#poetic forms

[poemsbybuddie]

here is a list of different poetic forms that might help you get started if you’re feeling a bit stumped, unsure, or it might give you a challenge if you want to try something new! <3

Blank verse: Blank verse is poetry written with regular metrical but unrhymed lines, almost always in iambic pentameter.

Examples:

Villanelle: The villanelle is a nineteen-line poetic form consisting of five tercets (3 lines) followed by a quatrain (4 lines). There are two refrains and two repeating rhymes, with the first and third line of the first tercet repeated alternately at the end of each subsequent stanza until the last stanza, which includes both repeated lines.

Examples:

do not go gentle into that good night by dylan thomas

10 villanelle poem examples to study

Haiku: The haiku is of ancient Japanese origin. It usually contains 17 syllables in 3 lines of five, seven, five (though modern examples do not systematically follow that pattern). Haiku poems typically contain references to nature.

Examples:

Sonnet: Traditionally, the sonnet is a fourteen-line poem written in iambic pentameter, employing one of several rhyme schemes, and adhering to a tightly structured thematic organization. The two main types of sonnets are the following:

• Shakespearean (or English) sonnet: three quatrains (4 lines) and a couplet (2 lines). Rhymes are ABAB, CDCD, EFEF, GG

• Petrarchan (or Italian) sonnet: divided into two stanzas, an octave (8 lines) followed by a sestet (6 lines). Rhymes are ABBAABBA + CDECDE or CDCDCD

Limerick: A limerick is a form of verse, usually humorous and frequently rude, in five-line, predominantly anapestic trimeter with a strict rhyme scheme of AABBA, in which the third and fourth lines are typically shorter.

Examples:

Elegy: A melancholy poem that serves the purpose of a lament for or a celebration of a deceased person.

Examples:

Elegies, Book One, 5 BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Lycidas, BY JOHN MILTON

Because I could not stop for Death, BY EMILY DICKINSON

Ode: An ode is a lyrical poem that expresses praise, glorification, or tribute, with the subject matter being a person, event, or idea. Classic odes contain three sections: a strophe, an antistrophe, and an epode—effectively a beginning, middle, and end.

Example:

Ode on a Grecian Urn, by JOHN KEATS

Concrete poem: Also known as visual poetry, it is essentially poetry which is shaped in a certain way which adds to its meaning.

Found poem: Found poetry is a form of poetry in which you create a poem by cutting up, remixing, or otherwise transforming an existing piece of text. (you can use dialogue from the show/scripts?)

Blackout poetry: Blackout poetry is the process out taking an already existing piece of text and blacking out the words save for a few select ones that take on new meaning.

[morningcatreport]

Morning Cat Than-Bauk

I am a cat. What is that, you ask? pat me, and suffer my teeth.

*morning cat than-bauk is presented "as is," with no guarantees of entertainment or literary value. Consume at your own risk.

[ancientroyalblood]

Exploring Poetic Forms: From Sonnets to Free Verse

Poetry is an art form that captivates readers through rhythm, emotion, and vivid language. One of the key elements that distinguishes poetry from prose is its structure, and understanding different poetic forms can help both budding and experienced writers create more impactful poems. Whether you are drawn to the rigid patterns of sonnets or the freedom of free verse, exploring these diverse…

[pebblegalaxy]

Vignettes in Verse: A Journey Through Life's Moments in Japanese Tanka Poetry

Given the word ‘Vignette’, I’ll use the tanka form, which is a bit longer than haiku and allows for more elaboration. Tanka traditionally consists of five lines with a syllable pattern of 5-7-5-7-7. I’ll create a sequence of tanka poems to form a longer piece centered around the concept of ‘Vignette’. Here’s the poem: Vignette, a glimpseMoments frozen in time's frameBrief yet poignant…

[kristinawkelly]

Exploring Poetry - Poetic Forms

Kicking off this month's poetry blog is this a post on poetic forms. Guest Mona Mehas talks about three forms with examples from her poetry.

Kicking off this month’s poetry blog, as it is National Poetry Month, is a post on poetic forms. I’m having a guest come and post on my blog each month talking about poetry from the various poetic forms to what poetry means to them. To start, I have Mona Mehas posting today about forms with examples from her poetry. Like me, Mona is also a member of the Poetry Society of Indiana. Her work has…

[martyncrucefix]

New podcast discussion on Between a Drowning Man

I’m very pleased to announce that Mark McGuinness’ excellent poetry podcast, A Mouthful of Air, which has recently featured poets such as Mona Arshi, Judy Brown, Rishi Dastidar, Ian Duhig, Mimi Khalvati, Clare Pollard, Tom Sastry, and Denise Saul, has recorded a discussion about my new Salt collection, Between a Drowning Man. Mark’s method is to focus on one particular poem and between us we…

[keferon]

Drift’s “Dead end” design is my Roman Empire…

Like. His Crystal City look is great. His mtmte look is also great. And the Lost Light one too. But when I look at this specific design eh idk there’s something very special about it. It’s the way he was created by Cybertron if I’m not wrong. I love this colour scheme. It’s so calm and simple.

[santandreas]

Repost-Symetrelle – Not Stagnant

sky is not at all stagnant as a sulphur scented pond can be forever still and oxygen free nor is she monochrome, devoid of a life as shrilly as the tune of a fife spread upon a canvas with a palette knife by a painter or poet full of strife and flailing fish impossible there […] Symetrelle – Not Stagnant

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 187

Clockwork would openly admit that he couldn’t see Danny’s timelines. Not since the moment he stepped into that portal and became something more. A child of Infinity, of the very Realms itself. 

But he’ll also admit that it always meant that the child surprised him all the time. This just happened to be a startling surprise, and an admittedly amusing one, even if Danny was openly complaining about the situation. 

“It’s not fair! You have to be able to fix this, right? Right?!” the ghostling, quite literally now, practically yanked at his cloak. “Clockwork, I was going to graduate, I can’t be two! Please, you’re the master of Time, you can fix this right!?” 

No, no he could not, seeing as young Daniel was in fact, immune to timeline machinations, doubly so for his own. To the ghostling’s open distress, which he did his best to soothe. What he could do instead, was stop time in his home dimension, and instead let him age back up again. 

Which the young halfa wasn’t happy about, but it was the best thing they had, so Clockwork supposed he had a ghostling now. A tiny adorable ghostling who kept pouting each time his much younger body had any sort of effect on his behavior. 

He’d never exactly had a ghostling before, nevermind one who was part human, but he would admit he honestly was enjoying it. Most time was spent alone, something he hadn’t realized until Danny ended up crashing into his unlife. 

Honestly he would openly admit that he absolutely adored his little ghostling. Who was now around four, at least physically, and had gotten into the adorable habit of curling up in the pendulum in his chest. Which was honestly the safest spot in Long Now, he’d admit. 

The singular issue however, with this habit, was that when someone attempted to summon him, they got his ghostling as well. And well, normally he could very much control himself for these summonings that happened every few hundred or so years, but well. There was a reason why even the Observants had stopped popping in the moment they realized he had a ghostling. 

Nesting ghosts do not mess around should they feel one is messing with their very vulnerable child, and really it’s not his fault the mortal cultists woke up and startled Danny. Perhaps deleting them from the timeline was a bit too far, if the other mortals rapid paling was to go by, but oh well. 

[firstfullmoon]

okay hold on this is so cool. bear with me

1) read this terrance hayes poem

2) read this gwendolyn brooks poem

3) go back to the terrance hayes poem and pay attention to the ends of lines

[leclerc-s]

i genuinely think the funniest thing that could happen was if charles overtook norris in the drivers championship because they’ve been yapping about this “intense” championship battle between norris and max only for charles ‘one-stop wonder’ leclerc to end up p2 in the championship

[tapestryundone]

quiet is right handed and always holds the blade in his right hand as a result. he is tied to the narrative that the narrator constructed through the blade and no matter what happens in any runthrough the knife will always end up in his hand at least once no matter what he does or what he truly wants

the princess is always chained by her right hand. no matter what, she is always bound to the cabin and the narrative that the narrator constructs. tsm is represented through countless arms and yet the princes is always placed in a basement with her right hand shackled

both quiet and the princess are trapped in the construct, parallel to one another. the knife is to the long quiet as the chain is to the shifting mound

in the prisoner chapter, if quiet becomes chained then he must lose the knife. there is no purpose to overlapping ones shackles, he just trades one for another

anytime that the princes recieves the knife, she becomes free of her chain. there is no purpose to overlapping ones shackles, she just trades one for another

the knife and shackles are equivalent, and both must be shed in some way for the shifting mound and the long quiet, or the princess and quiet/hero

at the heart of the shifting mound, the princess will always be free. the shifting mound is free to choose anything she wants. shes waiting for you to choose. the apotheosis establishes that she could destroy the construct if she so chose, but if the long quiet doesnt break free with her, destroying the construct will destroy him, too. she is free of her shackle but she has a choice between leaving with the long quiet or killing him- mirroring that the long quiet has a choice between leaving with the shifting mound or killing her. only that the shifting mound made her choice, and that is that no matter what happens, she will not destroy the long quiet

at the heart of the shifting mound, quiet has the choice to take the knife and give into the narrators script- to abide by it or return to its beginning and reread the story all over again- or to abandon his own shackles and free himself from the story the narrator wove

effectively, the chain and the blade must be abadoned in some way for the two to be free. with or without reaching the heart of the shifting mound, neither can be free until the remnants of the construct are abandoned, until their unique tether to the construct is left behind

and if the two are a palindrome, then the letter in the center is the cabin- a structure that exists for both of them and is a construction of the narrator that they both influence differently but in equal amounts. they both have been built around it and feom it, very literally, and the chain and blade are both offshoots of it that the narrator uses to control them

[blossoms-phan]

guys I’m actually going insane like they’re literally in love with each other

[thedansemacabres]

Now that I return once more, something I have been thinking deeply about with Dionysus—now that the grapes are ripening—is him and the grapevine. One of the beautiful ‘paradoxes’ in mythology is the way he was said to have discovered wine, but then also is the ripening force of the vine—Dionysos Veraison—as I would call him is the one that transmutes the bitter grape acids, tartaric and malic, into sweet sugars.

In order for wine to ferment, veraison must occur. In becoming a wine god, did his red fingertips touch the vine and cause it to bloom, with the cluster falling to the earth, bursting forth, and fermenting into ethanol? Did in discovering wine and creating it did he understand the way the sun and vine vitality creates the conditions necessary? Or if we follow the myth of Ampelos, did his grief make him realise the eternal gift his love’s shorn form now possess?

mythology is truly so fun. Dionysos the winemaker as a man of grief and careful understanding of a natural process—does one become what they do, if they tie themselves to it so closely?

[feddy-34]

inspired by this lovely tweet from @ohymnia have some brain rot

under the cut: dubcon/noncon, omegaverse, forced mating, mpreg mention, idk man

but anyway that one brock/nick fic on ao3 where brock's never had anyone to share his heat with before and so nick offers to help out cuz he has a moment where he sees brock being alone sitting by his locker and nick can smell the preheat on him and he's like "damn my qb is kinda pretty"

but!!! brock says no

and nick is not a person used to being told no (see above image) so he's pissed. who does brock think he is? rejecting a second overall pick, multi million dollar contract, top DE in the league alpha? he's the last overall pick, nobody wanted him anyway. and nick's getting more and more ratched up and his scent is getting stronger and stronger until brock feels like he's suffocating. he wants to leave but what can he do? everyone else has cleared out of the building already (brock took a long ass time in the showers) and nick's got him perfectly cornered.

plus brock's an omega going into preheat, nick's heavy ass pheromones are really starting to take a toll on him. he can feel his scent glands throbbing, knees getting weaker as the urge to submit takes over. and really, would it be so bad? finally having someone to ease the pain that roars through him setting every limb on fire? "i know you haven't had anyone to help you, but i'm here now," nick says, and isn't he? he's right there, a perfectly viable alpha. some part of brock's brain tells him to resist, to not give in, but that instinct is getting quieter and quieter as brock feels himself pulled towards nick.

and before he knows it, he's on his knees.

nick takes him home, cares for him through his heat, does an okay job, but he never leaves brock alone. every single moment he's there, presence and scent filling up every room of brock's house until he feels like he'll never be able to escape nick. he finally gets him out when his heat is clearly over, only convincing nick by promising that he'll come over after practice.

it's the first moment brock's had to himself in days. his mind feels numb, automatically dumping sheets and blankets into the washer, making himself a quick snack, mechanically scrubbing himself down. until he steps out of the shower and sees the marks. brock is absolutely covered in scratches, bruises, bites, and the more he looks the more he feels them start to sting and pulse. did nick really do this? brock doesn't remember feeling much pain, but he also doesn't really remember much at all. staring at the perfectly defined handprint-shaped bruises covering his hips and waist, his stomach starts to sink.

but nick is nice enough at practice and he sits next to brock on the plane a few times and he takes him out to dinner once or twice and doesn't hit him as hard during scramble drills. brock feels like he's moving in a slight haze until his next heat rolls around. and nick finds him in the locker room again.

this time there's no resistance, brock sliding silently to his knees as the instinct tugging at the back of his mind is silenced. he's quiet as nick drives him home, head leaning against the window. he presses his mouth shut as nick grabs his arm to drag him out of the car. he bites his lip as nick messes up his carefully crafted nest. this time his mind is clear. he can feel every bruising hold, every sharp scratch, every aching bite. but nick's helping him, isn't he? brock's heard that it's supposed to hurt, even when you're with an alpha.

and there is some relief, when nick pushes in, when he rocks his hips back and forth in a smooth continuous notion, when he lightly trails his fingertips all over brock's body. and when his knot finally pops, it's the most relief brock has felt all day.

but then. the bite.

sheer piercing agony radiating out from brock's neck to every part of his body. he feels like he's going to faint, ears ringing and vision blacked out.

and it's okay, it's fine. nick helps him clean out the bloody mess left on the front of his throat, nicely placed for the whole world to see. brock purdy, officially claimed omega. of course he hasn't bitten nick back yet but they'll do that nick's next rut. right? and brock didn't actually ask to be mated but nick's just helping him and looking out for him, the way a good alpha would. nick says it's a dangerous league, that they're aren't many alphas like himself who would be willing to help such a low status omega. brock should consider himself lucky.

and so he lives his little mated life, alphas steering clear of him, even ones he used to call friends. nick scares them away with his dark glare and bared teeth. but that's alright because he just needs nick. all he needed was a good alpha, and now look how well things are going. soon enough nick's going to put a baby in him and then he won't have to worry about football at all. brock won't have to worry about players hitting him on the field, even though he lives for the adrenaline rush. he won't have to deal with leading anyone, even though that's all he's ever wanted in life. he won't have to deal with alphas cornering him when he's vulnerable, although only nick ever does.

but he's an alpha, he can take what he wants. and brock is his. his to use, his to rule, his to discard when he gets bored. and so if brock jumps when he feels those hands close around his waist, so what? so what if the locker room hasn't emptied yet and brock can feel the weight of their stares on his shoulders? so what if he has to wear more and more layers to cover up the marks that nick always leaves? so what if the cleaning staff have tried to slip him notes, asking about his screams?

he won't have to worry about any of that soon, now that his life's been taken away.

[scribefindegil]

me: so tired and stressed and understimulated that I am incapable of rational thought

my brain: you should write a sestina