Alankar(Decor) -104
O' This English..(Quaternion)
The Quaternion is:
a poem in 12 lines made up of 3 quatrains.
metered at the discretion of the poet.
rhymed, aabb ccdd abcd.
O' This English..
O' this English how I wonder
Defends me despite my blunder
Forgives my flaws and faults and fall
Applauds as much from fall I haul
And as I hard haul to poem
Easy it helps rhyming with them
Admires my somewhat metaphors
So so similes so adores
So my heart in beats of thunder
Cautions my mind never to fall
But to effort high in rhythm
Sincere with all poetic chores
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Alankar(Decor) -63
Just In A Minute (Minute Poem)
The Minute Poem is:
a 12 line Poem made up of 3 quatrains.
syllabic, L1 8 syllables and L2-L3- L4-4 syllables each.
rhymed, rhyme scheme of aabb ccdd eeff.
A flash of memory in fills-
There the pupils
Of my old school
Quite bored and cool-
It was the day's last period
Pupils were tired
Just third class kids
With shut eye lids-
One naughty boy of higher class
Slipped out from class
Like a bad thief
Did the mischief
Rang the bell before closing time
Stirred school in rhyme
Dispersed early
Hurry-scurry
poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Poem Does Not Have to Rhyme
There are those who think in order for a poem to have rhythm it must rhyme, but a poem does not have to rhyme to have rhythm.
The rhythm comes for the poet’s soul not the rhyming of words.
The rhythm is in emotions that the poet’s poem evokes.
From a soulful cry to feeling of love and from the passion of hate to the awakening of understanding this is the beat, the rhythm of a poem. Now don’t get me wrong if a poem rhyme and has soul it is cool too, but I just wanted everyone to know that a poem does not have to rhyme.
Half A World Away
This could be the saddest dusk
Ive ever seen
Turn to a miracle
High alive
My mind is racing
As it always will
My hand is tired my heart aches
Im half a world away here
My head sworn
To go it alone
And hold it along
Haul it along
And hold it
Go it alone
Hold it along and hold, hold.
This lonely deep sit hollow
Im half a world
Half the world away
My shoes are gone
My life spent
I had too much to drink
I didnt think
And I i didnt think of you
I guess thats all I needed
To go it alone
And hold it along
Haul it along
And hold it
Blackbirds backwards forwards and fall and hold hold.
Oh this lonely world is wasted
Pathetic eyes high alive
Blind to the tide that turns the sea
This storm it came up strong
It shook the trees
And blew away our fear
I couldnt even hear
To go it alone
And hold it along
Haul it along
And hold it
To go it alone
And hold it along
Haul it along
To go it alone
And hold it along
Haul it along
And hold it
Blackbirds backwards forwards and fall and hold hold.
This could be the saddest dusk
Ive ever seen
Turn to a miracle
High alive
My mind is racing
As it always will
My hands tired my heart aches
Im half a world away and go.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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English Sunset
I want to ride the range
Across those skies of black
I want to see for myself
And see me coming back
And when Ive gone the distance
Ill be making tracks
For an english sunset.
Were on a runaway train
Rolling down the track
And where its taking us to
Who knows where its at
But if we hold together
We can make it back
For an english sunset
We want an english sunset.
I feel the rhythm of the earth
In my soul tonight
May it never fade away
And Ive decided I can live
With humility
And the sad decay
cos thats the english way.
We keep the faith alive
In everything we do
And at the end of the road
We still keep coming through
And though its sad and sorry
What else can we do
Its an english sunset
An english sunset.
I feel the rhythm of the earth
In my soul tonight
May it never fade away
And Ive decided they can wait
For the requiem
We take it day by day
cos thats the english way
I saw the english sunset.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alankar(Decor) -103
Grumble(Quatern)
The Quatern is-
stanzaic, written in 4 quatrains.
syllabic, usually written in lines of 8 syllables.
rhymed at the poet's discretion.
Possible rhyme schemes are Axax xAxa axAx xaxA x being unrhymed
and the cap A being the refrain.
Or Aabb aAcc ddAa eeaA or any combination the poet chooses
as long as the refrain is in the proper position.
composed with a refrain that is repeated as
L1 of the first stanza
L2 of the second stanza
L3 of the third stanza
L4 of the fourth stanza
Grumble
Empty mind mine sounds only hush
Lonely bewildered in silence
I am to fill it with words lush
My musings are hunting for thoughts
Albeit heart yearns for poetry
Empty mind mine sounds only hush
I pat my brain quite brisk
So that floods of words lot in gush
Time does not seem to wait then rush
Brain is working fast-yet
Empty mind mine sounds only hush
Thought-hunt is busy running on
I don't like a random scribble
Perfect theme, proper words should push
That my poem is set right-still
Empty mind mine sounds only hush
poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Spirit Of Poetry!
when a spirit of poetry decent,
it came
In a form of dove
When it came
Jesus became first poet under sun
And Almighty God
Was already, first poet over sun?
Using Poetry in poetic foam
Almighty GOD spoke through poetry
And he is a poet himself
Now his poetry is everywhere, and anywhere
We interact with poets
Words are like soil, are everywhere
Brighter that Sun
His poetic lights lead the way
When he likes
He will come
He will be in poetic foam
To Re-arrange poems
Schedule them in a poetic manner
On a judgment, He will met poets first
And secondly meet
Those who haven't written a poem
To Discuss similes, metaphors and personifications
Future of poetry is in heaven
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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Separating The Mind From The Heart
Here we go again
Their is blood in the water
From those who thought they were smarter
A castration with humiliation
You can't defy the laws of gravity
What is will always be
At least so it seems.
Separating the mind from the heart
Trying not act so torn apart
I was took under
I made a blunder
I still hear the sound of thunder
But when you are just so down are your luck
One more can never be enough
Just never enough
Symptomatic to the climatic
Drama gots her needs
She is the devil
And walks inside me
Here we go again
Their is blood in the water
From those who thought they were smarter
A castration with humiliation
You can't defy the laws of gravity
What is will always be
At least so it seems.
Separating the mind from the heart
Trying not act so torn apart
I was took under
I made a blunder
I still hear the sound of thunder
Far from perfect
Every flaw is desired
If only I can be rewired
Set my soul on fire
Let burn brighter
Let it reach the farthest shore
A beautiful coast to most
Here we go again
Their is blood in the water
From those who thought they were smarter
A castration with humiliation
You can't defy the laws of gravity
What is will always be
At least so it seems.
Separating the mind from the heart
Trying not act so torn apart
I was took under
I made a blunder
I still hear the sound of thunder
I tear up the letter
Burn it
I Just can't read no more.
It is the wrong door.
The one that leads
Oh god I ask you please
Have mercy
Here we go again
Their is blood in the water
From those who thought they were smarter
A castration with humiliation
You can't defy the laws of gravity
What is will always be
At least so it seems.
Separating the mind from the heart
Trying not act so torn apart
I was took under
I made a blunder
I still hear the sound of thunder
He cackles ha, ha
Now I got you my son
You will come undone
Like a string I'll pull
Watch it all unwind
As that clock tics on the wall
Fall, Fall, come just fall
Its not that far down
What are you really afraid of
Here we go again
Their is blood in the water
From those who thought they were smarter
A castration with humiliation
You can't defy the laws of gravity
What is will always be
At least so it seems.
Separating the mind from the heart
Trying not act so torn apart
I was took under
I made a blunder
I still hear the sound of thunder
The better
The masters,
Welcome to your disaster
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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18 Definitions Of A Short Poem
1) A short poem
Saves time,
2) A short poem
Saves time
For its reader, also.
3) A short poem is over
Before its read.
4) A short poem
Can be swiftly reread.
5) A short poem
Is a lightning flash.
6) A short poem
Is one metaphor only.
7) A short poem
Is less than nine words.
8) A short poem
Opens ones eyes
In the morning.
9) A short poem
May be a short prayer.
10) A short poem
May be a poem of a single word.
11) Poem.
12) A short poem
A small play on words.
13) A short poem
May be a single sentence.
14) A short poem is shorter
Than the definition of it.
15) It breaks up the icy sea within.
16) A chill down the spine.
17) There is no end
To making definitions of the short poem.
18) A short poem in Hebrew
Is shorter than than the same poem in English.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poet Without A Poem/ Empty and Desperate
A POET WITHOUT A POEM
A poet without a poem
Empty and desperate
Forces a few lines
As way of reviving himself.
The lines lead to other lines
A poem begins to come.
The poet hears his hope as he writes
And then when there is a poem
He just rests happily
Knowing he is alive again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem The Poem And The Poem Again
THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’
‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?
Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’
The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poet vs Poem
Does a poet makes poem
Or poem makes poet?
The eternal war goes on.
The big confusion who will solve it?
Poet fight with sword of pen.
Poem armoured with shield of senses.
Poet tries to rich sky high,
Poem pulls rope of meaning and tenses.
Does poet sketc the poem
Or poem drags him through the invigible gravity.
A piece of paper becomes battlefield.
The war of ink and vocabulary,
Creates a historic beauty.
Poet cages the poem in a book.
Where the world will look.
Praises all to poet 'oh how great'
But the poem is what counts after his death.
poem by Saurav Karki
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Pronunciation Problem
Easily written poems mixing
languages Indonesian plus English.
Alas fatal flaw is found in
communication pronunciation problem.
Rhyming Indonesian words are
incorrectly pronounced by English speakers.
Compounding this problem English
is spoken by very few Indonesians.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?
you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before
that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God
of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly
but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?
well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important
and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,
albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,
yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,
but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound
so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....
dear God
do you really...not speak english?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem That Speaks Of Nothing
The poem that speaks of nothing
Tells of nothing convoluted at all.
It has no need of metering,
Or of emotions that rise and fall.
The poem that has no content
Lacks subject matter to cover.
So forget the flowers that you sent
To your faithful lover.
The poem devoid of plot
Has no farfetched tale to tell.
There’s no mention of battles fought
Against the very spawn of Hell.
The poem in absence of metaphors
Is not written by someone who will
Tell of reposing forevermore
Or of running naked through the hill.
The poem that speaks of nothing
Dares not mention the roaring sea.
And the poem that speaks of nothing
That is the poem for me.
(veritas h.s.2005)
poem by William Mcgehee
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Portrait Of A Poet
The poet looked at what he wrote,
The rhythm and the rhyme
And of each error he took note,
Correcting each in time...
His diligence was his best friend,
It helped him to relay
The English most could comprehend
So that they wouldn't stray...
The poet counted syllables,
Eight, six, eight, six each verse,
For these obeyed his rhyming rules
And helped him to rehearse...
You see, he spoke the lines out loud,
As if the Lord to hear,
As if to make his Father proud,
With diction crystal clear...
The poet shed a tear at last,
Because his work was done,
For every test the poem passed...
The battle had been won!
The publishers were well impressed!
In fact, he won first prize!
With diligence, he'd done his best...
That's always good advice!
He taught his children how to write!
So they'd get published, too...
With pearls of wisdom and insight,
So credit where it's due...
His poems were in magazines
And books both near and far,
Yet skills like his weren't in his genes,
He simply raised the bar...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The poem that got away
I started a poem with a serious intent…
but who would ever guess the mess, and where that poem went?
I’d barely writ a line so fine, when the poem turned to me,
looked me in the eye and ear, and laughed demonic-lee,
pranced around me, singing, boo! you can’t catch me!
ain’t no rules nor grammar for the boldheart and the free!
race you round the chocabloc, poetic chairbound fatty!
you’re just like every pompous poet, thinking always that he
can control a poem with a life that’s its own!
tries to rhyme each couplet up, as if lines were circus clones…
tries to measure poems by some rules about their feet, or
wants to match my singing lines to some archaic meter…
’cause I’m a poem!
I’ve got my own life!
I want to dance around the streets,
I want to join a band!
I’ve got so much to tell you,
I want to lift your heart…
I want to make you weepy too,
If that’s the way I feel..
I want to talk to children,
or to live in fantasy;
I want to feel much bolder
than this sillybilly world,
quick and slick and fancy-free;
and sail past time and space;
or wonder what it could be like
before the world began…
I want to shuffle words around,
like books upon a shelf;
I want to be all bold and free –
I want to be – myself!
So boo to all your metered rhymes,
you faded, jaded poet…
poems are the masters now…
it’s much more fun,
it’s just begun…and
it’s time for you to know it! …
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Don't Tell THe World! (Sonnet)
This Sonnet is in the popular Petrarchan Form
I behold thy love as beautiful thing,
In my wrecked heart, a pleasure garden,
Thy revered love, a blooming Eden.
A daisy tuft seasoned by bright spring,
Surging in moments that defeats waiting,
I behold thy words as a jeweled crown,
On my worn pages of despicable frown.
And thy memory feeds my mind dying,
Daring couple disclose, but don’t you tell,
About memoirs many encased and kept,
Say not thy chronicle, sweet as daisy smell,
Buried, not unseen to thy eyes except
Reveal not, the guarded stash of our love,
Lest a rational world desires to know! ! !
IA NOTE: For those who find the format unfitting to a sonnet!
(Sonnet
only 14 lines long— and has a firmly fixed form. The sonnet works best for expressing strong emotion or intense feeling, firm purpose, or great seriousness. This form works best if you want to focus attention on a single thing—a particular idea, situation, emotion, problem, observation, etc. —the sonnet gets to its point quickly and efficiently, with beauty and charm of form or expression.
The Shakespearean (or English) sonnet and the Petrarchan (or Italian) sonnet are the two most prevalent versions of this form today.
A Shakespearean sonnet or English sonnet is written in one stanza composed of three rhymed quatrains (each making one point in a three-step argument) , followed by a rhyming couplet that summarizes the argument
A Petrarchan sonnet or Italian sonnet is composed of an octet followed by a sestet with a variable rhyme scheme. The octet presents the poem’s theme or problem, while the sestet offers a change or a resolution. In its traditional form, this sonnet never ends in a couplet.
Robert Frost was popular at Petrarchan form of sonnets.
sonnet’s formal requirements (14 lines of iambic pentameter with a specific rhyme scheme) , method (a strong focus on one subject) , and goals (persuasion, surprise, balance) ,
Ref: www.poetry.com/techniques/form of poetic expressions.
Thank You
poem by Seema Aarella
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Sonnet Minus One: A Jest [Acrostic on THIRTEEN LINES]
This is not a sonnet, can’t you tell? It
Has a line less than it should, for, hell, if
I am to be printed in this broadside,
Rules require the lines to number oddly.
This allows me eight lines at the first, but
Even though my rhyming is well-versed, as
Every critic knows the issue’s passed, that
Never will this poem be a classic.
Literati want their sonnets catholic
In the best King’s English Shakespeare hath, and
Not the three-legged race this thirteen-liner
Eggs the couplet-craving crowd unraveled:
So, I scorn to tread the road more traveled.
poem by Richard St. Clair
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English is a mixture
English is a mixture
You can see in theatre
English is neither paternal
Nor maternal
No word no grammer
Make english finer
Uniformity english
Make life accomplished.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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