twoo twoo twoo
twee twee twee
O the cheerful melody
bad news on t.v.
floods are carried away
Dear children swept like dust
twoo twoo twoo
twee twee twee
O the cheerful melody
that once filled the camp
there was dancing and crafts
and a chain of hands
twoo twoo twoo
twee twee twee
O the cheerful melody
of the waters, beautifully sunned
then in one catastrophic strophe
a beast arises, releases frenzy
twoo twoo twoo
twee twee twee
O the cheerful melody
of campers, one minute
sleeping, tethered to their beds
then out of their heads with fear
twoo twoo twoo
twee twee twee
O the cheerful melody
of birds in the calm of afternoon
a cup of overflowing caffeine
pleasantry and dreams
dreadful nightmares
hold our loved ones close
we must. we live. we cry.
twoo twoo twoo
twee twee twee
O the cheerful melody
O the cheerful melody
O the cheerful m
e
l
O
d
y
O!
“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”
~William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act V, Scene I
I weep by the stardust shore where seraphs sing
Tangerine tears rain despair ‘neath a velveteen veil
My melancholic muse, muslin-wrapped in ice-cold caskets
Slain by ruinous romance swirled in absinthe abstractions
Despondent sloughs bespeak the depths of my soul
Saffron scars scream sonnets through metaphorical mists
Morose melodies paint scabs on pastiche strophe
Pregnant pause, so precious, submerged in lurid lament
But then it whispered, a voice unvarnished by purple plumes
A verse, it bloomed, untainted by thesaurus bleeds
Sculpting off silken scaffolds pasted upon profligate poetry
Leaving a profounder palate for plainer prosody
Fools thought wisdom speak in sequin-laced soliloquy
But wise men abrade from calligraphic charade
Strophe
O Grandpa Davis who gave me my skill
My art talents ,organic, came from you
Sorry I haven’t praised you ,now .I will
Your art and talents I admire you so
Your art is an inspiration to me,
Once I lost my home; most of your art gone,
It should have been enjoyed for all to see ,
T’is a wicked act ; I do frown upon.
Antestrope
Talent is work and some inspiration ,
Organic ability not much proof ,
Work hard with lift no misinformation ,
If you believe all of it you got spoofed.
And talent is one percent makes art great.
And work is sixty percent of one’s art ,
And skill is forty percent I state,
All three in harmony is a good start.
Epode
O Grandpa Davis I wish you were alive ,
If dreams are gold meeting you is jive,
You died 5 years before I was born .
Seeing your art I was wowed-forgot to mourn.
In figure drawing your skill is mythic
Your pastel work of your wife is terrific
And Grandpa Davis my ode to you is done,
It’ is time I penned it for everyone.
ENDWORD
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps
an immaculate conception of words;
too swift to comprehend,see or
recognise.The moment is there
and then is not.Gone with the wind
the seed of idea remains, to
germinate and gestate,fanned by a
mental fragrance of elation.Slowly
self-transcending a word into a phrase,
a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall of cadence,
into a chasm of verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet becomes a little song,
struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon
my page;a bastard-born of pain
MY POETIC BIO
Alliteration,the starting place, alongside
cinquains,apace in time,crystalline
lanterne and rhyme.Inspiration drew forth
footle,broken monoku &emagi for a while short
imagist was my style.Sequenced longer
poems metamorphose within this crysallis
changing into ekphrasis.Open,and free to be,
as you see,structured prose poetry.With
cadence and pause,others hear my voice
Open VERSE now this poet’s choice.
POETIC BIO
Alliteration,the starting place, alongside
cinquains,apace in time,crystalline
lanterne and rhyme came to be
Inspiration later drew forth
footle,broken monoku &emagi
&for a while
short imagist was my style.
Sequenced longer poems metamorphose
within this chrysallis
changing into ekphrasis.
Then Open,and organic free to be,
as you see,unstructured poetry.
With cadence and pause,
others began to hear my voice,
youtube became this poet’s choice.
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps
an immaculate conception of words;
too swift to comprehend,see or
recognise.
The moment is there
and then is not.Gone with the wind
the seed of inspiration
self-transcending a word into a phrase,
a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall
into a chasm of verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet becomes a verse
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps an immaculate conception of words;too swift to comprehend,see or recognise.The moment is there and then is not.Gone with the wind the seed of idea remains, to germinate and gestate,fanned by a mental fragrance of elation.Slow,self-transcending a word into a phrase, a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme rides a waterfall of cadence,into a chasm of verse. Terse or long, the sonnet becomes a little song,struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon my page;a bastard-born of pain in the realm of the mind,replete with thoughts inspiration thrives,discerns over- spills,to reveal then configure and emerge:a fragrance to dwell,stay and perhaps haunt another
In the midst of the night,
I was here but you’re out.
Then the blade had its flight
From the heart. No more fight.
I am free! From my sight
Is the pain… Is the pain
That’s now light. Yes, yes, bright
Is the light in the night
That my heart, in its flame,
Had been tamed… in the night.
POETIC BIO
Alliteration,the starting place, alongside
cinquains,apace in time,crystalline
lanterne and rhyme.Inspiration drew forth
footle,broken monoku for a while short
imagist was my style.Sequenced longer
poems metamorphose within this crysallis
changing into ekphrasis.Open,and free to be,
as you see,structured prose poetry.With
cadence and pause,others hear my voice,
aural phrasis now this poet’s choice.
as exampled below
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps
an immaculate conception of words;
too swift to comprehend,see or
recognise.The moment is there
and then is not.Gone with the wind
the seed of idea remains, to
germinate and gestate,fanned by a
mental fragrance of elation.Slowly
self-transcending a word into a phrase,
a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall of cadence,
into a chasm of verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet becomes a little song,
struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon
my page;a bastard-born of pain
a lady
of letters
gifted with
words,
stanza and strophe,
learned
in love
a midwife
of
the
poetic
rich in
melody
so sweet
so gentle
stanza and strophe..
in verse set free
a broken monoku form
Silver fog rose
Camera won't focus 'pon the gray
Raindroplets pose
Form: Tristich ...
Parallel in thought
A strophe, stanza, or poem consisting of three lines
What is poetry
who is a poet
and
well may
you
ask
POETRY
is structured
prose
poetic
prose
that fits
a frame
one
like this
is an
example
of a structure
or more often
in lines like this
called a strophe
or stanza or verse
often
the
structure
has
a
particular
form
whatever
the structure
it is constructed
to
be
read
aloud
A poet is a writer
who reads his verse
aloud
to himself
then to others
A poet
never
stops
being
poetic
even
when
he
no
longer
writes
Hear me read my free
verse
A LABOUR OF LOVE @
http://youtu.be/GiD8JdYi-jw
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps
an immaculate conception of words;
too swift to comprehend,see or
recognise.The moment is there
and then is not.Gone with the wind
the seed of idea remains, to
germinate and gestate,fanned by a
mental fragrance of elation.Slowly
self-transcending a word into a phrase,
a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall of cadence,
into a chasm of verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet becomes a little song,
struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon
my page;a bastard-born of pain,
ancestry unknown,no more to roam
Hear me read this poem aloud here http://youtu.be/GiD8JdYi-jw
and my other video poetry at this link
http://youtube.com/ichthyschiro
music's turning little dance sing the sonettos cabriole a turning stance ballerina's toe ~ tops cheval bureau a glance songs of little strophe on look the spiraling chance day dreams étoile's soul
she disturbs meaning
in rhythmic pulsation
exciting to fluorescence a deeply subtext'd verse;
'but don't mistake a stinging strophe for arrogance.'
'that's just fierce presence,'
moved by waves of astonishment
cascading through a nervous and vascular system
spontaneously overflowed
sea through
with a reaching iridescent tentacle
she simply, elegantly, fluoresces a gleam in your eyes
Sub Categories
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.