Iambic Pentameter anyone?

[Silas Thorne]

I thought it would be fun to have a thread where we could write in iambic pentameter. Feel free to write as many or as few lines as you like, rhyming or not. Press the buzzer (urrrnnnkk!) :flare: if anyone strays from the metre. Here goes: (a true one)

My girl fell off the couch and broke her leg.
It was my fault, I turned my head away,
and now she sadly wears a purple cast
at ten months old- but she's still moving fast.


...Not great, but it's a start. Let's go!

[Thespian1975]

listening to schubert on a CD
My two kittens fast asleep on the bed
A cup of coffee still hot by my side
A cough, a sneeze, another day off work

;)

[JBI]

How adherent do you want this? I sense a few substitutions in your verse (even in the last feet, Gasp!), so I guess I'm going to be a little liberal.

[Silas Thorne]

You're right, of course, the last line sucks a lot.

I did intend to keep to the verse. Thanks for pointing that out JBI. But yes, maybe keeping to the meter when at all possible. Maybe :flare:ing is a bit too much- we can just point out to each other when the meter strays too much.

Thespian 1975, only the last line seems to be iambic pentameter , but it seems as if you were trying to push your kittens through square holes in the second line, especially if you stress kitTENS. Do you agree JBI?
;)

[prendrelemick]

My two kittens are fast asleep a-bed,
A black coffee still hot is by my side,
A cough, a sneeze, another day off work
To sit at home and try to plagiarize.

[Silas Thorne]

The wolves around my house have now gone home,
and I am free to go and buy some milk. :)

[firefangled]

Outside the wind blows warm, and oaks let loose
their leaves. Down south it is the norm; Yankee
transplants wonder: Who loves a Christmas brown,
who loved red birds in snow? With no chimney
to slide down here, where's Santa Claus to go?

[firefangled]

My etch-a-sketch is old and fails to mark
the less than prominent of lines I make.
Its film when lifted shows those times I pressed
hardest, for heaven’s sake, to ease a smile
from underneath a frown, all gray now down.

[Silas Thorne]

Bravo!
:)
Let's go on forward though the path be long...

Bitter are the books when authors die,
and bitter too the wicked drive to strive
for fleeting pleasures, when these empty lives
demand, for fleeting pleasures, that we kill.

[Silas Thorne]

'Southern Hemisphere Christmas tale'

Red Christmas fogie, eyes agleam with mirth,
insists insanely on such heavy robes.
His reindeer panting in the swollen sun,
his white beard, drenched with sweat, begins to itch.


Merry Christmas!

[Silas Thorne]

This empty hall, devoid of Christmas cheer,
or cake, or chocolate, giant ham - or beer,
shall eat up words, devour thoughts for fun,
demanding silence where new thoughts can run.

[Silas Thorne]

The evening falls upon the quiet street
and I with evening think upon the past
regretting things I've done and things I've not
demanding times relived that I have lost.

Anyone else care for some fun with iambic pentameter, jump onboard! I'll put stuff on fairly regularly, but this doesn't need to be just my thread. :)

[Silas Thorne]

I'm stuck inside my office without food.

The summer rain beats hard against the grass,
and peals of thunder rumble without rest.

I have no jacket, and no way to best
the bitter forces of the stormy day.

Yet I must leave, my stomach rumbles too.

:)

[thegitksan]

I fail to see why I should write to please;
I've little love for stumbling in this vein:
the clubfoot waltz of words and knobby knees.
So I'll rant and I'll groan and I'll gnash my poor teeth in disdain;
revolution comes to those who sieze (the day).

:)

Actually, I love iambic pentameter particularly, but had to toss in a few left curves for ya!

[Silas Thorne]

:) It's all good fun!

[Silas Thorne]

I need to start again at 2 O'clock.

My eyes are twitching with approaching time,
and pressure seizes tightly on my heart.

[Silas Thorne]

Because I could not rage to violence,
their words left scars, which I am healing now.

[Silas Thorne]

Where once we crept and do not creep no more
a forest grew, with leafy tendrils fine,
where once a forest was, there is no more,
the aged walk where once the youth did play.

[easyeverett]

The moonlight merges with the streetlamp glow
While sparking lust within my youthful frame;
Delightful passions come together so
The glory of the love becomes the flame.

I do believe the memories I keep
Are sanctified as mine, uniquely burned,
Inside the fire when heat excites my sleep
Where every dream and tremble then is turned

To find simplicity in nurtured truth
That flows from natural realities -
Where fertile is the faith we framed in youth
Our age frames faith in false mythologies.

I stand a man, at last, reclaimed by pride,
Inviting life and faith to come inside.



Part I

The bitter winds of winter briskly blow
Across a city landscape, darkly cast
In shadows from the dim-lit streetlamp glow
Where modern Gotham now is fading fast.

Dark alleyways collect discarded waste
Of human refuse born out of excess;
Redundant gluttony and boorish taste
In spite of needy lives now left with less.

Cacophony of midnight siren sound
Screams danger found on city streets each night.
The homeless mental patients still are bound
Found to suffer first, any city blight.

The homeless are but just another part
Of all those now exploited on the street;
With ragged clothes piled high atop a cart
As they scrape dumpsters for a scrap to eat.

And now we fight a futile war abroad
As homeless multiply across our lands.
These mighty men claim a war inspired by God
But I do not believe God understands.


Part II

I go to bed and wait my needed sleep,
As night is dread; the night is never meek.
My will to live is filled with ebb and flow
While rage is ripe and rips the reaper so.

Please let me stay away forevermore,
As mad men should be bound outside the door.
The mad will give you truth you don't believe
But I will give a truth that makes you grieve.

The gray wren sitting injured in the grass
Now huddles waiting for the pain to pass.
The cutting knife will slice your life today
While bible-thumping preacher's kneel to pray.

The children sit in sick beds all alone
And blow flies drop their eggs on skin and bone.
The child will die in darkest dread tonight;
By dawn the body turns to maggot white

The caustic, putrid smell of sweet decay
Will overpower people who must stay.
Humanity is hubris plus insane,
Evolved to escalate exchange of pain.

The desolation now detached and dead;
The elevated traits in man all bled.
Oh woe to those who thought they understood
This thrumming rumble from the neighborhood.

Their sophomoric talk of life and death
As broken babies strain for lasting breath.
Deception from inception in the womb,
Evangelizing prophets preaching doom.

If hell exists then punishment prevails,
If not then man's a mockery that fails.
Are we ensured of this absurdity?
A country pimped by voodoo prophecy.

Just buy a deck of cards and deal your fate,
Forget the prophets waiting at the gate!
The spoken words of ancient prophet's old,
With stories of the gloom and doom so bold,

Survived throughout the centuries with ease
And still remain respected entities.
The same old stories also told us well
Of demon devils that came straight from hell.

This evil could possess a common man
And take control by using Satan's plan.
All superstition has survival skill;
It represents a need in people still.

If God could speak to mankind way back then,
Reveal to me just why He quit and when.
The carnage caused by spreading false belief,
Has left a tragic legacy of grief.

If there's a higher moral certitude,
It's found inside the mind's great aptitude.
Please take the guilt upon yourself my friend,
We are the Armageddon in the end.</B>


<B><I>The children sit in sick beds all alone
And blow flies drop their eggs on skin and bone.
The child will die in darkest dread tonight
By dawn the body turns to maggot white.

In darkened storm infested waters wide,
where but the faded gray of dawn shown lean,
two sailors stood together side by side,
appraising all the danger of the scene.
Each with a stalwart stance and firm set jaw,
concealing fear that grew from what they saw.



And suddenly, the rumbled gathering
Of minions rising up to greet the wind;
Perdition weeps with pride the quickening
As joyous souls escape though they have sinned.
Within the swirl of clouds a demon screams
To clear the way for blood-lust ecstasy;
As Lilith like chimera from her dreams
Becomes as one with all reality.

Still filled with apprehension demons wait
As sentries guard the sacred altar stone;
For kindred are they to the spectral wraith
Who hunts for Satan's needs and bleeds alone.
So rapidly the Hallowed eve draws nigh
The bitterness of Lilith fills the air -
This dark and ancient order cannot die:
These devils versified by Baudelaire.

And as the beauty of the night arrives
Disturbing is the deadly silence heard!
A silence where the demon always thrives -
In darkness waiting for his master's word.
Yet though no clouds appear in God's vast sky
The silver-blue of stars cannot be seen
Through stillness far too ominous to lie;
The atmosphere pervasive and obscene.

[easyeverett]

Good practice Silas. tom

[Dori]

Hmm, 'tis not easy sketching iambs, I add.
Nothing there is that fails to task this lad,
Or so it seems on this unhappy night.
Can't find another word---O, blasted blight!

Renew, ol' song, and strengthen our intent
To find an end, if ending leaves us spent.

(These lines were meant for the Litnet Blank Verse Epic, until I realized that blank verse doesn't rhyme. Pooh. Anywho, I was a bit liberal, I think, but are the above lines close enough? This is the first time I've written in iambic pentameter. The first line has one syllable too many, but I say no other way of getting around it.)

[Silas Thorne]

So good that you can all join in the fun. :)

Wow, easy. Can't do what you can, easy, yet. Need to practise my jackseat off. Sorry, can't do justice to it Judge Dredd style readingwise, no hands to face the clock, no time to catch the rhyme.
Dori, iambic pentameter doesn't need to rhyme either. :)

[Dori]

Dori, iambic pentameter doesn't need to rhyme either. :)

In reading Frost, I learned how not to rhyme
When painting playful iambs, five a line.

[Dori]

Ahh, Coca-Cola, best when drunk ice cold
I take a gulp---a smattering of tears,
Ah! my throat---a burning feeling, to add.
Despite the pain (if even slight), I drink
The sug'ry, carbonated liquid down.

[balehead]

sooo... iambic pentameter is 10 syllables to each line?

[Silas Thorne]

Sorry for not answering earlier, lost this thread somewhere in the maze, but Ariadne found it for me.

Usually, yes. And usually 5 stressed and five unstressed syllables.

Now,
I have to read some writing for a friend...

[Silas Thorne]

The people here could really eat much less.
The books upon the shelf were bloody good.
There's mist about my eyes, could this be love?

[Delta40]

When watching tv I miss the sunshine
paling into nothingness at a screen
while the world outside remains ignorant

[Silas Thorne]

:) Perhaps start with:

I miss the sunshine watching the TV...

or not, that might change things...

[Silas Thorne]

I like the way you stack the lower shelves
your cleavage almost pops out of your top. :)

The poster on the wall is hard to read.

I'd love to drink a can of beer right now.

She answered 'yeah!' to everything he said.

My finger isn't fast enough to text
as freely as I'd like. I'll phone instead.

The tiles upon the wall are shining brightly
but, if I could raise a point against this fact,
I'd mention that the windows are unclean.

[Silas Thorne]

Give me your breath to drink, your heart to steal.

[Silas Thorne]

I better read some more, then write some notes.

[Silas Thorne]

I'd love to fix my 电脑 but it's ****ed.

电脑= diannao= computer

[Silas Thorne]

He walked a moonlit path through fragrant night.

I can't remember many of my dreams,
although it would be better if I could.

[YesNo]

Give me your breath to drink, your heart to steal.

I enjoyed your one-line iambic pentameter posts, especially this one. Here's something to help keep this thread going.


We tell their stories only for so long.
They do not care if we enhance the plot,
Forget their names, or say they loved, or not.
Nor do they care if they're made weak or strong.
We tell their stories only now and then
To skim the truth each time we start again.

You want to hear of Miriam again?
Who begged him kill her first, but that was long
Ago. I wonder whom he did kill then?
Perhaps small Sarah lying in this plot,
Or Jenny who was never very strong.
And surely also Mary. Maybe not.

You want to hear, or would you rather not,
Of Miriam whose memory charms this plot?

[Silas Thorne]

Much welcomed is your post, my honoured friend!
I've only tried to do this for a time,
and I'm so happy that you've come to rhyme. :)

Wonderfully grim! Minor roles in tales who get knocked off? :) I was thrown a little by your post's last line. Perhaps I am accustomed to pronouncing 'memory' with three syllables, though in my back catalogue of sound adventures I'm sure I've said it with two.

[YesNo]

Wonderfully grim! Minor roles in tales who get knocked off? :) I was thrown a little by your post's last line. Perhaps I am accustomed to pronouncing 'memory' with three syllables, though in my back catalogue of sound adventures I'm sure I've said it with two.

Yes, you're right about "memory". I usually pronounce it with 3 syllables, as you do, but sometimes, rarely, with 2, if I slur over the middle one a bit. In this case, I was hoping the reader would only use 2 syllables and I could avoid spelling it mem'ry. It bothered me as well when I wrote it.

I'll probably revise the last line. I like flaws like this. They give me an excuse to try to make it better.

[solaris]

it's late and dark and cold, a gale doth blow;
this is the forecast in iambic flow.
the temperamental air won't make me blue
for i am off to bed, so 'goodnight, you' :wave:

[Silas Thorne]

We live our lines, these lines cut with our breath,
it seems these lines can only end in death.

You've read my birth, how could I fail to see
this line can breathe within your breath through me.

[YesNo]

The buildings make sharp lines against the sky.
The trees add curves to smooth the urban scene.
Both wait and watch in love, like you and I.
Though black and white, they feel so fresh and green.


Written after viewing an etching by Deann Prosia on display in the local library.