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Friday, January 2nd, 2009
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3:54 am - A villanelle
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louderback
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The Starless Night of Dreams
I know the eyeless ever-clawing scream
Dragged out from in the heart of my own mind
That fills the haunting starless nights of dream.
The blankness filled with every futile scheme
Informs my soul and desperation blind.
I know the eyeless ever-clawing scream
Behind me in a rolling, crushing, stream,
Comes terror of a chilling, evil kind
That fills the haunting starless nights of dream.
On foolscap, ink records a nightmare's gleam
Then burns each day with red-hot flames entwined
I know the eyeless ever-clawing scream
Of gaunt and ghast and red-lit burning steam
Upon the flesh of helpless ones confined
That fills the haunting starless nights of dream.
Spare me the embrace of the fiend supreme.
Who stole my eyes and made me ever blind.
I know the eyeless ever-clawing scream
That fills the haunting starless nights of dream.
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(4 inspirations | what say ye?)
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| Monday, December 8th, 2008
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2:12 pm - A tribute to Wall•E in Iambic Pentameter
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level_head
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The Beginning
Space is deep — the view is quite sublime
The stars, enough to take your breath away
But watching these majestic scenes, this time
Is something for whom “breathing” doesn’t pay...
( 'Tis way too long to be without a cut. )
He’s lived the life we’ve seen, he does his job
And stacks the towers. There is only he
He takes some parts, but there’s no heart to rob
And wonders, “Is there anyone for me?”
The human hands are touching, clasping tight
He’s fascinated, tries his own for size
His own hands aren’t the same, but still they might
Find someone out there, someday. Wall•E sighs…
===|==============/ Level Head
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(3 inspirations | what say ye?)
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| Monday, February 18th, 2008
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8:49 pm - On being driven out of the residential building at 10:00 AM for a fire drill
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celialove
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I was awake at 10:00 when I
Endeavored to go in the shower, but
There rang throughout the building such a cry
That it resounded deep within my gut.
O horrid noise! O most obnoxious buzz!
You are not worthy to be called a “bell”
For you are the worst sound that ever was,
And your mad keening’s suited more for hell.
Still, driven out into the winter snow
With not even a single book to read
I had no choice—in my view—but to go
To the school library to fulfill that need.
So I suppose, though I’m loathe to admit,
Some small measure of good did come from it.
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(what say ye?)
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| Saturday, February 16th, 2008
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3:09 pm - On attempting to tighten my belt to prepare for time ahead
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celialove
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I only wish for clothing, shelter, food
And books to read, and indoor plumbing, too
The Internet, my TV, which is good
For playing games like Valkyrie Profile 2.
I need that game, to help me with my work
As well as my trustworthy dictionary
To look up kanji, which is quite a perk
On any day so dreary and ordinary.
I need my backpack, for to carry books
Is something I must do from day to day
I need my hairbrush, to keep up my looks
And toothbrush, to prevent plaque and decay.
Oh, how can I aim to live frugally
When the real world thwarts me so brutally?
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(2 inspirations | what say ye?)
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| Saturday, December 8th, 2007
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9:04 pm - The Holidays are here?
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capriuni
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The "Holidays" are here, or so they say.
Poinsettias bedeck the evening news,
And lights shine bright on houses 'cross the way.
And here I sit, detatched, and sing the blues.
I disagree with Scrooge -- I'll not begrudge.
To every Who in Whoville, tall and small:
"Well-roast, your Beast, and tasty-sweet, your fudge!"
And yet, despite the jollity, and all...
I sigh. I think how alien it feels:
Strange creatures, seen as through a telescope.
While voices sing and bells ring out their peals,
I rap on my heart's door, and ask for Hope.
"Is she at home?" I ask. "She once lived here..."
But Thought's not sure: "...She might be back, New Year."
[Cross-posted to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) capriuni]
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(what say ye?)
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| Monday, November 26th, 2007
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10:41 pm - Alas, 5meter! Whither hast thou gone?
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fimbaz
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--
On Blogs
Inspired authors (lucky lads) attest
That when in them the gentle muses move
It feels a bit like childbirth, and so I
Attempt via analogy, to prove
That when you on a whim pick up the pen
And having cursed in print your writer's block,
Recurse and curse recursion, it's a bit
Like playing with your (Editor: what schlock!)
Both acts are pleasant, private, and begin
With hand on tool, till at some length they loose
A substance on a sheet . You have preserved
The seepage of your pen, and so I muse:
Perhaps somewhere, you keep the other's issue.
I sneeze to think! but must decline your tissue.
--
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(2 inspirations | what say ye?)
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| Monday, November 13th, 2006
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7:04 pm - To The Reader:
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sensualquills
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Sonnet 55
These lines that you have come across, here scribed
Are with a tender nurture, brought to light
Neither false, nor in any form contrived
And as humbly as a scribbler could write
To you fair reader, I offer my lines
To eyes, that read to life these little scenes
While iambic pentameter confines
Yet this is all a minor scribbler dreams
Above all else, fair reader, take away
The passion and humility I bear
That you have lived my lines another day
And for that I am ere grateful to share
In hopes these little songs shall find with thee
Some truth, some sin, some whimsicality
( Read more... )
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(what say ye?)
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| Saturday, October 7th, 2006
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1:23 am - My absence from this forum is too long.
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relsqui
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A question for the ages: What is Art?
Does poetry rely on beat and rhyme,
Or need the content also be, well, smart?
For clearly I can write in metered time,
Regardless of what junk I have to say.
Are posts in rambling iambs such a crime?
My point, I think, is taken. Anyway,
If it is not too bothersome, I thought
I'd recommend a thing that's here to stay.
At least, such is my hope. How 'bout you lot?
Shall ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/syndicated.gif) i5comics live up to its start,
Or will my paneled efforts be for naught?
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(what say ye?)
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| Friday, September 1st, 2006
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10:05 am - I have heard of your paintings too
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king_duncan
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These lines are from a play I'm writing now:
It's a Shakespearean homage, in verse.
Just fyi, I don't believe the lines
The man does speak, 'tis but in character.
If any thoughts you have, I'm glad to hear.
You women with your paints and powderpuff,
Who rouge your faces, dust a pretty bluff,
A snare to catch a carefree manly eye,
And tease him with a glimpse of creamy thigh:
How dreadful do your masques of beauty look,
What is a painted woman but a crook?
A thief of hearts, a grasping, cunning jade,
With passions never ripe, though still display’d!
Without your perfumed seeming, your façades,
What are you but a mockery of gods?
When men are noble, how you bring them down,
And turn a soldier, lover, to a clown!
current mood: creative
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(what say ye?)
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| Sunday, July 9th, 2006
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10:39 am - So who is glad to meet you all, this day?
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capriuni
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I amb! I amb! I amb! I amb! I amb!
---
Quite oft, I've heard the Philistines complain:
"Iambic verse is diffecult to learn--
Its fancy language taxes my poor brain!
Prosaic speach is best, when it's your turn."
Their puzzlement is hard to understand.
Iambic rhythm pulses through the heart,
And if they'd count the fingers on one hand,
They'd feel the language clicking, part by part.
It's prose that is a random, clutterd, mess.
How many words to choose from? What's the count?
(Reminds me of this office, I confess)--
A shifting heap that's harder to surmount.
I'll versify my speeches all the time
(Though if for business, I will skip the rhyme).
current mood:  amused
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(2 inspirations | what say ye?)
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| Monday, May 15th, 2006
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10:48 am - An error message, GPLed for all. By me, and dedicated to your site.
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fimbaz
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One morning on the sunny ides of May
I moused about with vigor and aplomb.
My clicks were sure, my browsing eye that day
Surveyed the web with certainty and calm.
I tarried on the fallow google fields
I wiki'd through the academic hills.
I past the myspace dragon quickly stealed
Festooned he was with buggy code and shills.
And further in my wandering did I roam
Through linkfarms, porno, Slashdot, digg, and more
But now I close the internet's great tome,
There is no page that lives here-- 404.
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(6 inspirations | what say ye?)
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| Tuesday, March 14th, 2006
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4:24 pm
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dolique
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Apparently I must explain this post
and any personal details in verse,
though thankfully and sensibly unrhymed,
unlike old Dryden's stuff; here goes, then, and
do please forgive verbosity, to which
I know myself too drawn in prose as well.
To understand my poem, you should know
that this past summer I attended camp
for "gifted kids," at which I was assigned
a simile in fine Homeric style;
I wrote about the weekend dance, and how
I feared lest coming rain enforce a change
of venue and attendance policy.
Were it to rain that night, they'd move the fete
off to the nearby gym, and make sure that
all went -- and that I did not want to do.
++
( My answer to the challenge is right here, / beneath a header that's abandoned hope / of brevity to fit the scansion rules. )
++
Much thanks for all your patience, my new friends;
it is my hope the verse will make amends.
current mood: amused
current music: the flaming lips -- no one will ever love you honestly
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(what say ye?)
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| Tuesday, January 3rd, 2006
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7:59 pm - Movie Review
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pizzazzle
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Have any of you seen the movie Yes?
I saw it just today and I confess,
That having had today four teeth removed
I spent the day with films and never moved.
Of all the shows I saw, this was the best,
Though if you’re (rightly) loath to be impressed
By my opinions, drugged-up and fatigued,
I’ve reasons that I thought you’d be intrigued:
The dialogue, which flows like seven seas,
Is served in rhyming couplets, much like these,
With iambs counting five in every line.
Delivering the lines, it sounds divine:
The actors speak like poets, to a word;
Pedantic sing-song speech is never heard.
The themes it treats are numerous and strange—
There’s death and sex and carpe-diem change—
But love is at the center of the tale:
The confidence that passion can prevail,
The perfect beauty of the spoken word,
The conflict of who will and won’t be heard,
And silent cleaning girls who, while they cleanse
Send piercing gazes through the camera lens
(Including one whose speech bookends the show,
Whom Moaning Myrtle's Potter fans will know).
In short: O fans of pentametric verse!
All films, compared with this, seem much the worse.
Its muselike powers I can answer to;
It moved me to perhaps move all of you
To see a movie willing to be art,
To thrill the ear, illuminate the heart.
And does it, in its goal, meet with success?
My answer is, of course, a fervent Yes.
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(2 inspirations | what say ye?)
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5:54 pm - This brand new year bring joy to one and all!
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angstyartemis
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***
Now starts another year, another phase,
Although the moon sleeps tonight, the stars still shine;
This is an old world, and has ancient ways,
Tonight, we drown those thoughts in waves of wine.
Who will forgive the thousand years of war
And bloodshed - forget Nature's brutal acts,
Declare a kinship for Life - near or far -
Or honour well-intentioned peaceful pacts?
Who can give meaning to Love, to Faith, to Art,
And all the dreams that vanish in thin air?
Who ever had the time enough - and heart
To learn to laugh to listen and to care?
Let's just promise - this year, this life - we'll cope.
And though the world forget, we'll forget not - Hope.
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(2 inspirations | what say ye?)
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| Sunday, December 18th, 2005
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5:07 am
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relsqui
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Friend level_head inspired a post of mine:
A call for poetry requests from all.
These two of them are in iambic five.
Enjoy--and add requests, if you would like!
The Revolution (for joeyclaren)
Another soldier falls, his duty done.
But time continues, noticing us not.
And so the revolution marches on,
As if with our short lives we just forgot.
But time continues, noticing us not,
Although this conflict has been fought before.
As if with our short lives we just forgot,
We think that this time we'll accomplish more.
Although this conflict has been fought before,
Hope springs eternal, driving us again.
We think that this time we'll accomplish more;
We youth are wiser than they were back then.
Hope springs eternal, driving us again.
A child is born. His father's gone away.
We youth are wiser than they were back then,
But still, new battles will be fought one day.
A child is born. His father's gone away:
Another soldier falls, his duty done.
But still, new battles will be fought one day,
And so the revolution marches on.
The Food of Kings (for philled2thebrim)
For college kids whose life is in a dorm,
The money situation can be tight.
So eating very cheaply is the norm,
(And often in the middle of the night.)
But sometimes you want more than just a bite!
A meal that's hot and filling would be nice.
For times like that, there's one thing that's just right:
Dry noodles, plus hot water and some spice.
It's even easier to make than rice.
Just boil, wait, stir, season, and then eat.
Your tasty food was ready in a trice,
And cleanup's nothing. Isn't that a treat?
In short, as all good college students know,
Top Ramen is the frugal way to go.
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(what say ye?)
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| Wednesday, November 2nd, 2005
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4:16 pm - i is for...
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dichroic
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Coincidence, that heedless saucy wench,
Collab'rated with a little bird today
Who sent me over here to join this host,
(dakiwiboid 'tis, to whom I do allude),
You may ask why I cite coincidence
The truth is, it was only yesterday
I wrote an IP alphabetic post
I'll crosspost here, and hope it's not too crude.
(This is part of a poetry alphabet,
Though letter I may be the lamest yet.
Yes, I know I took some liberties;
Go gently with me, critics, if you please.)
-----
I is for Iambic Pentameter
If you should take a ride on Shakespeare's horse
To some imagin'd iambic Banbury Cross
The characteristic rhythm of its trot
Would be dit-DOT dit-DOT dit-DOT dit-DOT
Though on trochees you might sometimes founder
You'd come back to iambs as being sounder
While other rhythms help to vary pace
Iambic is the one that wins the race.
Pentameter, too, suits English-language poems,
As Japanese for haiku is the home
Though no quintepedal horse in nature's found
In English poetry, he is most sound
In iambic pentameter Shakespeare's sonnets run
As well as those of Milton, Keats, and Donne.
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(what say ye?)
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| Tuesday, October 11th, 2005
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8:26 pm - not quite flawless are my little iambs
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sonnetress
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what follows is not strict iambic form,
but even shakespeare slipped once in awhile.
i am but human, and it is the norm
to sometimes miss perfection in my style.
but i believe this is the place for me.
sonnets are my means to communicate.
so, if you would so kindly hear my plea,
please read and tell me if you love or hate.
in my journal there is a great deal more,
sonnets ready to be plucked and tasted,
written by me, to poetry, a whore,
but they don't like to be cut and pasted
they are to share, i'm happy you've read it
please just give sonnetress her fair credit.
what the alchemist did to me
i am broken down and elemental,
each part of me seen in isolation.
energy kinetic and potential
scrutiniz'd in hope of permutation.
attempts are made to coax and to flatter,
to bring forth even a miniscule change,
to transfigure or conjure dark matter,
or some matamorphosis new and strange.
but stubbornly, i persist in my form,
unwilling and unable to alter
though i am still faithful, gentle, and warm,
inevitably, attentions falter.
i know not where the idea was bred,
that you'd somehow render gold from my lead.
current mood: amused
current music: lakme: flower duet
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(what say ye?)
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| Tuesday, October 4th, 2005
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12:33 pm
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relsqui
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In my iambic duties I'm remiss;
It's been a while since I've posted stuff.
So here I am, to brag to you of this:
The acquisition of two bits of fluff.
One gray and white, the other gray and gray,
These sisters came to us some weeks ago.
They fill our hearts with happiness each day,
And will for quite a while, I th--I KNOW.
Our Meg and Tera, clever little dears,
Already learned to type (if not to spell).
We happily look forward to the years
We'll spend with them, and spend them very well.
These kittens pounced their way into my heart
And so, to them, I dedicate my art.
http://www.chiliahedron.com/main.php?face=kittens
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(what say ye?)
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| Monday, October 3rd, 2005
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7:38 pm
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| Sunday, September 18th, 2005
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2:04 pm - First post here (I'm in a romantic mood...)
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king_laugh
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And in your eyes I saw a greatness burn
In colours God created just for you
My soul began to tingle and I feared
The very essence of me might explode!
There was no part of you I would not give
My heart and soul and life to stroke and kiss...
That moment told me Love was not a choice.
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(what say ye?)
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iambic_5meter