Fun and Fancy Free Verse or Exploring My Softer Side

Aha, you say, a free verse poem is not a rarity like the other poems you’ve presented, Nicki. Yes, you are right, but for the beginner poet, free verse can be the easiest form to write.

There is no rhyme scheme, no meter, no sense of a rigid mold into which you must cram your work of art.

The popular practice of free verse poems date back to 19^th Europe, in

particular, France. Free verse is a very organic poem based on natural breaks in speech, the intensity of your mood, or just how you want the words to appear on the page.

This form can start out as an exercise in prose that is broken up to create poetic lines and phrasing. Free verse, for me, is like writing in a diary. A place to cleanse my soul…or whatever. To read an excellent example of free verse poems, check out Hilda Doolittle, Allen Ginsberg, John Ashberry, Sylvia Plath, and Frank O'Hara, just to name a few. There are many more poets worthy of mention, but you'd be here all day. Not that I mind.

While I am a dark poet, I do have a romantic, sensitive side. Here is a poem I wrote in college, exploring that cautious adventure of falling in love.

Secret Serenade

They breathed softly in the words you nervously stuttered

   In the longing glance that your eye shyly gave

   In the touch that made m tremble

The whispers of your buried secrets

Singing the lyric that your heart once guarded

The tender song that you wished to keep still

Melodies of sun-soaked laughter transition

Into moon-laced walks of harmony

A sweet chorus that danced freely through your kiss.

Embedded in silken ruby leaves

Lay a symphony of secrets

Revealing that you are  


 falling


                                                    falling


                                                                                                     falling 
    
       deep within your heart’s embrace
       deeper inside the music of your soul
       deeply in love

And since I can't keep well enough alone, here a bonus poem for your reading pleasure.

Admirer

would you believe me if the words never came?
if they trembled on my slippery tongue
hoping that the thread of my breath
would pass them
and leave them untouched

naked
                           and
                                             petrified

of the abduction: a painful seizure
that would transport to your ear
the components of unrequited adoration. 

Triolet: A Poem of Three or A Rare Form of Expression

Triolet

A triolet (tree-o-lay) is an eight line, French poem from the 13^th century. Medieval poets such as Jean Froissart and Eustace Deschamps nurtured this short and sweet poetic form. It is one of the rarer forms you'll find out in the world.

 

Triolet means "three" as in the first line repeats three times. There are also 2 rhymes and 2 repeating lines.

While most triolets are playful and cheerful, often celebrating love, I have taken a darker path with mine. I apparently have a gift for dark and broody, though, I'm no Sylvia Plath. And yes, I was also having a rough day.

Rhyming pattern

Line 1 repeats in the 1^st, 4^th, and 7^th line.

Line 2 repeats in the 2^nd and 8^th line.

Lines 1, 3, 4, 5 have the same rhyme scheme, while lines 2, 6, 8 echo each other.

To add a twist to your own poem try,

1)   using a slant rhyme instead of a perfect rhyme. Slant rhymes echo similar sounds, such as “time and fine.” A perfect rhyme is well, perfect, like “fell and tell.”

2)   Varying some of the words in the repeating lines. For example, the line in my poem “treading a fine line” can be altered into “treading a silk line.”

This form is too short to stress about, so have fun!

daybreak

treading a fine line

between saving myself or slaying my dream

faithless existence for wishes of mine

treading a fine line

over chasms of prayers waiting to align

a criss-cross of fingers over jagged seams

treading a fine line

between saving myself or slaying my dream

Lost and Found or A Poem I Didn't Intend to Write

A Found poem can be a list, pieces of conversation, or newspaper articles — something that has a poetic tone or elicits the same emotional response as a poem. If the original intent of your Found poem is to be poetic, then it is not true.

The beauty of this form is that you find a treasure amidst the clutter of your life. Also, there is no altering (adding, deleting, or omitting) this poem. To keep it in its pure form is to stay true to the heart of the Found.

My Found came from a short story I wrote. Reading down the left margin, I used the 1^st word of every line. This is the result:

Rebellion

You know, World

Perfectionism befriends children

Your insides scream your name

Shut up.

Ignore it.

Tired of perfect.

We all want that.

Learn from  vixen smiles and

Smoky cold sentences

Ambition loves you

Away from disappointment

Slurred secrets in someone’s yard

Don’t matter

Impurity picks you up

Frantically dissolving innocence

Rebellion crawled under her eyes and

Sat next to me

Can you see a silver lining?

What have you "Found" lately?

Merry Sisters of Fate Watcher Prompt Contest or Touching Up My Poet's Roots

The Merry Sisters of Fate (Brenna Yovanoff, Maggie Stiefvater, and Tessa Gratton) are hosting a prompt contest on their blog. One winner will receive these fabulous prizes: a signed ARC of "Scorpio Races" by Maggie, a signed ARC of "The Space Between" by Brenna, and a signed hardback of the recently released "Blood Magic" by Tessa.

The picture, "Meeting on The Turret Stairs” by Frederic Burton, was too perfect not to write for.

This poem is a pantoum, a poetic form based on the oral telling of 15th century Malayan literature.

“Sin”

My heart is consumed by Hellfire.

Loving you brings a thousand deaths to my soul.

Save me, my God, from this wild desire,

An unquenched passion that shall not be consoled

Loving you brings a thousand deaths to my soul.

We married in haste, those we did not love

An unquenched passion that shall not be consoled;

Dreaming of you is but a curse from above.

We married in haste those we did not love,

Though it saved you from courtly scorn.

Dreaming of you is but a curse from above

And I mourn, oh the loss of you that I mourn.

Though it saved you from courtly scorn,

I have no choice now but to become a thief.

And I mourn, oh the loss of you that I mourn.Stealing a glance or smile disguised is a moment’s relief.

I have no choice now but to become a thief,

To hold you against me on darkened stairs.

Stealing a glance or smile disguised is a moment’s relief,

Your reluctance to leave, renews my despair.

To hold you against me on darkened stairs,

A touch not deep enough to sustain me.

Your reluctance to leave, renews my despair.

This is not how I wish us to be.

 

A touch not deep enough to sustain me.

Save me, my God, from this wild desire;

This is not how I wish us to be.
My heart is consumed by Hellfire.