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Some Poets

Some poets pen Horatian odes,
While others write in epic modes.
Some love the rousing roundelay
(Though most consider it passé) .
Some like the tightly-packed haiku,
And villanelles still please a few.
Some think the sonnet form sublime.
But me, I just want shit to rhyme.

poem by Bridgid Patrick
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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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Sonnet: Poetic Prudence

A fixed meter, fixed rhyme sequence
Are important in Sonnet writing- Yes;
Thus, structured poetry is rigid- hence,
How far the thoughts get penned down is a guess!

The chosen form must suit the writer’s needs;
The structure too reflects the poet’s tone;
Both rosaries and necklaces have beads!
A sonnet must not be a sculptured stone!

Yes, content is more important than form;
The words must flow in harmony aright;
A Sonnet’s structure ought to do no harm
To what the poet intended to write.

What poets say must get the preference;
The other things shall act like just a fence!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-4-2005

poem by John Celes
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Evolution

Long, long ago as poets know.
A sonnet was a little song
without rules you had to follow.
There was no way you could go wrong.
Petrarch invented a fixed form
and then Will Shakespeare altered it.
Both are accepted as the norm
although they vary quite a bit.
Since Will most poets had a try
to write a sonnet in their way.
The hide bound purists can't deny
there’s many sonnet forms today.
Like any art fine poetry
evolves and improves constantly.

28-Nov-08

http: // blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rhyme

Poets rhyme from time to time
They don’t find rhyme a crime
It’s no sin, their using rhyme
Inspired rhyme is so sublime
Can often form a perfect line

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Naughty Words!

Often words are but tiny turds of humor and of wit,
Flotsam in a poets mind…“Oh my, what junk, what shit! ”

Alas, it’s true at times words can form a perfect line,
“How wonderful, how clever” the words are so sublime

When all is said 'n done, its truth that’s clear 'n real,
By writing what we see 'n hear...especially what we feel

Write on poets!

There be no rules that we must heed or follow
Drink in the gifts of words sweet chums...
But don’t forget to swallow!

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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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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Sonnet On A Star

If I could write a sonnet
on a star
Then bottle it and
toss it to the sea
Would it travel
to the corners of the Earth,
And echo there
the love I hold for thee? If I could write a sonnet
on the moon
Then bottle it and
toss it to the winds
Would it find your heart
So you may briefly know,
Where your love ends
Is where my love begins? If I could write a sonnet
on the sun
Then bottle it and
toss it throughout time
Would someone from a distant galaxy
Find no greater love
Than that was mine Yet, I cannot write a sonnet
on a star,
Nor moon, nor even on
the blazing sun,
Nor bottle words to send them
Where you are
Nor coerce our separate hearts
To beat as one And so my darling
You will never hear
The humble words of love
I wrote for thee
They remain encrypted,
tightly sealed
And yet they travel
on eternally

poem by Tamara Beryl Latham
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Types of Poetic Frustration

I tried to write a haiku for you
But it grew too long
Evolving into a song
Wrapped around the sun and morning dewdrops
And giving you props
For making this the best part of my day
In every little way

I tried to write you a sonnet
But almost every line on it
Fell short a few syllables
Not to mention the intensity of end rhyme
Whose rules I broke from time to time

Oh what a curse to have all these words
Trapped in my head
When putting them down on paper
Has only led to poetic frustration

Oh, and I tried to write you a funny poem
But I’ve got pretty dry humor

poem by Dyhanara Rios
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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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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
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anti-Sonnet

They say a sonnet must be all about
Romance, and swing in rhyme and rhythm, but
I shall try to defy them and slam shut
The door on love, as I rant loud and shout
That I’m not interested in such things
As tenderness, soft speech, platitudes, that
Pander to their whims. Shall I fall down flat
As my attempt to write no ode that sings
Of soppiness will fail? I shall plough on
To put my case that I’m not going where
You want me. To put the finger on it,
This anti-sonnet is a love-less one:
Don’t goad me to be goo-ey, I don’t care
I shall not mention love in this sonnet.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Good Poets and Bad Poets

Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.

Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.

Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind

Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.

Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.

Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.

Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.

All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.

Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.

Some poets take criticism and don't mind.

Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.

Some poets write poetry to get love.

Some poets love to write poetry.

Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind

Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind

Some poets live only after they die.

Some poets have much to say but can't articulate

Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand

So which one of these am I?

I guess I am all of these and none of these

and no matter what my description

I intend to keep doing what I do:

Write. Right

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My First Sonnet

If I’m to write and form a little song
I’ll choose to use the English code and rules
I’ll learn the laws to lay my bricks along
The roads I build of codes with English tools

Now two will rhyme with four and one with three
I’ll split the rhyme between the stanza breaks
The last two lines will rhyme a final plea
With glee that creeps in hands of codes I make

Iambics boast control as they decide
The words to run as feet conduct the line
I’ll snare the code that hides along and strides
In quatrains forming claims of codes that shine

I’m here alas to weave and write my fun
I’m taught I’ve learned and now my sonnet’s done

poem by Paul Moosberg
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0342 Like me, like you

Landing airplanes form a high queue;
Busy ants all form a low queue;
Salespersons should pretend they like you;
But only poets can form a haiku.

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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I’d Like to Write a Sonnet Just in Fun

I wrote to write my thoughts in clarity
I wrote to write ideas and views that storm
You see I wrote to write tranquility
But now I want to write in sonnet form

I like emotions locked inside fourteen
Inside with beats I’ve never known before
The sonnet life has rule as code adds mien
To quench my thirst for laws that I explore

I lay the code in mind to bring feelings
With beats I join to capture its allure
In words I write to form with beats freeing
To play amongst the codes that I procure

I will reread and learn as I arrange
With feelings that will flow as beats will change

poem by Paul Moosberg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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(V – 2010) The Poet’s Nature

Reflecting Nature’s various hues
Poets write colourfully.

Echoing Nature’s innate songs
Poets write musically.

Learning from Nature’s righteous laws
Poets write more sensibly.

Drawing from Nature’s spotless love
Poets write more humanely.

Living with Nature’s poetic life
Poets write living poetry.

poem by Kannan G
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0005 Totally Boring Poem

I’m totally bored by:

poems that sound like other poems

poems that try to sound unlike any other poems

poets who never take risks

poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets

poems with 'meaning'

poems with no meaning

poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something

poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time

poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring

poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'

poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'

poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex

poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out

poets that tell you they’ve been dumped

poets who've never known love and being dumped

poets who are ambitious

poets who are unambitious

poets who tell you all about higher things

poets who reject higher things

poets who think life’s just a joke

poets who think life’s no joke

poets who sit on the fence

poets who have no sense of balance

poets who despise 'the middle ground'

poets who talk about technique

poets with no technique

poets who just throw down their thoughts

poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish

poets who list what they like (who cares?)

poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)

poets who write about extreme states

poets who think they’re immune to extreme states

poets who tell you why they’re bored

poets who have opinions

poets who seem to have no opinions at all

poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?

poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word

poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems

poets who don't love poetry passionately

poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'

poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,

how about you?

I suppose you have boring opinions too?

another time perhaps

and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored

well I feel better for that.

how about you?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Wife to Be (Petrarchan Sonnet)

I stroll along a fragrant country lane
With honeysuckle perfume on the air -
And feathered crooner's warble to revere -
Then cross a golden sea of flowing grain
In empathy - it seems to sense my pain
Of knowing all was done with my affair -
Her empty meaning now the solitaire
She cast away - betrothment all in vain.
But oceans team with many fish to catch
So I must up and hoist another sail
And seek the one that really waits for me,
For soon auspicious breezes will prevail
In guiding forth to find a truer match:
The one to take my hand as wife to be.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Poet And The Baby

How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,--
How's he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,--
When a-toddling on the floor
Is the muse he must adore,
And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well?

Now, to write a sonnet, every one allows,
One must always be as quiet as a mouse;
But to write one seems to me
Quite superfluous to be,
When you 've got a little sonnet in the house.

Just a dainty little poem, true and fine,
That is full of love and life in every line,
Earnest, delicate, and sweet,
Altogether so complete
That I wonder what's the use of writing mine.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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