Neater meter for Mr Earley
Neater meter?
I have to write a sonnet in free verse.
I must stick to Iambic pentameter.
A meter that I do not often use.
Pentameter is my more usual style.
A Sapphic meter would be so much worse.
I am more comfortable with the latter.
I find that some odd metres can confuse
a simple rhymester like me for a while.
I’m quite convinced that pentameter
makes my presentations appear neater.
It may be that you think I am obtuse
and that my simple verses make you smile.
You are entitled to your point of view.
Naturally I won’t agree with you!
11-Apr-08
Free verse sonnet
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
In Pursuit Of The Sonnet
I cannot write a sonnet; it's too hard
To put such barriers around my brain
And thus I find my efforts often marred
Although I rephrase again and again
I cannot write a sonnet though I try
Through day and night, through winter, into spring
And even though I have no reason why
A ten-syllable line my thoughts won't bring.
But now I wonder just what is so great
About this 'iambic pentameter'?
And am almost resigned that it's my fate
That from the sonnet form I should defer
Yet, having spent so long in search of one
T'would be a shame if it should not be done
poem by SarahJane Platt
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It's nice to be concise
I think it’s nice
To be concise
In everything you write
To be slightly terse
With all your verse
Is usually to write right
One should take their time
When composing rhyme
And try to keep it light
Maintain their meter
Try to make it neater
And never ever lose sight
Try not to doze
Whilst deep in prose
don’t write too late at night
Try not to swell your sonnet
Nor Try to dwell upon it
Because it could end up quite a fright
You don’t want to try to
End up with a haiku
Lord knows that wouldn’t be right…but
I just think it’s nice
To be concise…
In everything you write
poem by David Whalen
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Who stands with me?
True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.
Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.
Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.
I choose meter every time
Preferably with lines that rhyme.
I find such poetry sublime.
Though I enjoy well written prose.
Each to his own I must suppose
So write the way that suits you best.
I am old fashioned I admit
and not one whit ashamed of it.
I do not find rules inhibit.
Free expression of my views
They merely mean I have to choose
the words that will express them best
Free form, free verse, poetic prose.
Are methods other writers chose
as being fit for their purpose.
To rebel against fixed form.
Which was regarded as the norm.
Just to be different from the rest.
But fashions change and now free form
Must be regarded as the norm.
I see no reason to conform.
I choose to write my poetry
In the old way that pleases me.
A lonely voice raised in protest.
The wheel of fate will slowly turn
Metered poetry will return
and well deserved plaudits earn.
I hope I live to see the day.
when classic poets can display.
That fixed forms can outshine the rest.
Monday,06 December 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Season's Cornation Day (Italian Sonnet)
Beneath the pale sun's melancholy ray
a tearful empress lays her garland down,
relinquishing her fragrance of renown,
where blossoms left on each abandoned spray
are strewn like flags o'er Coronation Day.
An auburn rival will usurp her crown,
assume her royal throne and queenly gown,
then lead her where awakened vultures play.
The grand procession winds along the square
where nimbly darts a joyous cymbal's flame.
'Yet, Autumn, what is in the urn you bear?
Perchance the ashes of a maid's last prayer
whose grief is now your ornament of shame?
... Such hell you pay for slaying Summer's heir! '
[An Italian sonnet is composed of an octave, rhyming abbaabba, and a sestet, rhyming cdecde or cdcdcd, or in some variant pattern such as cdccdc, but with no closing couplet. A sonnet's meter is iambic pentameter.]
poem by Susan Crowe
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Fourteen Verses
My passion is to write modern sonnets
Yes indeed modern not traditional.
Iambic pentameter I regret
Is too restrictive and conditional.
I had observed that many years ago.
Expression of thought is more important
Than any well-placed iamb, apropos.
These little songs* are not songs at all; shan’t
Pretend when they're not. Mine are messages
That I compose within fourteen verses:
Some assurances, other presages.
They are my work for better or for worse.
If I fail to convey in fourteen lines
I'd nothing to say and wasted your time.
* Sonnet means little song.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Lovely Rita
Lovely rita meter maid.
Lovely rita meter maid.
Lovely rita meter maid.
Nothing can come between us,
When it gets dark i tow your heart away.
Standing by a parking meter,
When i caught a glimpse of rita,
Filling in a ticket in her little white book.
In a cap she looked much older,
And the bag across her shoulder
Made her look a little like a military man.
Lovely rita meter maid,
May i inquire discreetly,
When are you free,
To take some tea with me.
Took her out and tried to win her,
Had a laugh and over dinner,
Told her i would really like to see her again,
Got the bill and rita paid it,
Took her home i nearly made it,
Sitting on the sofa with a sister or two.
Oh, lovely rita meter maid,
Where would i be without you,
Give us a wink and make me think of you.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stealthily, free verse
You sit on my desk,
Your legs, a sonnet's couplet,
Perfect in meter and rhyme.
You look at me and smile;
Your dimples brighten my room
Lit only by glitched browser's light.
You puff your cigarette, blow
Smoke that wafts soothing incense
On my face, weary of weaving
Words into flawless lines.
From the other room, we hear
Carefree soles pounding on the floor
In perfect jibe with the sensual beat
Of percussion and drums.
For one brief moment we stare
Deep into each other's eyes... then
Stealthily, we exchange verses
From the depths of our own souls
Passionately free of meter and rhyme.
poem by Fidel Arcenas
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In two minds
John William Henry Barthrop wrote.
In iambic pentameter
an amusing suicide note
Stuck it on the water heater.
Which he turned on but left unlit.
Although his intent was to die.
He put no thought in planning it.
It was in fact a hopeless try.
The fool forgot to feed the meter
and very soon the gas ran out.
Fate decides, you cannot cheat her.
So he survives only to doubt
if in fact he really meant it.
He’s still alive though discontented.
05/11/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My Mind Is In a Poetic Meter
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
Until it was produce to seduce,
To make aware.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In Praise of a Sonnet
(this is not a true sonnet)
A sonnet, in classical form a charm
soft as sun dawn, it wakens spirit love
calling you, wanting you, it takes your arm
and whisks you away on wings of a dove.
There it holds you with its perfect meter
lullabying with it’s iambic tone.
Nothing does compare or could be sweeter
than the dance of love as poets have shown.
So take my hand and let us dance today
with these magic words penned so long ago.
We shall taste them, taste them without delay,
so succulent it makes our souls to glow.
A sonnet, lovingly given… hold tight
As dawn’s first light makes your spirit take flight.
Sing Aurora Sing
See the symphony of light o’er the sea.
Softly the agony resends softly.
Free rising orb setting harmony free.
Brightly absorb with a song so brightly.
Aurora light from morning aurora.
Song of the night is now operas' song.
Flora delight; like blossoms of flora.
Long is the sight with emotions so long.
Rising crescendo with morning rising.
Serene innuendo leaves mind serene.
Surprising opera; light surprising.
Pristine genera of human pristine.
So open your heart let the light sing so.
Know symphony light, and your mind will know.
Author Notes:
Shadow Sonnet with internal rhyme.
Shadow Sonnet created by Amera M. Andersen may be written in any sonnet style. The Shadow takes place at the beginning and ending of each line as the words are identical or homophonic.
14 lines
9 or 10 syllables per line
Should have a volta or pivit
Iambic pentameter is not necessary
poem by Amera Andersen
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What a Dilemma
“What a dilemma” exclaimed the poet
“a Shakespearean sonnet I must write.
If I succeeded I would not know it
Or have a clue if I had done it right.”
“Fourteen lines, iambic pentameter…
Of course, a carefully patterned rhyme scheme.”
The idea truly enamored her,
as she prudently pursued this pipe dream.
“First, three quatrains to show complication,
a final couplet to tie up loose ends.”
Sure result was an abomination…
Certain ridicule from all of her friends.
After hours of counting syllables, it
turned into way too much silly bullshit.
poem by Maggie Signaigo
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What a Dilemma (a Shakespearean sonnet?)
What a dilemma” exclaimed the poet
“a Shakespearean sonnet I must write.
If I succeeded I would not know it
Or have a clue if I had done it right.”
“Fourteen lines, iambic pentameter…
Of course, a carefully patterned rhyme scheme.”
The idea truly enamored her,
as she prudently pursued this pipe dream.
“First, three quatrains to show complication,
a final couplet to tie up loose ends.”
Sure result was an abomination…
Certain ridicule from all of her friends.
After hours of counting syllables, it
turned into way too much silly bullshit.
poem by Maggie Signaigo
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Autobiograpical Poem
I am a simple poem,
It's plain for all to see.
No haiku, limerick or sonnet,
Just simple rhyme for me.
I'm on my second verse just now,
So soon it will be three.
Uncomplicated, very plain,
So easy, Oh! so free.
There are no causes I espouse,
For nothing I campaign,
I do not speak of love or lust,
I never speak of pain.
Some people say that I'm just words,
They don't know how I thrive.
I tell them I am born each day,
I'm very much alive.
I'm winding down towards the end,
Just another verse to go,
I've avoided all controversy,
I just went with the flow.
So here I am, sixth verse at last,
It's still plain for all to see
That if you keep it simple
You'd be a poem just like me!
poem by Joe Hughes
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Fashions are a passing phase for friend Jon London
I read your words with greatest care
and try to see your point of view
Although sometimes I must declare
I find it difficult to do.
I hesitate to criticise.
Aware the fault may lie with me.
Nor dare I offer you advice.
You might resent it bitterly.
The messages you try to send
to me lack simple clarity
I cannot see what you intend.
It makes no sense at all to me.
Your random thoughts lack coherence
They’re neither poetry nor prose.
An unintended consequence
of fashions changing I suppose.
The way that poetry is taught
in schools and colleges today.
They do not know although they ought.
Anything goes is not the way.
Most modern so called poetry
can only be poetic prose
Although it’s written beautifully
Opinions differ I suppose.
I’ll stick to formal poetry
Perhaps I need the discipline
that rhyme and meter gives to me.
And free form verse I will decline.
2-Feb-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I would talk in iambic pentameter if it were easier.
quote by Howard Nemerov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A matter of opinion.
Some people say I am perverse
because I choose to write in verse.
The kind of stories I compose.
They think I ought to write in prose.
They have the right to I suppose.
But I won’t do as they propose.
I much prefer to write in verse
Because I think there’s nothing worse
Than badly written boring prose.
That is the reason why I chose.
To concentrate on rhyming verse.
I see no reason to reverse.
My original decision
to conform to your opinion.
I do not choose to write in prose
I am convinced that I would lose.
My rhyming capability
reducing my ability.
To write my words spontaneously.
I don’t expect you to agree.
Although I am compelled to write.
You’re free to exercise your right
To read or not as you choose to.
Though I confess I hope you do.
I know I can’t please everyone.
That is something that can’t be done
By any writer though they try
A truth no writer can deny.
Your comments are of interest
they spur me on to do my best.
We can agree to disagree
on which is best quite easily.
A poet must choose poetry.
But other writers are quite free.
to share their thoughts written in prose
Because they choose to I suppose.
If you should doubt my competence.
I will not choose to take offence.
You are entitled to your view
Please remember I am too
Sunday,02 May 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sonnet- Sonnet Needs Rhymes
Can you a Sonnet write without its rhyme?
Now people want the modern verse that's free;
As ideas get stuck and cramped with time,
A Sonnet's like leafless branches of tree!
A Sonnet's great for men who rhyme too well;
Its beauty lives in metre, rhythm, rhyme;
Yet, it can never run into 'pel-mel';
The sonneteer can write in any clime.
Why abhor rhymes and not a Sonnet write?
Each genre has its rules to comply with;
Why sleep all day and stay awake all night?
Rhyme-play is done by Kindergarden kith!
Why ridicule something you can't do well,
Much things are done by practice, Sonnets tell.
poem by John Celes
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A matter of form for friend leslie
Consistency and symmetry
combined with meter seem to be
Ingredients of good poetry.
Though modernists will disagree.
They take a different point of view.
Convinced that anything will do
That writers need not follow rules
and those who do they see as fools
Consider rhyming is a crime
and meter just a waste of time.
But can this kind of writing last?
like that of poets from the past.
I don’t dispute they have the right
to choose the way in which they write.
Poetic prose can be divine
but not if it lacks discipline.
Your writing must be coherent.
A well established precedent
If what you write does not make sense.
What can be said in its defence?
If readers cannot comprehend
the message which you try to send
Because your meaning is not plain.
Perhaps its time to think again.
And realise there must be rules.
A craftsman has to know his tools.
If he does not then he will fail
his efforts all to no avail.
Some readers will choose poetry
and others prose preferably
It is your reader’s right to choose
to read your writings or refuse.
If you don’t cater to their needs
don’t be surprised if no one reads.
If how you write is too obscure.
Then change your style. The only cure.
30/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Poetry, Mathematics and Distress...! ! ! !
Poetry turns into jugglery,
As I struggle with counting syllables
To meet the demands of structure-
Haiku, iambic pentameter,
Stress, unstressed;
Leaves me in distress…
Free or blank,
Verse or worse,
Is it art
Is it craft?
Lament the classicists
Follow rules, they persist…
A pen, a piece of paper
And some floating thoughts
In the stream of consciousness,
Are basic tools, but to add spunk
Rules are a must,
Add effectiveness…
Oh, but I insist
I write from the heart:
For relaxation, self expression
Meditation, catharsis
To enjoy, feel buoyed
Not to annoy…
Am an amateur, no artist.
All that effort at compression,
Shows- makes no impression...
I find it difficult to comform
Honestly, I suffer from
A mental block
At a poetry workshop.
Loved mathematics,
but not off late,
after the stock market
crashed....
But not one to admit defeat,
thought let me use my
numerical skills
to enhance my creativity.
Alas, have forgotten to count
and at the same time recount...
A classic is not in my fate.
So I rebelled,
please refund my fee
and let me be.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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