Versatile Verse - Polyacrostic Sonnet
Vanity within a verse scheme gave
Each alphomega, each word's aura, ease.
Run through in print, as content rhymes to please,
Springs, rising sprightly, links few see, most crave.
Apart here thread we tight, taut, autoclave,
Tacit, yes, yet pate-play may seem tease.
In lines smooth I express this hidden frieze, -
Lucid keepsake, light, keen, subtle stave.
Emphatic theme expect, - interpret rave!
Vain verse-vine vile? Voice very vivid? Seize
Externals terse are shade, sense secret keys.
Rare is this art, rare verses are, - rhyme save.
A sonnet's stress sometimes less shows than's hid, -
Here's an example baring message grid.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
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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Sonnet: Less of the Different?
(after Ashbery)
A sonnet's 'just more of the same'? Uh, no.
It's rather like less of the different.
There is no formula involved, you know.
True, syllables and lines and rhymes get spent
At predetermined intervals: mirage
Of order. Inside, sonnets are a mess
Of words, a slew of syntax, a barrage
Linguistically set off; are nonetheless
Provisionally impish-and as free
As freest verse to chat up any ear
Or signal any eye. The form, you see,
Is just a well mapped route from which to veer.
A sonnet is a disobedience
Of sounds, a flaunt of form, a tease of sense.
Hans Ostrom
poem by Hans Ostrom
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Inscription from Free Verse Free - 1548
Read rare response in script alliteration
Ease of flow's quintessence with insight
Sharing sows, - no picayune tune blight,
Or spilt ink despite modernization,
Nor undecided prose pose-pour oration.
As mannequins, lines anorexic quite
Try vers libre leaf on verse tree's bright delight
Each unaware in French 'vers' true translation
Shows 'stripped' 'line' 'worms' 'to', 'at', 'round' 'verse' narration.
Concentrate as resonate wor[l]ds light
Resplendent in their story's glory's flight,
Ideas spin through this contest dedication.
Pictures metaphorical employ
Threads, word bank rich, in stitches this enjoy.
(2 January 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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To The Cricket
Didst thou not tease and fret me to and fro,
Sweet spirit of this summer-circled field,
With that quiet voice of thine that would not yield
Its meaning, though I mused and sought it so?
But now I am content to let it go,
To lie at length and watch the swallows pass,
As blithe and restful as this quiet grass,
Content only to listen and to know
That years shall turn, and summers yet shall shine,
And I shall lie beneath these swaying trees,
Still listening thus; haply at last to seize,
And render in some happier verse divine
That friendly, homely, haunting speech of thine,
That perfect utterance of content and ease.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Terse Verse
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
In my soul thou so give
And on its worth my life I live
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
Love is a morsel of thine treasure
In one ounce is my immense pleasure
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
Sing like a muse
and in poetry fuse
my soul into verse from beauties purse
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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A Letter to a Live Poet
Sir, since the last Elizabethan died,
Or, rather, that more Paradisal muse,
Blind with much light, passed to the light more glorious
Or deeper blindness, no man's hand, as thine,
Has, on the world's most noblest chord of song,
Struck certain magic strains. Ears satiate
With the clamorous, timorous whisperings of to-day,
Thrilled to perceive once more the spacious voice
And serene utterance of old. We heard
- With rapturous breath half-held, as a dreamer dreams
Who dares not know it dreaming, lest he wake -
The odorous, amorous style of poetry,
The melancholy knocking of those lines,
The long, low soughing of pentameters,
- Or the sharp of rhyme as a bird's cry -
And the innumerable truant polysyllables
Multitudinously twittering like a bee.
Fulfilled our hearts were with that music then,
And all the evenings sighed it to the dawn,
And all the lovers heard it from all the trees.
All of the accents upon all the norms !
- And ah ! the stress on the penultimate !
We never knew blank verse could have such feet.
Where is it now ? Oh, more than ever, now
I sometimes think no poetry is read
Save where some sepultured Cæsura bled,
Royally incarnadining all the line.
Is the imperial iamb laid to rest,
And the young trochee, having done enough
Ah ! turn again ! Sing so to us, who are sick
Of seeming-simple rhymes, bizarre emotions,
Decked in the simple verses of the day,
Infinite meaning in a little gloom,
Irregular thoughts in stanzas regular,
Modern despair in antique metres, myths
Incomprehensible at evening,
And symbols that mean nothing in the dawn.
The slow lines swell. The new style sighs. The Celt
Moans round with many voices.
God! to see
Gaunt anapaests stand up out of the verse,
Combative accents, stress where no stress should be,
Spondee on spondee, iamb on choriamb,
The thrill of all the tribrachs in the world,
And all the vowels rising to the E!
To hear the blessed mutter of those verbs,
Conjunctions passionate toward each other's arms,
And epithets like amaranthine lovers
Stretching luxuriously to the stars,
All prouder pronouns than the dawn, and all
The thunder of the trumpets of the noun!
poem by Rupert Brooke (1911)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Voice Over Internet Priorities
Here, through the poet's eye, streams thought beam rare,
A theme dream strings an urgent present prayer -
Readies word play, end-to-end relay,
Preparing rhyme schemes, primes dreams, layer on layer,
Plans now to bridge the gap twixt fiction, fact,
Leaving ethics, principles, intact.
As Internet expands, Change leads the way, -
Yet do not hesitate, - 'just do it', act!
Today tomorrow scans, some who rejoice
Offered an unprecedented choice,
Spurred by innovative interplay,
Will wish they’d harder worked to save free voice.
As online blurs old boundaries today
Youth shows old how to grow, brooks no delay...
27 August 1999 Harp play to sway
poem by Jonathan Robin
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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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Stringing A long and short of it
Skelton
dealt on
terse taut
verse taught
strung list
tongue twist
fast rhyme
last time
[th]ink sends
wink ends
[c] Jonathan Robin 8 skeltonics written 8 June 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A literary affair
A literary affair
~
We dance in metaphors
A familiar verse
Seducing through lines
We wrap up high imagery
Pleasing the eye of the mind
We flaunt and tease
Play wicked games with words
We do as we please
Upon the pages of books
Where we throw ourselves
Into a casual comfort
We lie, play pretence
Say words were afraid to
All in a secret place
Found at the end of a pen
There written between each line
We are revealed, lovers
Fully entwined together
In a rich dance of verse
We are guilty of a literary affair
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Alankar(Decor) -79
Alankar(Decor) -58
Sail O'Soul Sail(Chain Verse)
Chain Verse is composed in one of three ways:
1 Chain Verse is composed
with the last word or syllable of one line repeated
in the beginning of the next line.
2 Chain Verse can be stanzaic, most often written in any number of quatrains
but any stanza form will do, linked by repeating the last word of a stanza
as the first word of the next stanza.
The repetition of a word from one Verse or stanza to the next creates a chain-like link.
usually rhymed, linking rhyme as well as alternate rhyme.
often syllabic, alternating longer-shorter lines.
One example is alternating 8-7-8-7 syllables the other is alternating 6-5-6-5 syllables per line.
3 Chain Verse can be written
with the last line of the stanza repeated
as the first line of the next stanza.
3
Sail O'Soul Sail
Once boarded why you fear o' soul
Just be watching where sails your mind
Aspiring to horizon-goal
All set on a smooth float by wind
All set on a smooth float by wind
On gentle waves across your sea
As you sail assailed by your mind
How those desires hit your heart free
How those desires hit your heart free
As of a choice in heaven's trade
That your mind is on aiming spree
In illumed dreamings in fate's shade
In illumed dreamings in fate's shade
While your sail is mid way caught up
How your sea baits in storming grade
And shocked you struggle to catch up
And shocked you struggle to catch up
For not yours but your mind's misdeed
Helpless you are jailed in lockup
Your vessel too shattered indeed
Your vessel too shattered indeed
Such is your sea of greed and lust
Such is the fate of your sea's heed
Wind too is feeling difficult
Wind too is feeling difficult
Now that the sea somewhat calms still
Wind settles in silenced cool mute
Atlast your vessel too nihil
Atlast your vessel too nihil
And sea gone in presence of Nought
You are freed atlast to your will
To board the next the way you're caught
sea-life, wind-breath, vessel-body.
poem by Indira Renganathan
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To Mr. Henry Lawes, Who Had Then Newly Set a Song of Mine
Verse makes heroic virtue live;
But you can life to verses give.
As, when in open air we blow,
The breath, though strained, sounds flat and low;
But if a trumpet take the blast,
It lifts it high, and makes it last:
So in your airs and our numbers dressed,
Make a shrill sally from the breast
Of nymphs, who, singing what we penned,
Our passions to themselves commend;
While love, victorious with thy art,
Governs at once their voice and heart.
You, by the help of tune and time,
Can make that song which was but rhyme.
Noy pleading, no man doubts the cause;
Or questions verses set by Lawes.
As a Church window, thick with paint,
Lets in a light but dim and faint,
So others, with division, hide
The light of sense, the poet's pride;
But you alone may truly boast
That not a syllable is lost:
The writer's and the setter's skill
At once the ravished ears do fill.
Let those which only warble long,
And gargle in their throats a song,
Content themselves with
ut, re, mi
:
Let words, and sense, be set by thee.
poem by Edmund Waller
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When Poems Write Themselves
When poems write themselves
To save good eating for last
They refrigerate desserts but
Set them out a while to ponder
on blocks of delivered ice rapped
In preservative newspapers
Until Just before supper is served
Plates are stacked by older
Siblings the coal is stored
In the indoor shed for the evening
Warmth that is there to keep
Comfort before the blessings and
Bible reading verses are marked
The pages tucked the songs
We sing will themselves sung
From memory or hidden verse
By the unison that remembers
Opening sonnet words but
Drowns in long forgotten lines.
poem by Lee B. Mack
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Artificial Verse - Parody William Cowper and Lucianus- Artificial Beauty
You give your verse a prosy st[r]ain,
with stress complete the air,
but vain attempts too often strain
and stress is in the air.
Those discords mock your daily toil,
no editors efface them,
and as blank lines from blank uncoil
its difficult to face them.
An art so fruitless then forsake –
which though you’d fain excel in –
you never may contrive to make
both form and sense flow well in.
8 December 1991
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Alankar(Decor) -77
Here He Dwelleth(Chain Verse)
Chain Verse is composed in one of three ways:
1 Chain Verse is composed
with the last word or syllable of one line repeated
in the beginning of the next line.
2 Chain Verse can be stanzaic, most often written in any number of quatrains
but any stanza form will do, linked by repeating the last word of a stanza
as the first word of the next stanza.
The repetition of a word from one Verse or stanza to the next creates a chain-like link.
usually rhymed, linking rhyme as well as alternate rhyme.
often syllabic, alternating longer-shorter lines.
One example is alternating 8-7-8-7 syllables the other is alternating 6-5-6-5 syllables per line.
3 Chain Verse can be written
with the last line of the stanza repeated
as the first line of the next stanza.
2b
Here He Dwelleth (8-5-8-5 syllables
with linking and alternate rhymes
abab, cdcd, e.t.c)
'Woes have done intolerable
O'Lord please descend
Thee alone is responsible
This fate you to mend
Mend our lives o'divine mender
Our lives at your feet
Come o'lord ' pleaded man slender
Then spoke a voice sweet
Sweet from Nought, 'tell me o'my child
Which form you want me
Man or animal, mild or wild
Elements any? '
'Any form? ' man thought for a while
Knowing their foul tone
Chose not living beings hostile
But wished for stone
Stone, he carved hard created God
Thence forms more sculpted
Valorous with weapons to guard
Lighted life trusted
Trusted, God would sure come to bless
And that he be freed
Of slaying woes and killing stress
That way he waited
Waited lord too again asked man
From the Nought 'o' child
Tell, to what shall I hold on than
To conceal and hide'
'Hide not my Lord, here are my makes
Your choice my pleasure
Choose to be but in all my makes
Thee I shall treasure'
Treasured powers cloaked the idol
Thereon by prayers
Matins, litanies rose tidal
Joined all obeyers
Obeyers' way thus was one found
Gods and names many
Bathed with decor many profound
Bound He by any
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Parody Of John Keats 'On The Sonnet
Parody to follow, but first, the real deal sonnet by John Keats,1819...
----------…
John Keats sonnet.....'On the Sonnet'...
If by dull rhymes our English must be chained,
And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet
Fettered, in spite of painéd loveliness;
Let us find out, if we must be constrained,
Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit the naked foot of poesy;
Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every chord, and see what may be gained
By ear industrious, and attention meet;
Misers of sound and syllable, no less
Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
Jealous of dead leaves in the bay-wreath crown;
So, if we may not let the Muse be free,
She will be bound with garlands of her own.
----------…
My parody.....'On Rhyme and Money'
If by dull rhyme our fortune's attained,
let us speak, shout, seek, complete with all pain
tomorrow's journey to our bank account.
Ignore that woman chained by wisdom's fount.
Was she not acclaimed in her day and time?
Her eternal beauty bought for a dime
from every passing vendor. How vane!
Her shame, wanting blonde tresses. Brunette's bane!
Forlorn, forsworn, we apply merely base
words, structure, to the poetics of haste.
And, all meaning wanting, we write cheap
nonsensical verse, all rhyming replete.
We of beggars' free verse stand time's testing,
penniless, but with no gods are jesting.
poem by Elysabeth Faslund
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Verse is Not Magic
Verse is not magic even though at times
as reader, writer surf together, cue
links through patterns shared, decoding clue,
enter into spirit of the rhymes.
Register chromatic tempting climbs
in/through spectral intensity, each hue
emotions keys no rainbow ever knew.
Voice finds expression, symphony sublime.
Although some stays unpolished ‘tis no crime
life recognizes where the spirit’s true,
empathy encouraging. How few
remain to shine beyond vain pantomime?
If letters can combine to stir the soul
each line threads through all parts, creates true whole...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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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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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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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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