Free Verse
I admire all the aims of Free Verse,
‘tis explicit in all that I do
in shaping the stress to converse
with a rhyme-scheme restricted to two.
That I stay with this number is true, -
a linguistic abuse, maybe worse,
how it weighs and encumbers the view! -
but French art needs its aid, though perverse.
Else the Muse would be dumb to a curse,
for to accent, the lingo’s deaf too, -
though what can one do? All’s averse
to fantasy rhyme calls on cue!
May Free Verse’s aims bring joy unto
the young sparks who chance meanings coerce -
whose mental gymnastics’ fun value
is the fire to inspire hopes they’d nurse.
They’re young colts who green pastures traverse
with gravity worthy their virtue,
though mad they’re superb, and no hearse
they’d inherit! Free Verse tempts! You too?
poem by Paul Verlaine, translated by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Song Of A Rhyming Man
I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
This modern verse too much for me it's way above my head
Though modern poets are now the rage and Rhyme is with the dead.
I love the sound of rhyming words, I love the verse that rhyme
To blank or free or non rhyme verse prefer it every time
And there's many who will disagree and most will say I'm wrong
But give me ballad or rhyme verse or good old rhyming song.
You may say I am limited and with you most will agree
That I'm not into modern verse of twenty first century
But I've been an old style rhyming man since nineteen seventy three
And I am in my sixties now and there's no changing me.
I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
And I am guilty of no sin and I can't see no crime
In liking sound of rhyming verse and loving words that rhyme
poem by Francis Duggan
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Am I prejudiced?
I am a slave to poetry.
I do not wish to be set free
a willing prisoner happily.
Constrained by strict parameters.
Which form the rules for formal verse,
to discipline I’m not averse.
Though modernists all claim to be
Poets. I find I can’t agree.
Their work has small appeal for me.
I can’t commit to memory
One single piece of free form verse.
In my opinion even worse
they are deliberately perverse.
Delighting in obscurity
contemptuous of clarity.
Yet still they claim it’s poetry.
9-Oct-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Perverse Poem
................................................. ...........The
diversity in imagination, while fully awake, is but a fractional
inverse of the degree of freedom available to the dreamer. Sadly this
adversely impinges on aspects of creativity. Reason is our
reimbursement for the loss. An ideal state, is to hover magically
immersed in semi-dream, directing the show, yet still believing. But
transverse strictures of habit cast a net by day and bind me to
nursery rhyme simplicity in poetry. Of course, far
worse than dullness would be madness. Yet, there exists between
obverse and reverse maybe, a place where wild plots spring
unrehearsed. Dallying here, my goal would be to
traverse strange terrains with brevity, since the
converse of pedantry is pith. But I'm
submersed in wishful thinking. Time to
purse petulant lips then, and spit
subversive wit knit grit- stop!
Curse this rhyme-riddled mind.
Coerce fixed neurons
averse to change.
Disperse with
terse, taut
verse.
poem by Diane Hine
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Free verse
I want to write always in free verse
In free verse there is no pressure.
I do not want to keep any goal
I really do not want any roll
I also do not want to play any role.
I want to see this earth free from hunger
Free from poverty and I do not want to
keep anybody within an artificial boundary.
I want to write always in free verse
I want to move freely from place to place
To see people in various glaze.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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You Can Contribute A Verse
Contribute a verse, contribute a verse,
Who can contribute a verse?
Contribute a verse, contribute a verse,
You can contribute a verse.
You may be an underpaid lab’rer,
Streetsweeper or overworked nurse,
A migrant without any papers,
But you can contribute a verse.
You left school at sixteen with no GCSEs?
Did you graduate from Oxford with a First?
Makes no diff’rence, not one bit, for you both are fully fit,
Well-equipped to lay before the world a verse.
You may have no notes in your wallet,
You may have no coins in your purse,
No shoes on your feet, no breakfast to eat,
But you can contribute a verse.
Are you feeling sad and lonely,
In the depths of misery?
Do you feel this Life we’re living
Is not worth the entrance fee?
Are you sure that things will not get any better?
Quite persuaded they will go from bad to worse?
No great problem, drama, crisis, doesn’t matter,
As long as you can come up with a verse.
And it’s possible you’ve heard that our days upon this earth
Are not many, are not many, precious few.
We have hardly enough time to take in all of the sights,
Or do the things that we would like to do.
For we’ve barely crawled out of the cradle,
Then they cart us away in a hearse.
So, in the meantime don’t be idle:
Be sure to contribute a verse!
27/9/06
poem by Denys E. W. Jones
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Free Verse or Prose
Sadly, to me
This thing they call Prose
Is naught but just talk,
And often verbose;
I think it's too easy
And honestly, I'm
Just wanting to say
I much prefer rhyme.
And almost the same is the
Form called Free Verse,
It isn't for me, I'm not keen,
And what's worse:
Explaining the differences
Should be a breeze,
But even amongst the 'experts'
No one agrees.
Now I'm no academic
But I won't be fooled
By the 'cleverer' people,
By the so-called, 'well-schooled';
I favour good rhyming
O'er Free Verse or Prose,
And I'm calling to mind now
The Emperor's New Clothes.
poem by John Carter Brown
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Having Some Fun Writing
If blood were mud
And milk was silk
We'd all hurt for dirt
And scheme for cream.
If flies were wise
And hills were pills
We'd all hug the bugs
And pop the tops.
If everything was truly something
And anything was nothing
This little rhyme of mine
Would hence make sense.
But free verse can be a curse
In many a witless word heard
When the writer drinks hard-cider
And recalls naught of what he originally thought!
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Contempt
Let us enjoy our poetry
a given in a land that's free.
Though politics may bother some
ignoring it will keep us dumb.
A limerick overshadows time
the pleasantries of clever rhyme.
Free verse is mastered by a few
though much of it resembles pooh.
So many live inside a trance
where words perform their lovely dance.
We must, as poets stay alert
lest they may take our favourite shirt.
Our leaders ought to know the rules
that we are not pathetic fools.
Yet they behave as if exempt
and practice, laughingly, contempt.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Whither goest the Saints of Art?
Whither goest the lovely Saints -
The Saints that love art and paints?
Whither goest the Saints of Art -
The Saints who set free my heart?
Where did he go - St Haiku?
Did he go hiking or haikuing?
Where is Saint ABC,
He who likes to sail in the sea?
Whither goest St Free Verse,
That one of a heavy purse?
Whither goest Saint Ballad,
son of Sir Brian McSalad?
Where is that ever-loyal
Saint called Rhyme Royal?
Where is St Rhythm and others
who like to give draconian orders?
Where is that one who likes to keep lime
in his storeroom everytime?
Tell him I committed a crime:
I killed Mr Scheme Rhyme! ...
poem by Comfort Ndlovu
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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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Since I Am One Without A Literary Degree
Since I am one without a literary degree
Of poets and poetry why bother ask me
Though I have a fondness of old fashioned rhyme
To free verse I would prefer it anytime
Though to a long gone era they well may belong
I remain a fan of the ballad and song
That in long gone Seasons I used to enjoy
In my old Homeplace when I was a young boy
When we sat by the fire grate on a Winter's night
The flame of the burning peat was flickering bright
With the old men and women we did sing along
And they knew the words of many an old song
From them a love of song and rhyme I did gain
A love that to this day with me does remain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Still I Love To Rhyme
STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander
Far from the commoner way;
Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder,
Dreaming to-morrow to-day.
Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo,
Measures descanted before;
Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow,
Prints in the marbles of yore.
Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested,
Songs for the brain to forget -
Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested
Piping and chirruping yet.
Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter
Trammelled so vilely in verse;
He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter,
Won with a groan and a curse.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Woman Of Rhyme
She is not what you'd call beautiful though still in her prime
And to those who know her she is known as The Woman of Rhyme
In Local Literary circles not even one of note
As she does not fit the bill of the Modern Poet.
But the rhyme from her gushes and it races along
And in five minutes flat she can pen you a song
And though not classified as a poet her verse is not doggerel
And with her gift of rhyme one might say she does well.
Some fifty years ago she would have known fame
And her's would have been a great Literary name
But rhyme it would seem has passed it's use by date
And what's now seen as old fashioned was once seen as great.
Even the best of the Local modern poets seem strangers to renown
But then such is life in a football mad Town
In the pubs the names of famed poets and artists they never recall
Their small talk mostly of sports, footballers and football.
For what she is good at she is not recognized
But having said that I am not really surprised
since rhyme verse has long passed it's glorious time
And none to applaud the young Woman of Rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Love Is Expensive And Free
Written by Tony Scalzo
VERSE
You can talk to me about powder kegs
And how I'm sitting on one right now
You can warn me about candles
and whole things burning from the outside in
But don't tell me about true love
'Cause I don't think you really know
CHORUS
You need to pay the costs
You need to feel the loss
'Cause love is expensive and free
Love is expensive and free
VERSE
Talk to me about appearances
I tell ya' lately they mean less and less
Do your best to keep me occupied
It's hard to concentrate, I must confess
Don't you tell me about heartbreak
'Cause it ain't written in the stars
CHORUS
You need to pay the costs
You need to feel the loss
'Cause love is expensive and free
Love is expensive and free
Alright, you got me
VERSE
Don't you worry 'bout my baby
Her eyes are open all the time
I could never bare to see her
Much less remove her from my mind
I didn't talk to you about true love
I didn't think you'd understand
CHORUS
You need to pay the costs
You need to feel the loss
'Cause love is expensive and free
Love is expensive and free
Love is expensive and free
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a Vers Librist
"Oh bard," I said, "your verse is free;
The shackles that encumber me,
The fetters that are my obsession,
Are never gyves to your expression.
"The fear of falsities in rhyme,
In metre, quantity, or time,
Is never yours; you sing along
Your unpremeditated song."
"Correct," the young vers librist said.
"Whatever pops into my head
I write, and have but one small fetter:
I start each line with a capital letter.
"But rhyme and metre--Ishkebibble!--
Are actually negligible.
I go ahead, like all my school,
Without a single silly rule."
Of rhyme I am so reverential
He made me feel quite inconsequential.
I shed some strongly saline tears
For bards I loved in younger years.
"If Keats had fallen for your fluff,"
I said, "he might have done good stuff.
If Burns had thrown his rhymes away,
His songs might still be sung to-day."
O bards of rhyme and metre free,
My gratitude goes out to ye
For all your deathless lines--ahem!
Let's see, now . . . What is one of them?
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Poets Improvise
Pardon this poem's tale, warp w[r]it it be,
Old mind aims meets, binds word games into gear.
Ever scanned art, we let wise thoughts come clear,
Their end to share here, setting spirit free.
Some see spun verse with risibility.
I through revealed art relink lines sincere
Motifs realigning show in masked mots here, -
Pleasure discover in jest play, planned key.
Run round rhyme lines, read riddle's energy
Opens up house, home, renews one’s cheer.
Voyage take, see thread wed verse appear
In enchanted ave twine, idyll see!
So rhyme dare meet, as all bestirs joy's pleasure
NET treasure to men awe, as we spend leisure
© Jonathan Robin Polyacrostic wrriten 12 September 2005 and revised 3 June 2007
external acrostic: Poets Improvise
internal acrostics
ABLE WAS I ERE I SAW ELBA
Poets Improvise
HANDS HEED HANDS
TREASURE PLEASURE MEASURE
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Free Style
It was in ninth grade English class
And my teacher was Miss Joan Frank
It was because of her love of poetry,
That I now have her to blame or thank.
Poems came alive in her classroom
As we absorbed Lewis Caroll's whimsy
And many years later I still wonder what
And why, Borogoves are mimsey
We read of an ancient mariner and
The price of what omen's cost.
And stopped to ponder a snowy woods
While his little horse shook off the frost.
I have always preferred poems that rhyme
And although this might sound terse
I never have really understood the style
That is known as 'free verse'.
I and others will use that form
So I don't intend to create a gaffe
But, in the end is not 'Free Verse'
Just a well written paragraph?
poem by Edward Iacona
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Love Is Expensive & Free
Written by tony scalzo
Verse
You can talk to me about powder kegs
And how Im sitting on one right now
You can warn me about candles
And whole things burning from the outside in
But dont tell me about true love
cause I dont think you really know
Chorus
You need to pay the costs
You need to feel the loss
cause love is expensive and free
Love is expensive and free
Verse
Talk to me about appearances
I tell ya lately they mean less and less
Do your best to keep me occupied
Its hard to concentrate, I must confess
Dont you tell me about heartbreak
cause it aint written in the stars
Chorus
You need to pay the costs
You need to feel the loss
cause love is expensive and free
Love is expensive and free
Alright, you got me
Verse
Dont you worry bout my baby
Her eyes are open all the time
I could never bare to see her
Much less remove her from my mind
I didnt talk to you about true love
I didnt think youd understand
Chorus
You need to pay the costs
You need to feel the loss
cause love is expensive and free
Love is expensive and free
Love is expensive and free
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only one night.
Remember the verse
remember the rhyme.
Remember the meter
all set in a line.
Remember the story
from begining to end.
He is an old man
with a young friend.
Is it a kiss, or is it a lie.
Remember the verse
and always asked why.
Why is so
why is it right.
To become a poet
for only one night.
poem by Roy Storey
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