highs and lows
just right and not much fleeter.
Form:
#DIMINISHED IAMBIC METER POETRY
I fly at night, shooting stars, comets my partners.
My friends till dawn granting lovers wishes
This night finding planet 'B', hope
Then it happened, a collision
I landed on the floor
My dream ended,
Not, hope!
I sould not stop for Death—Impatience—
Spurred my footsteps on—
His carriage lingered at the gate—
But I had long since gone—
--
The daisies whispered at my heels—
The wind implored me stay—
Yet Time unbuttoned from my grasp—
And swept the road away—
--
I met the dawn with breathless haste—
Too swift to turn—too late—
Meter, meter I am going to meet her
See her, see her, I am going to see her
Greet her, greet her, I am going to greet her
Treat her, treat her, I am going to treat her
Please her, please her, I am going to please her
Leave her, leave her, I am going to leave her
What kind of meter is this would you say?
I guess the fickled kind....
Diminished from 6 iambic feet to 1. A new form, I am sure it is, I have checked and found nothing. If you do know different, please do let me know, thank you!
My love for wildlife, all of natures creations
Mighty fauna, to the diminutive,
viruses to humungous trees.
Found nigh every day,
discoveries,
new life.
#Diminished Iambic Meter Poetry
COMFORTING AROMAS
to find comfort in aromas, of past pleasures
intimate, personal, memories ours
human odours, sensual, warm
arousing passion, lust
lascivious grace
a wink
If my meter were sweeter could I be the star of the show
I struggle with getting it right – I know I’ve a long way to go
I sound out the syllables but where is the stress
Apart from in my brain - oh I make such a mess
'Foot’ or ‘feet’ aren’t the limbs that I see
Iambic pentameter – its French and Greek to me!
Da DAH Da Da DAH ... it’s ringing in my head
Oh I’ve had enough so I’m going back to bed
10th April 2015
I am following the footprints
Of a shadowed spectral shape.
Through every line and passageway
She sings to me in daydreams.
Songs of virility and violence
Of sexuality so savage.
The grousing of the planet,
Her heartbeat cracks the fault-lines.
She walks under an orange moon
In cornfields in November.
Singing soft her siren tune,
So I may listen and remember
That she may always be pursued
Until my bones like glass will shatter.
Impulse impulse impulses
That seven metric beating
Sets forth the measure even
Sooth hear heart beat you see ah
Seven beats the CPU,
Seven for the storage true,
Seven for the network's flight,
Seven keeps the fleet in sight.
Sir acknowledged Admin 'o
Fleet of e'ver Sea O War!
Weaponry worth knowing see,
Logic knowledge a must, now
Torp an enemy with blow
Seven matrix and row - four
Scatters over, under Sea,
penetrate their iron bow.
In circle centre spirits meet
above, below, within,
with age old words I call and greet
and will they enter in.
In scented air, purify me
to serve at her command,
in flames of fire, sanctify me
may I meet her demand.
Fresh waters of the mountain stream
to wash away my fear,
the Earth beneath my feet redeem
my heart with loving cheer.
Their power surges through my soul
and bless this sacred place
in union with gods I'm whole
their love a blissful grace.
A meter maid I’ve never been
But Deb’s convinced me I have sinned
So now I write this verse for her
With hopes her wrath I won’t incur
“Defrost” is said as de’ frost here
The South is different, it’s so clear
Sur-re’-al sometimes sounds sur-eel’
But what means more is how I feel
About a poem and what it says
If written by a serf or prez
My meter’s time is running out
This WAS a strain, beyond a doubt
*LOL :) Entry for the Meter Contest
Iambic Pentameter