#iambic septameter

[anhttydbookfan]

The quality of my meter is inversely proportional to the enjoyment I get out of writing it, but I don't care because I've had the chorus of the Death or Glory poem in my mind for literal years now.

[sroloc--elbisivni]

cooould i ask 3, 4 & 11 for "To such a deep delight 'twould win me"

absolutely

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

oooo man i like so many lines of this but i also very much set up a lot of lines to....counterpoint each other? things are meant to play off the previous or following lines so picking one is hard. i think i will say the first line -- "the morning of his wedding day, Mirage refused to speak." because i rewrote that several times deliberately to get it to come out in iambic septameter. ba-duh ba-duh ba-duh ba-duh, ba-duh ba-duh ba-duh. iambics are fun.

4: what's your favorite line of dialogue?

“I don’t think anyone has concubines anymore,” Hound said, apologetically. “They’re kind of old-fashioned. Maybe you could lounge around while I fed you peeled grates?”

in pursuit of an ethical barbarian au i wanted to avoid the 'culture with tribal influences/viewed in-story as less advanced is traditional and unchanging and eternal and trapped in the past' trope so i really liked getting to toss in 'yeah no this has gone out of fashion'. also anyone who has read anything i've ever written for transformers could tell you i'm a sucker for a cheap pun. hehe peeled grates. what is a peeled grate? unimportant! couldn't tell you! we are JUST here for the pun.

11: what do you like best about this fic?

i like a lot of things about this fic, so don't misunderstand me when i say that what i like best about this fic is that it's done. getting down to the deadline on this, a big bang fic with an enforced deadline, and just plunking out the end of chapter 2 when my muse wanted to dive into turtle pond was just. ugggghhhhh. and if i had not had an outside deadline i would never have finished it, and now that it's finished i like it so much and i'm so glad it's out there to share.

[kaoinim]

Iambic septameter sounds so much better to my brain than iambic pentameter for some reason

[starshipsandsuperheroes]

HE and Mary are both FANTASTIC and I genuinely love them so much, so I would not be sad to see them win! But! Because they 1.) are winning and 2.) have twice as many people to cheer for them, I can't leave The Shrike in the lurch because she means So So Much to me so while I love them.

Vote The Shrike!!

Once again. Expert in a Dying Field by The Beths is a thesis statement so start there to understand her. There is a comic of her baking with this song over it that literally lives on the fridge in my apartment it's so good.* Check out her tag on the bracket's blog for some other info about her (this post and this post are good), but I'm gonna leave some Extra Shrike Content down below for everyone to know why else you should vote for such an amazing NPC!

1.) I have a note from a few years back that just reads "Shrike has French Onion Soup baggage." None of us have been able to remember or discern what that could possibly mean. But she has it.

2.) When we first met her, we had to give a unique iambic septameter call-and-response code to let her know we were allies. This meant we had to frantically yell "Don't ever hug a lobster if you see one on the street!" and hope that was enough to not get Shot By The Very Visible Harpoons. (Her response? "but if you do, a lobster is a lovely friend to meet.")

3.) She has a huge robot named Emily she built herself and loves very much. One time we had to go overseas and Emily walked across the ocean floor to meet us there a few weeks later. When she finally showed up, The Shrike made the most incredible high pitched noise that one of our party members compared to the Gene Parmesan bit from Arrested Development (I linked to the one most reminiscent of her reaction). It's the most excited I've ever seen her.

4.) The instructions we currently have for procuring her wedding presents are that they must be weird, magical, and seem useful but are actually useless. If you have any ideas for that feel free to bring them to the wedding.

5.) One time as a distraction, she set up a robot Situation which was a lot of explosions and the 1812 overture (complete with canons) in her workshop.

ANYWAYS I love Mary and HE so much and they are SO worth voting for but please show The Shrike some love too because she's genuinely one of my favorite NPCs I've ever encountered and deserves some support! P.S. Shrike if you're seeing this I made sure to give a prime number of reasons why people should vote for you.

*I'm not posting a picture out of respect for the fact that it's the person who created Mary's art and as a rule I don't post anything without genuine and full permission so thank you for your understanding. But you have to believe me it's real and it is held onto the fridge via a state park magnet.

The TTRPG NPC Tournament FINAL MATCHUP: The Shrike vs. Mary Byram & HE

Images are in the order of the poll! Image ID included, click to see the full image please!

More about each NPC below the cut!

Character 1

Name: The Shrike Party: The Fosters Relationship to party: Mom, stepmom, former boss, current leader

What makes them the best NPC: She's a thousands-of-years-old gnomish planar-physics prodigy from the future. She's divorced. She's engaged. She misses her wife. She's an absentee mom and she's mom of the year. She bakes the best scones in the world. She will shoot you with a harpoon without hesitation. She invented robotics. She loves prime numbers. She built her own legs. She sold her soul to a dubious and unknowable god in order to save her species' future. She's even a lesbian. The Shike. Bwaaaa

Quote: "YOU DON'T GET TO BEAT ME AT THIS, MOTHERFUCKER. WILL YOU MARRY ME?"

To learn more about The Shrike, check out the extra propaganda in her tag here!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Character(s) 2*

*Due to an agreement between the parties during a tie very shortly before the polls closed (and due to it being the semifinal round of the tournament), Mary Byram and HE, though not from the same campaign, move forward as a team. Both descriptions are listed below in the order of their images above.

Name: Mary Byram Party: Ambiscade Gang Relationship to party: Coworker, divorcee

What makes them the best NPC: Mary Byram is living proof that the song “No Children” by The Mountain Goats doesn’t just have to be about romantic relationships gone wrong. She’s a bright red tiefling rogue with a storied past, currently working for a guild called the Thinfingers alongside one of the party members. Previously, she worked with a tiefling rights movement called Hellflame, but something happened there that she doesn’t really talk about. She’s still passionate about both the movement and the group, though.

Our bard lovingly calls her “Mare-Bear.” She hates this. She’s a day drinker. She’s exhausted always. She cares so much but will never admit it unless under duress. I think she genuinely thinks that god cursed her by metaphorically putting her in a get-along shirt with our rogue PC. Their dynamic allowed our party to coin the term “Coworker Divorce” except they’re literally not allowed to actually get rid of each other. She is also constantly saddled with the skater-pilled rogue who was also submitted to the bracket, so she’s usually outnumbered when it comes to harebrained schemes. She’s largely anti-antics, but is down for some antics if she's in control of them. She’s a mastermind and usually gives the help bonus action either by telling people what they fucked up or by telling them NOT to fuck something up. She deserves a break she’ll simply never get.

Quote: "Thoughts?" -the warlock, asking Mary about a proposed plan. "...More than you. Apparently." -Mary

To learn more about Mary, check out the extra propaganda in her tag here!

****

Name: HE Party: The Misdemeanor Mateys Relationship to party: Businessman, aggravating party stalker, final boss

What makes them the best NPC: Mysterious tiny man with static for a head, and the loudest screechiest voice you can imagine (DM once blew out their vocal chords because of him). Levitates and teleports at will, and can pop objects in and out of existence. Runs a business granting magical favors. Originally tried to hire the party to help his business but the group said "fuck no". Now regularly pops in to nag, cause trouble, or play meme songs on a calliope, and occasionally provides useful information. HE controls an alternate dimension called the Mercantile Pile full of items from different times and places, including lots of modern-day technology (unlike the D&D campaign setting). He can be summoned by writing out his name. His calling card is a 7 of Spades, which he can also use to influence the world & cast spells remotely. HE mainly wears business suits & suspenders, but has also appeared in a hazmat suit (riding a tricycle), turtleneck sweater and thigh holster, wetsuit with suspenders painted on, sequin jacket with '69' on the back, peacock burlesque, and nurse drag outfit. He once killed 20 guards with a snap of his fingers. He also destroyed a walkman with a flamethrower. Implied to be the father of the ultra-powerful kid whose primary pastime is handing out enchanted "friendship nuggets" [chicken]. His #1 business competitor is Michael's Wonder Emporium. Eventually turns out to be one of the most central characters to the story.

Quote: "STAY OFF MY THRONE!"

"You're going to call me when you need me!"

To learn more about HE, check out the extra propaganda in his tag here!

[needlenailed-blog]

<~Forgive and Forget~>

Your silver lantern split the dark. Our hopes made manifest You wove into the earth to build eternal Hallownest - Yet just as any lantern’s glow must end, and shadows thrive, Beyond the cliffs, your blessings die, and no mind may survive. -from Elegy for Hallownest, by Monomon the Teacher

Hornet wonders again why she still has all her memories, as she closes her journal - really just a sheaf of paper from the strange contraption someone has set up in the apartment’s common space, bound together with some of that flimsy plant-fiber yarn - to take her rest. She is a bug of Hallownest, born and raised there, and it was always said that the minds of bugs of Hallownest were sustained by the power of the Pale King alone. To leave Hallownest’s borders was to return to a lower form, renouncing one’s memories and sapient identity for the base instincts of eons past.

Yet here she is, and still she is Hornet of Hallownest, not a word of recollection out of place. There must be some form of Wyrmlight here, or she would be less than no one.

No time for that now, though. The Sun, that which she still suspects is of the pestilent Radiance that decimated her home, will be back in the sky soon. She’d much prefer to be asleep when that occurs.

---

Hornet Deepweaver jolts awake with a start, fully clothed in her bed with no memory of having gotten there. Damn, she must have been really out of it last night. Shoes kicked off on the floor, chair askew, writing journal still open on her desk...and yes, her last recollection is of passing out with her head on the table at five in the morning. It is now 12:07 pm, according to her phone, meaning she has about five minutes to get downstairs and down the block or else she’ll miss the 12:15 bus to the university, and if she misses the 12:15 she misses lunch. Which is more often “breakfast,” for her.

“Sometimes I abhor my sleep schedule,” she grumbles to herself, doing up her hair in two sloppy French braids and stuffing books haphazardly into her bag. Right before she sweeps out of the room, she pauses to pick up her journal and take a glance at what she was writing last night.

...Now what’s this snatch of verse supposed to be about? Looks like she was trying to quote someone called Monomon the Teacher, probably some fictional author cooked up in her sleep-deprived fever dream.

Whatever. She’ll write something that makes more sense for her poetry seminar tomorrow, whenever she has a spare moment.

{ Hornet is now a young human woman named Hornet Deepweaver, the illegitimate daughter of the owner of the White Palace casino in Golden. She grew up with her mother Herrah, who insisted that she learn two things as a child: how to sew, which was what earned Herrah her pay nowadays, and how to defend herself. Hornet has been taking mixed martial arts continuously since second grade; she’s mastered unarmed combat and has been working on her quarterstaff skills. Herrah kept no secrets from her regarding her family, including that she’d been born out of wedlock - the casino owner was married to someone else, while Herrah was single - and that she had several half-siblings.

When Hornet was a senior in high school, a lot happened all at once. The casino owner’s divorced first wife, a proud and vengeful woman named Helena Vlatka (stage name Radiance), dug up some serious dirt on his shady business practice and used it to sue him for all he was worth, making the casino business go down in flames. Herrah lost her job there as the costume designer on call, around the same time that she was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. With her mom unemployed and in poor health, unable to actively take care of her anymore, Hornet was pushed headfirst into the adult world. Her grades in spring semester suffered, thanks to her two part-time jobs leaving her with little time to study, but she squeaked by with a pass in all her classes and graduated on time.

Now she’s a perpetually tired and broke sophomore at Spirale University, rooming in Golden Ward with people she hardly knows to save on rent. Herrah died not long ago, after having been hospitalized for months and not recognizing Hornet for longer than that. She’s double-majoring in English and outdoor education and works at a coffee shop, enjoying the fact that she can sneak a free cup every now and then. Her hobbies are kind of all over the place, especially for someone with so little free time, but she likes rock-climbing (the focus of her outdoor ed major), poetry, entomology, studying the various types of magic found in Spirale, and sewing in class. She has trouble sitting still, a very wacky and near-nocturnal sleep schedule aided and abetted by her total lack of morning classes, and two half-siblings named Ghost and Hollow who sometimes sleep on her crappy apartment couch.

Her mother made her that old red poncho, so long ago that it’s a little small for her now, despite her being exactly five feet tall. She has never heard of a place called Hallownest. }

[thegayraven]

I'm not a poetry expert but I THINK "ceaseless watcher turn your gaze upon this wretched thing" is actually headless iambic septameter or whatever the fuck since it's an odd number of syllables and begins and ends with a stressed syllable? I dont think trochaic has an unpaired ending like iambic sometimes does (the so-called feminine ending). but again I'm no expert and this is all based on what I learned in a forms and genres poetry class

[soaringsearingphoenix]

Why do some rhyme schemes feel so conversational and chill? Like, iambic septameter has such a lovely flow that i can sort of just adopt it. And sometimes i will just speak that way but subtly, so you wouldn’t even know

[crownjulesb]

Pain, a la Dr Seuss - a poem

A bit of "iambic septameter" for your reading pleasure..! #poetry

My back and my joints, I swear are not mine There’s some other creature got lodged in my spine. It’s really no joke, so please do not laugh I can’t get no relief, even in a hot bath Nor with potions nor pills, nor herbal concoctions I’m rapidly running out of all options But I’ll try to stay “up” and not to despair By turning my pain into verbal flair… !!! As a first attempt at some “iambic…

[literally-studying]

Literally Studying’s Guide to Metre and Verse

Metre and verse are the bread and butter of poetry, but they can be really damn hard to get your head around! Here is my - hopefully! - handy breakdown of the different styles of metre and verse.

METRIC FEET

Metric Foot: One stressed syllable paired with one or two unstressed syllables, that repeat in a regular pattern.

Iamb: a combination of one unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable (dah dum). Most common in pentameter (five metric feet per line).

Trochee: the opposite of an iamb. A stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable (dum dah). Most common in tetrameter (four metric feet per line). Example: ‘Gall of goat, and slips of yew.’

Dactyll: one stressed syllable followed by two unstressed syllables (dum dah dah) Example: ‘Just for a handful of silver he left us.’

Anapest: two unstressed syllables followed by a stressed syllable (dah dah dum). Most common in trimeter (three feet per line), tetrameter (four feet per line) or hexameter (six feet per line). Doctor Seuss’ favourite metre: ‘And today the Great Yertle, that marvellous he.’

Spondee: two stressed syllables next to one another, with no gap between them. Example: the word ‘football’ is a spondee.

TYPES OF METRE

We can have varying different amounts of these feet per line:

Dimeter: Two metrical feet per line. 

Trimeter: Three metrical feet per line.

Tetrameter: Four metrical feet per line. 

Pentameter: Five metrical feet per line. The most common verse form. 

Hexameter: Six metrical feet per line.

Septameter: Seven metrical feet per line.

Octameter: Eight metrical feet per line.

OTHER HELPFUL TERMS

Iambic Pentameter: The most famous verse form, popularised by Shakespeare, made up of five iambs per line. Example: ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’ or ‘But soft, what light from yonder window breaks?’

Blank Verse: Unrhymed iambic pentameter. Often thought of as the meter most reflective of everyday speech. 

Trochaic Substitution: When an iamb is swapped out for a trochee in a line of otherwise perfect iambic feet. Example: “Now is the winter of our discontent”. The first foot of the line is a trochee, where the rest is made up of iambs. Usually used for emphasis.

Feminine Endings: A line ending in an unstressed syllable, that adds an extra half-foot to the line. Example: “To be, or not to be; that is the question.” Usually used to show confusion or indecision. The opposite of a feminine ending is a masculine ending, a line ending in a stressed syllable, that adds an extra half-foot to the line.  

Trochaic Tetrameter: Made up of four trochees per line. Used by Shakespeare for his magical characters, such as the fairies in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the Witches in Macbeth. Example: “Double double toil and trouble”. Gives the line a fast pace, and chant-like feel.

[bisexualwildflower]

I wake up every morning to a whisper of your face. I’m dissecting your expressions, checking words for empty space. I think about how you would feel if you had caught me frowning. This fine romance is really just a suicide by drowning. The things I used to love are now submerged in loving you. I can’t remember how to want the things I used to do. There’s something on the surface, and I know I’m in too deep, but you have filled my lungs, and I can’t breathe, and I can’t speak. My consciousness has been eroded softly, over time, and I can’t stand to think of anything but that you’re mine. All light refracts through you, and every image is distorted; you’re in my eyes, my mouth, my nose; I’m sinking, unsupported. I stepped into the shallows, and I swam into the depths; I courted you and it’s my fault I wasn’t ready yet. Someone will have to save me if I am to stay alive, but I'm not sure I want to live. I only want to dive.

“Under Water”

[kaijudick]

Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature, An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature; Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses. I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations, A singular development of cat communications That obviates your basic hedonistic predilection For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection. A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents; You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance. And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion, It often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion. O Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display Connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array. And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend, I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.

Lt. Cmdr Data, “Ode to Spot”

[mlentertainment]

like. it starts as iambic with a... septameter? I think? Is that a word? I'm not an English major

“i don’t know if my [lives are gone?] [unintelligible] of (up?) my thighs”

but then it goes into something else, with a significantly less distinguished meter. 

“and i’m happy now so-[unintelligible]-i love you”

and then the jorts show up and it gets LOUD but the pants running is LOUDER and i can’t figure out more than the beginning and ending fragments, someone else help me i need to know the Truth of the Jorts

(also interesting to note that the poem at the beginning is also this iambic [something]meter. this man has been Affected by Jorts)

has anybody figured out the murmuring of the jorts?? i know it’s one’s personal journey or whatever but i want to try to figure out what they say before the shot of them running toward me takes too many years off my life and i drop dead right here right now

[theinktree]

Listen to me, children, I shall tell of long ago when I walked young and foolish through the bitter cold of snow. Stranded in the night and dying, piece by frozen piece, I met a maiden lovely, pale, and feeding on the geese.

She licked her ruby lips and wiped her chin upon her sleeves. She offered me a feathered corpse upon a bed of leaves. A meal of meat and blood and bone, the heat of which was bliss, but when I tried to thank her I was silenced with a kiss.

“Save your breath,” she said to me, “for you will need it soon”, and led me to a darkened lake beneath the absent moon. ‘Twas there she drowned me gently and I breathed the sacred ice, for though she ruled the darkened snow her heartbeat was the price.

Her muck-stained shift beneath the surface all transformed to lace, her raven hair a blessed halo, dark around her face. I felt my lifeblood leaving but my will was still my own, and she was winter queen reclining; darkness was her throne.

She sank her teeth into my neck, and poured chill power in, and I felt cold beat painfully beneath my sharpened skin. My eyes I found could see at night as if 'twere bright as day. My belly growled in hunger for the price that I must pay.

She said her power came to her by ancient mirror-glass, which she did melt into the lake, and when four seasons passed, she saw the lake untouched by breeze, all smooth and mirror-still. She drowned herself and all her hopes but never lost her will.

And though I’ve walked the snow and ice at night for ten-score years, and I've seen beauty, hidden wonders, bitter secret tears, never have I ever known a power greater still than that which gave eternity to me in frost and chill.

[crownjulesb]

Waxing lyrical in iambic septameter, trying out a new format for some of my poetry. This and other poems, reviews and events can be found on my blog. Link in instagram bio. Or: http://crownjulesrules.com

[bisexualwildflower]

You make those words I never liked much well up on my tongue, a language of devotion, though we've only just begun. And I mean every syllable, and I'm a little scared, since what I want to promise you can hardly be prepared, can hardly be controlled or chosen, hardly be arranged-- is not a guarantee, cannot be promised not to change-- but still you mean the world to me, and still I'm nearly sick with love, and if I cannot swear, at least can I predict?

"Commitment"

[bisexualwildflower]

A memory, a memory that beats against my chest, half ecstasy, half agony, half faded, half repressed.

“What You Are to Me”